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Of the rest of the treatise on education, forming so prominent a part of "Euphues, or the Anatomy of Wit," the main doctrines are such as these :- No youth is to be taught with stripes. Ascham and Lyly were alone in maintaining this doctrine against the strongest contrary opinion. Life is divided into remission and study. As there is watching, so is there sleep; ease is the sauce of labour; holiday the other half of work. Children should exercise a discreet silence: "let them also be admonished, that, when they shall speak, they speak nothing but truth; to lie is a vice most detestable, not to be suffered in a slave, much less in a son." Fathers should study to maintain by love and by example influence over their sons as they advance to manhood; "let them with mildness forgive light offences, and remember that they themselves have been young.

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Some light faults let them dissemble as though they knew them not, and seeing them let them not seem to see them, and hearing them let them not seem to hear. We can easily forget the offences of our friends, be they never so great, and shall we not forgive the escapes of our children, be they never so small?"

Let the body be kept in its pure strength by honest exercise, and let the mind, adds Lyly, falling again into the track of censure followed by all satirists of the day, "not be carried away with vain delights, as with travelling into far and strange countries, where you shall see more wickedness than learn virtue and wit. Neither with costly attire of the new cut, the Dutch hat, the French hose, the Spanish rapier, the Italian hilt, and I know not what." There is nothing, he reminds youth, swifter than time, and We have not, as Seneca saith, nothing sweeter. little time to live, but we lose much; neither have we a short life by nature, but we make it shorter by naughtiness; our life is long if we know how to use it. The greatest commodity that we can yield unto our country, is with wisdom to bestow that talent which by grace was given us. Here Euphues repeats the closing sentences of the wise counsel of Eubulus, scorned by him in the days of his folly, and then passes to a direct exhortation to the study of the Bible. "Oh!" he exclaims, "I would gentlemen would sometimes sequester themselves from their own delights, and employ their wits in searching these heavenly divine mysteries."

Advancing still in earnestness as he presents his Euphues growing in wisdom and now wholly devoting himself to the study of the highest truth, a letter to the gentlemen-scholars in Athens prefaces a dialogue between Euphues and Atheos, which is an argument against the infidelity that had crept in from Italy. It is as earnest as if Latimer himself had preached it to the courtiers of King Edward. Euphues appeals solemnly to Scripture and the voice within ourselves. In citation from the sacred text consist

almost his only illustrations; in this he abounds. Whole pages contain nothing but the words of Scripture. At a time when fanciful and mythological adornment was so common to literature that the very Bible Lyly read-the Bishops' Bible-contained wood-cut initials upon subjects drawn from Ovid's "Metamorphoses," and opened the Epistle to the Hebrews with a sketch of Leda and the Swan, Lyly, in the book which has been for so many years condemned unread, does not once mingle false ornament with reasoning on sacred things. He refers to the ancients only at the outset of his argument to show that the heathen had acknowledged a Creator; mentions Plato but to say that he recognised one whom we call Lord God omnipotent, glorious, immortal, unto whose similitude we that creep here on earth have our souls framed; and Aristotle, only to tell how, when he could not find out by the secrecy of nature the cause of the ebbing and the flowing of the sea, he cried, with a loud voice, "O Thing of Things, have mercy upon me!" In twenty blackletter pages there are but three illustrations drawn from supposed properties of things. The single anecdote from profane history I will here quote from a discourse that introduces nearly all the texts incorporated in our Liturgy :

"I have read of Themistocles, which having offended Philip, the King of Macedonia, and could no way appease his anger, meeting his young son Alexander, took him in his arms, and met Philip in the face. Philip, seeing the smiling countenance of the child, was well pleased with Themistocles. Even so, if through thy manifold sins and heinous offences thou provoke the heavy displeasure of thy God, insomuch as thou shalt tremble for horror, take his only begotten and well-beloved Son Jesus in thine arms, and then he neither can nor will be angry with thee. If thou have denied thy God, yet if thou go out with Peter and weep bitterly, God will not deny thee. Though with the prodigal son thou wallow in thine own wilfulness, yet if thou return again sorrowful thou shalt be received. If thou be a grievous offender, yet if thou come unto Christ with the woman in Luke, and wash his feet with thy tears, thou shalt obtain remission." "" 1

Lyly's "Euphues" closes with "Certain letters writ by Euphues to his friends," of which I take two as pieces complete in themselves which may serve as patterns of Euphuism from Lyly's hand. They are reproduced in the original spelling.

