{"collection":"philosophy-ethics","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_47993/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_47993","id":"gutenberg_47993","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/47993","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Courtesy -- Early works to 1800","Etiquette -- Early works to 1800"],"text":"Transcriber's Notes: In this text, a caret character indicates that the\nfollowing letter is superscripted in the original. Other notes follow\nthe text.\n\n\n\n\n                        THE HUMANIST'S LIBRARY\n\n                       Edited by Lewis Einstein\n\n                                 VIII\n\n                               GALATEO\n                            OF MANNERS AND\n                              BEHAVIOURS\n\n\n\n\n                                  A\n                             RENAISSANCE\n                            COURTESY-BOOK\n\n                               GALATEO\n                       OF MANNERS & BEHAVIOURS\n\n                                  BY\n                         GIOVANNI DELLA CASA\n\n                       With an Introduction by\n                            J. E. SPINGARN\n\n                         GRANT RICHARDS LTD.\n                                LONDON\n\n\n\n\n                   Copyright, 1914, by D. B. Updike\n\n\n\n\nA TABLE OF CONTENTS\n\n\n     Introduction                                    ix\n\n     The Dedication                                   3\n\n     Commendatory Verses                              6\n\n     The Treatise of Master Jhon Della Casa          13\n\n     Bibliographical Note                           121\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\n\nOne day, in Rome, about the middle of the sixteenth century, the Bishop\nof Sessa suggested to the Archbishop of Benevento that he write a\ntreatise on good manners. Many books had touched the subject on one\nor more of its sides, but no single book had attempted to formulate\nthe whole code of refined conduct for their time and indeed for all\ntime. And who could deal with the subject more exquisitely than the\nArchbishop of Benevento? As a scion of two distinguished Florentine\nfamilies (his mother was a Tornabuoni), as an eminent prelate and\ndiplomatist, an accomplished poet and orator, a master of Tuscan prose,\na frequenter of all the fashionable circles of his day, the author\nof licentious capitoli, and more especially as one whose morals were\ndistinctly not above reproach, he seemed eminently fitted for the\noffice of arbiter elegantiarum.\n\nSo it was that some years later, in disfavour with the new Pope, and\nin the retirement of his town house in Venice and his villa in the\nMarca Trivigiana, with a gallant company of gentlemen and ladies to\nshare his enforced but charming leisure, the Archbishop composed the\nlittle book that had been suggested by the Bishop of Sessa, and that,\nas a compliment to its \"only begetter,\" bears as a title his poetic or\nacademic name.\n\nThere have been modern scholars who have wondered that so eminent a\nprelate, and so austere and passionate a lyric poet (for the licentious\ncapitoli were best forgotten), \"should have thought it worthy of his\npains to formulate so many rules of simple decency,\" descending even\nto such trifles as the use of the napkin, the avoidance of immodest\ntopics, and the details of personal apparel. It might, however, be\npointed out that it is just because such distinguished men as our\nArchbishop formulated these details for us in the Renaissance that they\nhave become part and parcel of our social code; that to quarrel with\nthe Archbishop on this score were not unlike quarrelling with Euclid\nbecause he formulated laws of geometry which mathematicians nowadays\nleave to schoolboys; and that the serious preoccupation with manners,\ncharacteristic of the Middle Ages and the Renaissance, made it possible\nfor modern European society to form an organic social whole, with a\nmodel of the finished gentleman, more or less the same in all countries\nand all periods.\n\nBut the fact is that it is the didactic form and tone, and not the\ncontent, of the Archbishop's treatise with which our modern taste has\nits quarrel. If books on etiquette are no longer in fashion, it is not\nbecause preoccupation with the details of social conduct has ceased,\nbut because we no longer express it in the form of rules or codes. Our\nplays, our novels, our essays, are mosaics of reflections on the very\nthings that interested the courts and coteries of the Renaissance. When\na modern writer wishes to enforce the idea that such apparent trifles\nare of real concern, he no longer says: \"It is important that every\nyoung man should pay careful heed to the little tricks of manners,\"\nbut he puts into the mouth of one of his characters, as Mr. Galsworthy\ndoes, such a speech as this: \"For people brought up as we are, to have\ndifferent manners is worse than to have different souls.... How are you\ngoing to stand it; with a woman who----? It's the little things.