238 DUDLEY, THIRD LORD NORTH not moving, and that nature is the true Physitian placed by God in every man for his preservation, and himself but a Professor of a most conjecturall Art: so that who commits himself from nature to him, takes himself from a seeing to a blind guide. Though it be incident to his Colledge to be over peremptory, as being used to the authority of prescriptions, and prostrate sick Patients, yet he will avoid it; for a discreet, plausible, and winning carriage upon the Patients good opinion and affection is the one halfe of the cure. He will not contemn an honest Emperick, knowing that his own Art grew but from experience often casuall, and that Gods blessings are not restrained to their Colledge and old Books. He will not bee sparing of his interrogatories, nor of his attention to his Patients relation, who being sick, and paying, ought to bee born with and humoured; But an humorous Physitian is a most intolerable disease, for all is but too little to effect a true information, and to doe well, he will often suspect, that the disease may grow from the minde. In case of which discovery he will no lesse industriously indeavour the Cure of the body by it, and his good precepts and instructions thoroughly urged to that purpose, then by any other means, it being often the onely way of Cure, but nothing more ordinarily neglected by such as only affect to say something to draw a Fee, but wil be sure not to trouble their own mindes to cure their Patients: But from such God deliver me, who will as little admit them to the tryall of my disease and constitution, as the Law doth a Butcher to be a Juror. Purging Medicines shall bee his last refuge, after prescription of convenient exercise, order, and dyet, which by some of the best are affirmed to bee sufficient to cure any disease curable. Hee will affect chearefulnesse of countenance and fashion, for it is a Cordiall to the sick, but he will take heed of an unseasonable merriment, which is often as absurd as unwelcome to the seriousnesse of a sick man. s THOMAS FORD (f. 1647) The Times Anatomiz'd, In severall Characters. 30 characters. By Ford assures his readers' Certainly to play the Foole in this age, when the whole World's distracted, is not only tolerable, but necessary.' But he cannot free himself from the shadow. About ten of his pieces are written in the style of the contemporary essay, to which they contribute a feeling for rhythm that was still rare. An inconstant Man He is a wandring Star, never fixed in any resolution. Whatsoever he meant or said, is presently altered, for he meant it not long enough to take impression, his strongest resolutions being rather tack'd then fastned. He is always building and pulling down, striving to out-vey time it selfe in mutability in the best things continuance is quarrell sufficient, and novelty the highest style of commendation in the meanest. His understanding writes upon his wit, as men write on water, no sooner written, but forgotten. He is a stranger to himselfe, and all his actions so different from another, that one would think it impossible they should all come out of one the same shop. A piece of clay, tempered with running water, which keeps his wit in a perpetuall motion. He often resolves, seldome Acts, being rul'd by passion, not reason. He is the best enemy that can be, but the worst friend, for 'tis a wonder if his love or hatred, last AN INCONSTANT MAN 241 so long as a wonder. All his purposes are built upon the floting Islands of his severall humours: but Ile here cast anchor, and leave him to the winde of his own will. Rebellion Is a poysonous weed growing up in a Commonwealth, by the fatnesse of the soyle. It may flourish for a while, but the sword of justice doth in the end cut it down, being whetted by time and divine revenge. It is a true Viper, for as the sheeviper biteth off the head of the hee, and thereby conceives with young, & those young prove her own destruction, making their birth her death; and thus doth Rebellion when it hath bitten off the head of government, it proves its own destruction, and will be the end of the beginners thereof; And not seldom, it is made its owne scourge. For though Majesty may be eclipsed for a season, yet will it at length breake out againe into its force like the Sun in his greatest brightnesse, and dispell those misty fogs and vapours that before had clouded it. Whilest the two petty combatants (in the Fable) strove which should overcome the other, they were both made a prey unto the royall Eagle: ambition and discontent are the two main wheels this Engine moves on, and because it is so ugly in it selfe, that all men would detest it, it seldome appears but with a borrowed face for the good of the Common-wealth, and if it get hold on Religion, it flies (too truly) like wilde-fire. M.A. Of War WAR is a Tragoedy, that most commonly destroyes the Scene whereon 'tis acted. An unwelcome guest that devoures his Host. The cursed off-spring of two blessed parents, Peace and Plenty, both which it destroyes and devoures, as Pharoes leane kine did the fat ones. Peace chains up al furies & mischiefs, which the sword of Warre lets loose. War is a Wolfe whose pestilent breath stops the mouth of the Laws, whose voyce cannot be heard for the cryes of oppressed people, the effect, and the roaring of Cannons, and clashing of Armes, the sadder causes. Wars griping hand squeezeth and scattereth what good husbandry had raked together in time of peace. Time of War is the true Iron Age, for it converts all into iron, which iron will be master of all mens gold. Warre never comes but attended with a train of devouring followers: Destruction and that usually goe hand in hand. This Generall Warre hath so universall a command, that no particular man can have any command of his now. But of all Wars, none so uncivill as civill War, other wars kill foes, but this friends, in this, one member rises up against another. If a Kingdom divided from others cannot stand, a Kingdom divided against it self must needs fall. But the uglinesse of War will appeare better, or rather worse, by viewing the beauty of Peace. Death DEATH is that universall winde to which all mortals, become wind-fals from the tree of life. |