LETTERS OF EUPHUES. Euphues and Eubulus.

I salute thee in the Lord, &c. Although I was not so wittie to follow thy graue aduice when I first knew thee: yet doe I not lacke grace to giue thee thanks since I tryed thee. And if I were as able to perswade thee to patience, as thou wert desirous to exhort me to pietie, or as wise to comfort thee in thine age, as thou willing to instruct me in my youth, thou shouldest nowe with lesse griefe endure thy late losse, and with little care leade thy aged life. Thou

1 The preceding sketch of "Euphues" is reprinted, by permission of Mr. Murray, from an article of mine on "Euphuism," in the 'Quarterly Review" for April, 1861

weepest for the death of thy daughter, and I laugh at the folly of the father, for greater vanitie is there in the minde of the mourner, then bitternesse in the death of the deceased. But shee was amiable, but yet sinful, but she was young and might haue liued, but she was mortall and must haued dyed. I' but hir youth made thee often merry, I but thine age shold once make thee wise. I but hir greene yeares wer vnfit for death, I but thy hoary haires should dispyse life. Knowest thou not Eubulus that life is the gift of God, death the due of Nature, as we receiue the one as a benefite, so must we abide the other of necessitie. Wise men haue found that by learning which old men should know by experience, that in life ther is nothing sweete, in death nothing sowre. The Philosophers accompted it ye chiefest felicitie neuer to be borne, the second soone to dye. And what hath death in it so hard yat 2 we should take it so heauily is it straunge to see yat cut off, which by nature is made to be cut? or that melten, which is fit to be melted? or that burnt which is apt to be burnt, or man to passe that is born to perish? But thou grauntest that she should haue dyed, and yet art thou griued that she is dead. Is the death the better if ye life be longer? no truely. For as neither he yat singeth most, or praieth longest, or ruleth the sterne oftenest, but he yat doth it best deserueth greatest praise, so he, not yat hath most yeares but many vertues, nor he that hath graiest haires but greatest goodnes lyueth longest. The chiefe beauty of life consisteth not in the numbring of many dayes, but in the vsing of vertuous dooings. Amongst plants those be best estemed that in shortest time bring foorth much fruite. Be not the fairest flowers gathered when they be freshest? the youngest beasts killed for sacrifice bicause they be finest? The measure of life is not length, but honestie, neither do we enter into life to the ende we should set downe ye day of our death, but therfore do we liue, that we may obey him yat made vs, and be willing to dye when he shal cal vs. But I will aske thee this question, whether thou wayle the losse of thy daughter for thine owne sake or hirs, if for thine own sake, bicause thou didst hope in thine age to recouer comfort, then is thy loue to hir but for thy commoditie, and therein thou art but an vnkinde father, if for hirs, then dost thou mistrust her saluation, and therein thou shewest thy vnconstant faith. Thou shouldst not weepe that she hath runne fast, but that thou hast gone so slow, neither ought it to grieue thee that shee is gone to hir home with a few yeares, but that thou art to go with many. But why goe I about to vse a long processe to a lyttle purpose? The bud is blasted as soone as the blowne Rose, the winde shaketh off the blossome, as well as ye fruit. Death spareth neither ye golden locks nor the hoary head. I meane not to make a treatise in the praise of Death, but to note the necessitie, neither to write what ioyes they receiue that dye, but to shew what paines they endure that liue. And thou which art euen in the wane of thy life, whom nature hath nourished so long, that now she beginneth to nod, maist wel know what griefes, what labours, what paines are in age, and yet wouldst thou be either young to endure many, or elder to bide more. But thou thinkest it honourable to go to the graue with a gray head, but I deeme it more glorious to be buried with an honest name. Age saist thou is the blessing of God, yet the messenger of death. Descend therefore into thine owne conscience, consider the goodnesse that commeth by the ende, and the badnesse which was by the beginning, take the death of thy daughter patiently, and looke for thine

I, ay; here and in following phrases.