\" The\nArchbishop of Benevento, if permitted to read passages like this in\nmodern plays and essays, would recognize his own ideas in all of them;\nhe could point to dialogues and discourses of his own time in which\ndogmatic precepts were in like manner disguised as witty and elegant\nconversation; but because he was the product of an age of formal\ntreatises, exquisitely written, he would have insisted on his right to\nstate precepts as precepts, and to sum them up in such a rounded code\nas he has given us in the \"Galateo.\"\n\nThe \"Galateo,\" then, is a summary of the refined manners of the later\nRenaissance. For centuries such books had been written, but out of\nthem, and from the practices of his own age, Della Casa attempted to\nselect the essential details, and to develop, for the first time, a\nnorm of social conduct,--in a book, above all, that should be a work\nof art, and should conform to all the graces and elegancies of Tuscan\nspeech. The details are subordinated to a philosophy of manners, which\nis lightly sketched, on the assumption that subtle reasoning would\nbe unintelligible to the youthful auditor to whom the precepts are\ntheoretically addressed, but which has an importance of its own, as\ncharacteristic of the attitude of a whole epoch. When Della Casa calls\ngood manners \"a virtue, or something closely akin to virtue,\" he is\nmaking a mere concession to the ideals of his day. The moralists of the\nlater Renaissance, or Catholic Reaction, felt it necessary to defend\nevery social practice on the ground of its real or imaginary relation\nto virtue, as the only thing which can ever justify anything to a\nmoralist. So the sixteenth century theorists of \"honour\" called honour\na form of virtue; those who argued about the nature of true nobility\nmade it to consist of virtue (a theory, indeed, as old as Menander and\nJuvenal); just as the moralists of the Middle Ages had justified \"love\"\nby calling it a virtue, too.\n\nFor Della Casa, however, the real foundation of good manners is to be\nfound in the desire to please. This desire is the aim or end of all\nmanners, teaching us alike to follow what pleases others and to avoid\nwhat displeases them. This is a far cry from virtue, which in its\nvery essence would seem to be divorced from the idea of conciliating\nthe moods or whims of those about us; unless we assume that perhaps\nthe slight personal sacrifice involved in yielding to such whims was\nthe only form of virtue which a fashionable prelate might care to\nrecognize. In order to give pleasure, we are told, it is essential to\npay heed to the way a thing is done as well as to what is done; it is\nnot enough to do a good deed, but it must be done with a good grace.\nThat is to say, good manners are concerned with the form which actions\ntake, as morals are concerned with their content; and from the social\nstandpoint, the manner as well as the content of an act must be passed\nupon in any judgement of it. And, finally, if the desire to please is\nthe aim of good manners, the guide, or test, or norm is common usage or\ncustom, which no less than reason furnishes the laws of courtesy, and\nwhich in a sense may be said to be the equivalent in manners of what\nduty is in morals.\n\nIt will be seen that Della Casa does not concern himself with that\nconception of manners which relates it to a sense of personal dignity,\nand which is summed up in Locke's dictum that the foundation of good\nbreeding is \"not to think meanly of ourselves and not to think meanly\nof others.\" This side of the social ideal was summed up for the later\nRenaissance in the term \"honour,\" which formed the theme of many\nseparate treatises in the sixteenth century. The \"Galateo\" deals solely\nwith those little concessions to the tastes and whims of those around\nus which are necessitated by the fact that cultivated gentlemen are not\nhermits, and must consider the customs and habits of others if they\nwish to form part of a smoothly organized and polished society. We\nmay prefer to call this \"considerateness for the feelings of others,\"\nbut, essentially, most justifications of good manners depend on the\nsame idea of conciliating the accidental and immediate circle in\nwhich we happen to move, at the expense of wider interests or larger\ngroups; and both \"considerateness\" and \"the desire to please\" fail as\njustifications, or at least as incitements, as soon as the idea of\nsuccess within a definite circle is eliminated or submerged.\n\nIt is unnecessary, however, to break so fragile a butterfly as Della\nCasa's philosophy on any wheel of serious argument. He is interested\nsolely in the superficial aspects of life, and an intricate or\nconsistent philosophy would have served no other purpose than to\nalienate or confuse minds concerned, like his own, solely with life on\nits superficial side. On the basis of such ideas,--to please others;\nto win their good graces and one's own ultimate success; to be sweetly\nreasonable in conforming to custom; to perform every act with an eye\nto its effect on those about us,--on the basis of ideas as elementary\nyet appealing as these, he formulates in detail the precepts of conduct\nfor daily human intercourse in a refined society.