Tarov ays that Endymion, a shepherd, was But the intercourse between

seios d by the moon.

them was of a strange and singular kind. For while he lay reposing according to his habit in a natural cave under the rocks of Latmos, the moon would come down from heaven and kiss him as he slept, and go up into heaven again. And yet this idleness and sleeping did not hurt his fortunes; for the moon in the mean time so ordered it that his sheep fattened and increased exceedingly; insomuch that no shepherd had finer flocks or fuller.

The fable relates (as I take it) to the dispositions and manners of princes. For princes being full of thoughts and prone to suspicions, do not easily admit to familiar intercourse men that are perspicacious and curious, whose minds are always on the watch and nover sleep; but choose rather such as are of a quiet and complying disposition, and submit to their will without inquiring further, and show like persons ignorant and unobserving, and as if asleep; displaying simple obedience rather than fine observation. With men of this kind princes have always been glad to descend from t'en gratress the moon from heaven: snd to lax ab der mod, t'e continual wearing of mloc, bus***** vandon; and to converse

whom those only were in favour who, though they really understood him, yet dissembled their knowledge with a pertinacity which seemed like dulness. The same thing was observable in Louis XI. of France, a most cautious and crafty king. The circumstance of the cave also, in which according to the fable Endymion used to lie, is not without its elegance. For those who enjoy this kind of favour with princes have commonly some pleasant places of retirement to invite them to, where they may have the comfort of leisure and relaxation of mind, discharged of the incumbrances which their position lays upon them. And it is true that favourites of this class are commonly prosperous in their private fortunes; for princes though they may not raise them to honours, yet since their favour springs from true affection and not from considerations of utility, they generally enrich them with their bounty.

IX.

THE SISTER OF THE GIANTS;

OR FAME.

THE poets tell us that the Giants, being brought forth by Earth, made war upon Jupiter and the gods, and were routed and vanquished with thunderbolts, whereupon Earth, in rage at the wrath of the gods, to revenge her sons brought forth Fame, youngest sister of the giants.

The meaning of the fable appears to be this: by Earth is meant the nature of the common people; always swelling with malice towards their rulers, and

hatching revolutions. This upon occasion given brings forth rebels and seditious persons, who with wicked audacity endeavour the overthrow of princes. And when these are suppressed, the same nature of the common people, still leaning to the worse party and impatient of tranquillity, gives birth to rumours and malignant whispers, and querulous fames, and defamatory libels, and the like, tending to bring envy upon the authorities of the land: so that seditious fames differ from acts of rebellion, not in race and parentage, but only in sex: the one being feminine and the other masculine.

X.

ACTEON AND PENTHEUS;

OR CURIOSITY.

THE curiosity and unhealthy appetite of man for the discovery of secrets, is reproved by the ancients in two examples: one of Actaon, the other of Pentheus. Actavon having unawares and by chance seen Diana naked, was turned into a stag and worried by his own dogs. Pentheus having climbed a tree for the purpose of seeing the secret mysteries of Bacchus, was struck with madness; and the form of his madness was this: he thought everything was double; saw two suns, and again two cities of Thobes: insomuch that when he sot out towards Thebes, he presently saw another Thebes behind, which made him go back; and so was kept continually going backwards and forwards without

The first of these fables seems to relate to the secrets of princes, the other to the secrets of divinity. For whoever becomes acquainted with a prince's secrets. without leave and against his will, is sure to incur his hatred and then, knowing that he is marked and that occasions are sought against him, he lives the life of a stag; a life full of fears and suspicions. Often too it happens that his own servants and domestics, to curry favour with the prince, accuse and overthrow him. For when the displeasure of the prince is manifest, a man shall scarcely have a servant but will betray him; and so he may expect the fate of Actæon.

The calamity of Pentheus is of a different kind. For the punishment assigned to those who with rash audacity, forgetting their mortal condition, aspire by the heights of nature and philosophy, as by climbing a tree, to penetrate the divine mysteries, is perpetual inconstancy, and a judgment vacillating and perplexed. For since the light of nature is one thing and the light of divinity another, they are as men that see two suns; and since the actions of life and the determinations of the will depend upon the intellect, it follows that they are perplexed in will no less than in opinion, and cannot be consistent with themselves in which sense they in like manner see two Thebes; for by Thebes is meant the ends and aim of our actions; Thebes being Pentheus's home and resting-place. And hence it comes that they know not which way to turn, but being uncertain and fluctuating as to the sum and end of all, they are carried round and round from one thing to another, according to the impulse of the moment.

THE story of Orpheus, which though so well known has not yet been in all points perfectly well interpreted, seems meant for a representation of universal Philosophy. For Orpheus himself, a man admirable and truly divine, who being master of all harmony subdued and drew all things after him by sweet and gentle measures, may pass by an easy metaphor for philosophy personified. For as the works of wisdom surpass in dignity and power the works of strength, so the labours of Orpheus surpass the labours of Hercules.

Orpheus, moved by affection for his wife who had been snatched from him by an untimely death, resolved to go down to Hell and beg her back again of the Infernal Powers; trusting to his lyre. Nor was he disappointed. For so soothed and charmed were the internal powers by the sweetness of his singing and playing, that they gave him leave to take her away with him; but upon one condition; she was to follow behind him, and he was not to look back until they had reached the confines of light. From this however in the impatience of love and anxiety he could not refrain. Before he had quite reached the point of safety, he looked back; and so the covenant was broken, and she suddenly fell away from him and was hurried back into Hell. From that time Orpheus betook himself to solitary places, a melancholy man and averse from the sight of women; where by the same sweetness of his song and hyre he drew to him all kinds of wild beasts,