2 Yat, that. The use of "y" for "th" in "that" and "the" arose accidentally from the resemblance of the obsolete single letter for "th," called "thorn," when hurriedly written, to an old written y.

own speedely, so shalt thou performe both the office of an honest man, and the honor of an aged father, and so farewell.

Euphues to Botonio, to take his exile patiently.

If I were as wise to giue thee counsaile, as I am willing to do thee good, or as able to set thee at libertie as desirous to haue thee free, thou shouldest neither want good aduice to guide thee, nor sufficient help to restore thee. Thou takest it heauily that thou shouldest be accused without colour, and exiled without cause: and I thinke thee happy to be so well rid of the court and bee so voyde of crime. Thou sayst banishment is bitter to the free born, and I deeme it the better if thou bee without blame. There bee manye meates which are sower in the mouth and sharpe in the Mawe, but if thou mingle them with sweete sawces, they yeelde both a pleasaunt tast and wholesome nourishment. Diuers coulours offende the eyes, yet hauing greene among them, whette the sight. I speake this to this ende, that though thy exile seeme grieuous to thee, yet guiding thy selfe with the rules of Philosophie it shal bee more tollerable, hee that is colde doth not couer himselfe with care but with clothes, he that is washed in the rayne, dryeth himselfe by the fire, not by his fancie, and thou which art banished oughtest not with teares to bewayle thy hap, but with wisdome to heale thy hurt.

Nature hath giuen no man a country, no more then she hath a house or lands, or liuings. Socrates wold neither cal himself an Athenian, neither a Græcian but a citizen of ye world. Plato would neuer accompt him banished yat had ye Sun, Fire, Aire, Water and Earth, that he had before, where he felt the Winters blast and the Summers blaze, where ye same Sun, and the same Moone shined, whereby he noted that euery place was a country to a wise man, and al parts a pallace to a quiet mind. But thou art driuen out of Naples? yat is nothing. All the Athenians dwel not in Colliton, nor euery Corinthian in Græcia, nor al the Lacedemonians in Pitania. How can any part of the world be distant farre from the other, when as the Mathematicians set down that the earth is but a point being compared to ye heauens. Learne of ye Bee as wel to gather Hunny of ye weede as the flowre, and out of farre countryes to liue, as wel as in thine own. He is to be laughed at which thincketh ye Moone better at Athens then at Corinth, or the Hunny of the Bee sweeter that is gathered in Hybla, then that which is made in Mantua? when it was cast in Diogenes teeth, yat the Sinoponetes had banished him Pontus, yea said he, I them of Diogenes. I may say to thee as Straconicus said to his guest, who demaunded what fault was punished with exile, and he aunswering false hoode, why then said Straconicus dost not thou practise deceit to the ende thou maist auoyd the misciefes that flow in thy country.

And surely if conscience be the cause thou art banished ye court, I accompt thee wise in being so precise yat by the vsing of vertue, thou maist be exciled the place of vice. Better it is for thee to liue with honesty in ye country then with honor in the court, and greater wil thy praise bee in flying vanitie, then thy pleasure in followinge traines. Choose that place for thy pallace which is most quyet, custome will make it thy countrey, and an honest life will cause it a pleasaunt lyning. Philip falling in the dust, and seeing the figure of his shape perfect in shew. Good God, said he, we desire ye whole earth, and see howe little serueth? Zeno hearing that this onely barke wherin all his wealth was shipped to haue perished, cryed out, Thou hast done wel Fortune to thrust mee into my gowne againe to embrace Philosophye. Thou hast therfore in my minde great cause to reioyce, that God by punishment hath compelled thee to strictnesse of life, which by lybertie might haue ben growen to lewdnesse. When thou hast not one place assigned