\n\nIn the first place, there are the things that are to be avoided because\nthey offend the senses. Coughing, sneezing, or yawning in someone's\nface, greediness or carelessness in eating, and various sides of our\nphysical life fall within this category. We are not only to avoid\nindiscretion in such matters, but we are to refrain from mentioning in\nconversation whatever might be indelicate as a physical act. In the\nsecond place, there are other indiscretions that have no such basis in\nthe mere senses, and refer solely to the mental attitude or to the mere\npersonal pride of our neighbours. To read a letter or to fall asleep\nin company, to turn your back to your neighbour, to be careless about\none's way of standing or sitting, to be absent-minded or touchy about\ntrifles, are social sins of this second kind. The art of conversation\nwas the mainstay of social life in the Italian Renaissance, and to it\nDella Casa naturally, at this point, devotes most of his attention. To\nbe obscene, or blasphemous, or too subtle; to dwell on inappropriate\nthings (as when repeating a friar's sermon to a young lady); to brag or\nlie; to be too ceremonious or too servile; to tell a story awkwardly or\nto mention indelicate matters without some polite periphrasis;--these\nare some of the chief sins against this art of arts. There is very much\nthat is modern in the diatribe against the ceremoniousness that was\nthen creeping into Italy from Spain, for sixteenth century Venice was\nnot unlike nineteenth century England in its preference for ease and\nsimplicity, and a grave and reasonable charm of manner. Finally, there\nare the details of individual conduct dictated essentially by custom,\nwithout apparent regard to the physical comfort or personal pride of\nthose about us; and under this third heading, Della Casa summarizes the\nvarious problems of personal apparel, table manners, and the like.\n\nDella Casa invents no new laws for conduct, deduces no new theories\nof courtesy or manners; even the details are to be found in many of\nhis mediaeval and Renaissance predecessors. What he adds, in precept\nor dictum or anecdote, is the fruit both of his own social experience\nand of his classical studies. His book is, like Castiglione's\n\"Cortegiano\" and Sannazzaro's \"Arcadia,\" almost a mosaic of Greek\nand Latin borrowings. Aristotle's \"Nicomachean Ethics,\" Plutarch's\nmoral treatises, the \"Characters\" of Theophrastus, and the moral and\nrhetorical works of Cicero are the chief sources, although none of\nthese books is devoted solely, like his, to the superficial conduct\nof men among their equals and superiors. But even to these he adds\nsomething that was born out of those refinements of life which in\nRenaissance Italy had been developed more highly than elsewhere, and\nhad made the fashions of Urbino, Mantua, and Ferrara the models of\nall courts and coteries, wherever the Renaissance gained a foothold\nbeyond the Alps. In the courts and cities of Italy, combining alike the\natmosphere of the mediaeval court and the ancient city,--combining,\nthat is to say, \"courtoisie\" and \"civilitas\" (urbanitas),--the modern\n\"gentleman,\" as distinguished from his classical or romantic forbears,\nmay be said to have been born.\n\n\"Courtesy,\" as its very name indicates, is the flowering of that spirit\nwhich first shone in the little courts of mediaeval Provence and\nFrance, but which did not, perhaps, find its most complete expression,\nas a philosophy of life, until Castiglione wrote the \"Cortegiano\" at\nthe beginning of the sixteenth century. By that time the small court\nwas already beginning to give way to the larger court or the cultivated\ncoterie as the overwhelming centre of social influence in Europe,\nalthough the glory of Ferrara and Mantua and Urbino did not wane for\ntwo or three generations. But even before Castiglione's day the more\nhumane and graceful of courtly manners had spread beyond the confines\nof courts; and almost before he was dead, the name \"courtesy,\" in so\nfar as it still suggested a definite locus, no longer expressed the\nnew wide range of polished manners. Other words crept into cultivated\nspeech, so that, by the first half of the seventeenth century, we find\nin a little French treatise on manners, the \"Loix de la Galanterie,\"\nfour distinct terms for man regarded simply as a creature of social\nmanners,--courtisain, honn\u00eate homme, galant, and homme du monde. The\nfirst of these, as described by Castiglione, seemed to this author\nItalianate and obsolete, and the second, which had just furnished\nthe title to a treatise on \"L'Honn\u00eate Homme, ou l'Art de Plaire \u00e0 la\nCour,\" still retained something of its original moral significance,\nso that \"gallant\" and \"man of the world\" summed up, best of all, the\nsocial qualities of the life of the day. It is no longer the court\nbut the \"monde\" about which social life centres, not that other men\ndo not belong to the world (as this author na\u00efvely explains), but\nbecause we are concerned solely with that great world which is the home\nof fashion. This was the age of pr\u00e9cieux and pr\u00e9cieuses, and their\ncode was no longer that of the court of Urbino, as it flourished in\nCastiglione's day; it was the over-refined manners of the academies\nand coteries of Siena and Ferrara during the later sixteenth century\nthat furnished all that was essential in French pr\u00e9ciosit\u00e9. For the\nmoment \"gallantry\" sufficed to express good manners; but gradually it\ntoo became obsolete, and the Latin term \"civility,\" with its inclusion\nof all civil society rather than any group or class, superseded both\n\"gallantry\" and \"courtesy.