thee wherein to liue, but one forbidden thee which thou must leaue, then thou being denied but one, that excepted thou maist choose any. Moreouer this dispute with thy selfe, I beare no office wherby I should either for feare please the noble, or for gaine oppresse the needy. I am no arbiterer in doubtful cases wherby I should either peruerte Iustice, or incurre displeasure. I am free from the iniuries of the stronge, and malice of the weak. I am out of the broyles of the seditious, and haue escaped the threates of the ambitious. But as hee that hauing a faire Orchard, seeing one tree blasted, recomteth the discommoditie of that, and passeth ouer in silence the fruitefulnesse of the other. So hee that is banyshed doth alwayes lament the losse of his house, and the shame of his exile, not reioysing at the liberty, quietnes and pleasure that he enioyeth by that sweete punishment. The kings of Persia were deemed happy in that they passed their Winter in Babylon: in Media their Summer, and their Spring in Susis and certeinly the Exile in this may be as happy as any king in Persia, for he may at his leasure being at his owne pleasure, lead his Winter in Athens, his Summer in Naples, his Spring in Argos. But if he haue any busines in hand, he may study without trouble, sleepe without care, and wake at his wil without controlment. Aristotle must dine when it pleaseth Philip, Diogenes when it listeth Diogenes; the courtier suppeth when the king is satisfied, but Botonio may now eat when Botonio is an hungred. But thou saist that banishment is shamefull. No truely, no more then pouertie to the content, or graye haires to the aged. It is the cause that maketh thee shame, if thou wert banished vpon choler, greater is thy credit in susteining wrong, then thy enuyes in committing iniury, and lesse shame is it to thee to be oppressed by might, then theirs that wrought it for malice. But thou fearest thou shalt not thriue in a straunge nation, certeinly thou art more afraide then hurte. The Pine tree groweth as soone in Pharo as in Ida, ye Nightingale singeth as sweetly in the desearts, as in ye woods of Crete. The wise man liueth as wel in a far country as in his owne home. It is not the nature of the place but the disposition of the person, that maketh the lyfe pleasant. Seing therfore Botonio, that al the sea is apt for any fish, yat it is a bad ground where no flower wil grow, that to a wise man all lands are as fertile as his owne enheritance, I desire thee to temper the sharpnes of thy banishment with the sweetenes of the cause, and to measure the cleerenes of thyne owne conscience, with the spite of thy enimies quarrel, so shalt thou reuenge their malyce with patience, and endure thy banishment with pleasure.

Robert Greene, the dramatist, was also a novelist, and as novelist the most popular imitator of John Lyly's style. He was born at Norwich, was a dramatist two or three years older than Shakespeare, and one of those who had possession of the stage when Shakespeare came to London. Greene was

He

educated at St. John's College, Cambridge. followed the fashion of his day by travelling, immediately after graduation, in Italy and Spain. He commenced M.A. in 1583, and published in 1584 three prose love pamphlets. In 1585 or 1586 he married, and becoming more and more known as an ingenious writer, joined in tavern life among the wits, came into contact with worse company, yielded to temptation, and brought his life to a sad close in 1592. There are strains of repentance and selfreproach among his writings, with abundant evidence of a fine nature, and in his books and plays he was

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affects to be subject to epileptic fits, there is a figure Pandosto, whose fortunate success in wars against his foes, given. And this is the description of

A SHIFTER.

A shifter not long since, going ordinarily booted, got leave of a carrier to ride on his own hackney a little way from London, who, coming to the inn where the carrier that night should lodge, honestly set by the horse, and entered the hall, where were at one table some three-and-thirty clothiers, all returning to their several countries. Using as he could his courtesy, and being gentleman-like attired, he was at all their instance placed at the upper end by the hostess. After he had awhile eaten, he fell to discourse with such pleasaunce that all the table were greatly delighted therewith. In the midst of supper enters a noise of musicians, who with their instruments added a double delight. For them he requested his hostess to lay a shoulder of mutton and a couple of capons to the fire, for which he would pay, and then moved in their behalf to gather. Among them a noble was made, which he fingering was well blessed, for before he had not a cross; yet he promised to make it die an angel. To be short, in comes the reckoning, which, by reason of the free fare and excess of wine, amounted to each man's half-crown. Then he requested his hostess to provide so many possets of sack as would furnish the table, which he would bestow on the gentlemen to requite their extraordinary cost, and jestingly asked her if she would make him her deputy to gather the reckoning. She granted, and he did so, and on a sudden, feigning to hasten his hostess with the possets, he took his cloak, and finding fit time, he slipt out of doors, leaving the guests with their hostess to a new reckoning, and the musicians to a good supper, but they paid for the sauce.

Among Greene's novels-the Elizabethan novel being a short love story formed on the Italian pattern, and developed euphuistically-the most popular in its time was that upon which Shakespeare founded his play of "The Winter's Tale." It was first published in 1588, under the several titles of "The Pleasant and Delightful History of Dorastus and Faunia," and "Pandosto; or, the Triumph of Time."

PANDOSTO; OR, THE TRIUMPH OF TIME. Among all the passions wherewith human minds are perplexed, there is none that so galleth with restless despite, as the infectious sore of jealousy: for all other griefs are either to be appeased with sensible persuasions, to be cured with wholesome counsel, to be relieved in want, or by tract of time to be worn out, jealousy only excepted, which is so sauced with suspicious doubts and pinching mistrust, that whoso seeks by friendly counsel to rase out this hellish passion, is forthwith suspected that he giveth this advice to cover his own guiltiness. Yea, whoso is pained with this restless torment doubteth all, distrusteth himself, is always frozen with fear, and fired with suspicion, having that wherein consisteth all his joy to be the breeder of his misery. Yea, it is such a heavy enemy to that holy estate of matrimony, sowing between the married couples such deadly seeds of secret hatred, as love being once rased out by spiteful distrust, there oft ensueth bloody revenge, as this ensuing history manifestly proveth: wherein Pandosto, furiously incensed by causeless jealousy, procured the death of his most loving and loyal wife, and his own endless sorrow and misery.

In the country of Bohemia there reigned a king called

and bountiful courtesy towards his friends in peace, made him to be greatly feared and loved of all men. This Pandosto had to wife a lady called Bellaria, by birth royal, learned by education, fair by nature, by virtues famous, so that it was hard to judge whether her beauty, fortune, or virtue won the greatest commendations. These two, linked together in perfect love, led their lives with such fortunate content, that their subjects greatly rejoiced to see their quiet disposition. They had not been married long, but Fortune, willing to increase their happiness, lent them a son, so adorned with the gifts of nature, as the perfection of the child greatly augmented the love of the parents, and the joys of their commons; in so much that the Bohemians, to show their inward joys by outward actions, made bonfires and triumphs throughout all the kingdom, appointing jousts and tourneys for the honour of their young prince; whither resorted not only his nobles, but also divers kings and princes which were his neighbours, willing to show their friendship they ought to Pandosto, and to win fame and glory by their prowess and valour. Pandosto, whose mind was fraught with princely liberality, entertained the kings, princes, and noblemen with such submiss courtesy and magnifical bounty, that they all saw how willing he was to gratify their good wills, making a feast for subjects, which continued by the space of twenty days; all which time the jousts and tourneys were kept to the great content both of the lords and ladies there present. This solemn triumph being once ended, the assembly, taking their leave of Pandosto and Bellaria: the young son (who was called Garinter) was nursed up in the house to the great joy and content of the parents.

Fortune, envious of such happy success, willing to show some sign of her inconstancy, turned her wheel, and darkened their bright sun of prosperity, with the misty clouds of mishap and misery, For it so happened that Egistus, King of Sicilia, who in his youth had been brought up with Pandosto, desirous to show that neither tract of time nor distance of place could diminish their former friendship, provided a navy of ships, and sailed into Bohemia to visit his old friend and companion, who, hearing of his arrival, went himself in person, and his wife Bellaria, accompanied with a great train of lords and ladies, to meet Egistus; and espying him, alighted from his horse, embraced him very lovingly, protesting that nothing in the world could have happened more acceptable to him than his coming, wishing his wife to welcome his old friend and acquaintance: who (to show how she liked him whom her husband loved) entertained him with such familiar courtesy, as Egistus perceived himself to be very well welcome. After they had thus saluted and embraced each other, they mounted again on horseback and rode towards the city, devising3 and recounting how, being children, they had passed their youth in friendly pastimes: where, by the means of the citizens, Egistus was received with triumphs and shows in such sort, that he marvelled how on so small a warning they could make such preparation.

Passing the streets thus with such rare sights, they rode on to the palace, where Pandosto entertained Egistus and his Sicilians with such banqueting and sumptuous cheer, so royally, as they all had cause to commend his princely liberality; yea, the very basest slave that was known to come from Sicilia was used with such courtesy, that Egistus might

1 Ought, owned, owed. The first meaning of the word, from First English "agan," to own or owe; past "'áhte." "Owe" is used now in a derived sense from own. The words are the same.

2 Shakespeare followed the novel in giving a coast to Bohemia.

3 Devising, narrating. Chaucer used the word in the same sense, "As I will you devise."

easily perceive how both he and his were honoured for his friend's sake. Bellaria, who in her time was the flower of courtesy, willing to show how unfeignedly she loved her husband by his friend's entertainment, used him likewise so familiarly that her countenance betrayed how her mind was affected towards him: oftentimes coming herself into his bedchamber, to see that nothing should be amiss to mislike him. This honest familiarity increased daily more and more betwixt them; for Bellaria, noting in Egistus a princely and bountiful mind, adorned with sundry and excellent qualities, and Egistus, finding in her a virtuous and courteous disposition, there grew such a secret uniting of their affections, that the one could not well be without the company of the other: in so much that when Pandosto was busied with such urgent affairs, that he could not be present with his friend Egistus, Bellaria would walk with him into the garden, where they two in private and pleasant devices would pass away the time to both their contents. This custom still continuing betwixt them, a certain melancholy passion entering the mind of Pandosto drove him into sundry and doubtful thoughts. First he called to mind the beauty of his wife Bellaria, the comeliness and bravery of his friend Egistus, thinking that love was above all laws and therefore to be stayed with no law; that it was hard to put fire and flax together without burning; that their open pleasures might breed his secret displeasures. He considered with himself that Egistus was a man, and must needs love; that his wife was a woman, and therefore subject unto love, and that where fancy forced, friendship was of no force.

These and such like doubtful thoughts a long time smothering in his stomach, began at last to kindle in his mind a secret mistrust which, increased by suspicion, grew at last to be a flaming jealousy that so tormented him as he could take no rest. He then began to measure all their actions, and to misconstrue of their too private familiarity, judging that it was not for honest affection but for disordinate fancy, so that he began to watch them more narrowly to see if he could get any true or certain proof to confirm his doubtful suspicion. While thus he noted their looks and gestures, and suspected their thoughts and meanings, they two seely 1 souls who doubted nothing of this his treacherous intent, frequented daily each other's company, which drove him into such a frantic passion, that he began to bear a secret hate to Egistus, and a lowering countenance to Bellaria, who, marvelling at such unaccustomed frowns, began to cast beyond the moon, and to enter into a thousand sundry thoughts, which way she should offend her husband: but finding in herself a clear conscience, ceased to muse, until such time as she might find fit opportunity to demand the cause of his dumps. In the meantime Pandosto's mind was so far charged with jealousy, that he did no longer doubt, but was assured (as he thought) that his friend Egistus had entered a wrong point in his tables, and so had played him false play; whereupon desirous to revenge so great an injury, he thought best to dissemble the grudge with a fair and friendly countenance: and so under the shape of a friend, to show him the trick of a foc. Devising with himself a long time how he might best put away Egistus without suspicion of treacherous murder, he concluded at last to poison him which opinion, pleasing his humour, he became resolute in his determination, and the better to bring the matter to pass he called unto him his cupbearer, with whom in secret he brake the matter: promising to him for the performance thereof to give him a thousand

1 Seely, simple, innocent; now spelt silly. From First English "sæl," prosperity, blessedness. "Sælig" was the adjective which has taken its modern sense, because a "blessed innocent" is full of faith and easily deceived by liars.

crowns of yearly revenues. His cupbearer, either being of a good conscience, or willing for fashion sake, to deny such a bloody request, began with great reasons to persuade Pandosto from his determinate mischief; showing him what an offence murder was to the gods: how such unnatural actions did more displease the heavens, than men, and that causeless cruelty did seldom or never escape without revenge: he laid before his face, that Egistus was his friend, a king, and one that was come into his kingdom to confirm a league of perpetual amity betwixt them; that he had, and did show him a most friendly countenance: how Egistus was not only honoured of his own people by obedience, but also loved of the Bohemians for his courtesy. And that if he now should, without any just or manifest cause, poison him, it would not only be a great dishonour to his majesty, and a means to sow perpetual enmity between the Sicilians and the Bohemians, but also his own subjects would repine at such treacherous cruelty. These and such like persuasions of Franion (for so was his cupbearer called) could no whit prevail to dissuade him from his devilish enterprise: but remaining resolute in his determination, his fury so fired with rage, as it could not be appeased with reason, he began with bitter taunts to take up his man, and to lay before him two baits-preferment and death saying that if he would poison Egistus, he would advance him to high dignities; if he refused to do it of an obstinate mind, no torture should be too great to requite his disobedience. Franion, seeing that to persuade Pandosto any more, was but to strive against the stream, consented, as soon as an opportunity would give him leave, to despatch Egistus: wherewith Pandosto remained somewhat satisfied, hoping now he should be fully revenged of such mistrusted injuries, intending also as soon as Egistus was dead, to give his wife a sop of the same sauce, and so be rid of those which were the cause of his restless sorrow. While thus he lived in this hope, Franion being secret in his chamber, began to meditate with himself in these terms:

"Ah, Franion, treason is loved of many, but the traitor hated of all: unjust offences may for a time escape without danger, but never without revenge. Thou art servant to a king, and must obey at command; yet, Franion, against law and conscience, it is not good to resist a tyrant with arms, nor to please an unjust king with obedience. What shalt thou do? Folly refused gold, and frenzy preferment: wisdom seeketh after dignity, and counsel keepeth for gain. Egistus is a stranger to thee, and Pandosto thy sovereign: thou hast little cause to respect the one, and oughtest to have great care to obey the other. Think this, Franion, that a pound of gold is worth a ton of lead, great gifts are little gods: and preferment to a mean man is a whetstone to courage; there is nothing sweeter than promotion, nor lighter than report: care not then though most count thee a traitor, so all call thee rich. Dignity, Franion, advanceth thy posterity, and evil report can but hurt thyself. Know this, where eagles build, falcons may prey; where lions haunt, foxes may steal. Kings are known to command, servants are blameless to consent fear not thou then to lift at Egistus, Pandosto shall bear the burden. Yea, but, Franion, conscience is a worm that ever biteth, but never ceaseth: that which is rubbed with the stone Galactites will never be hot. Flesh dipped in the sea Ægeum will never be sweet: the herb Trigion being once bit with an aspis, never groweth, and conscience once stained with innocent blood, is always tied to a guilty remorse. Prefer thy content before riches, and a clear mind before dignity; so, being poor, thou shalt have rich peace; or else rich, thou shalt enjoy disquiet."

Franion having muttered out these or such like words, sceing either he must die with a clear mind, or live with a

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