\" \"Courtois is scarcely any longer used\nin cultivated conversation,\" Calli\u00e8res, a French wit of the end of\nthe seventeenth century, tells us, \"just as civilit\u00e9 has replaced\ncourtoisie.\" Indeed, the word \"courtoisie\" no longer finds a place\nin any but elevated or poetic language in France to-day; and English\nspeech, which has retained it after its original meaning has been lost,\nnow finds it necessary to distinguish between the courtly and the\ncourteous, by the former suggesting the content of what once, at least\nin part, belonged to the latter.\n\nIt is the \"civilitas\" of ancient Rome no less than the \"civilit\u00e9\" of\nseventeenth century France that is summed up in the \"Galateo.\" As\nCastiglione expresses the courtly ideals of the Middle Ages and the\nRenaissance, so Della Casa expresses the ideals of manners no longer\nrestricted to courts and courtiers, but common to all cultivated\ncivilians, the manners that were to form the basis of the European\ncode from that time to this. A long line of Italian predecessors had\nprepared the way for its coming. Indeed, every encyclopaedia, every\nromance of chivalry of the Middle Ages, contains precepts which find\na place in its pages. In the late thirteenth and early fourteenth\ncenturies, Provence and Italy had already begun to furnish books on\nsuch subjects. The \"Breviari d'Amor\" of Matfre Ermengaud includes\ninstruction in social conduct; the Italian, Bonvesin da Riva, had\nwritten a treatise on \"Fifty Courtesies of the Table;\" Francesco da\nBarberino had dealt at length with \"The Manners and Behaviour of\nWomen;\" still later, Sulpizio Verulano had written a treatise on the\ntable manners of children, which had found currency beyond the Alps;\nand most influential of all, the great Erasmus, in 1526, had dealt at\nlength with children's manners in his \"De Civilitate Morum Puerilium\nLibellus.\" Della Casa follows tradition, or is moved by the example\nof Erasmus, to the extent of representing his book as the discourse\nof an old man to a young one; but this is a mere subterfuge, and\nneither youth nor age figures in the precepts that follow. Unlike\nhis predecessors, he is concerned not merely with children, or with\nwomen, or with the ideals of a narrow class like the courtier, or with\nthe general moral life of which manners are only an ornament or a\ngarment. He has written a book that touches on the essentials of good\nmanners as they affect all classes and groups which aim at individual\nperfection,--not merely the young, but the mature; not merely men or\nwomen, but both sexes; not merely the courtier, but all cultivated\nclasses. In this sense, it is the first of its kind. It is a trifling\nand perhaps negligible kind, but at least this much distinction belongs\nto the book.\n\nThe \"Galateo\" is a product of the Catholic Reaction. It is one of\nthe results of the casuistry and the scholastic spirit which in every\nfield of intellectual activity were applied to the life and art that\nhad found creative expression in the age of the Renaissance. What\nthe Renaissance did or wrote, the Catholic Reaction reasoned about,\ncodified, and stereotyped. The creative poetry of the Renaissance was\nreduced to formulae in the treatises on the art of poetry of the later\nsixteenth century; politics and history found reasoned expression in\ntreatises on political theory and historical method; and in similar\nfashion, the social life of earlier Italy resulted in this age in\ntreatises on the practice and theory of society. It would be idle to\ncatalogue the various examples of this curious intellectual activity,\nfor the works of the sixteenth century dealing with this subject may\nbe numbered by hundreds, indeed by thousands. There were of course\ntreatises on court life and the ideals of the courtier, from the\n\"Cortegiano\" of Castiglione to the discourses of Domenichi and Tasso;\ntreatises on honour and the duel, of which Possevino's \"Dell'Onore\"\nis the type; treatises on the gentleman, his nature, his education,\nand his occupations, like \"Il Gentiluomo\" of Muzio Justinipolitano,\nthe quality of which may be tasted in English in Peacham's \"Compleat\nGentleman;\" treatises on love and the relations of the sexes, all\nsummed up in Equicola's encyclopaedic \"Libro di Natura d'Amore;\"\ntreatises on social amusements, parlor games, and the like, such as\nScipione Bargagli's \"I Trattenimenti\" and Ringhieri's \"Cento Giuochi\nLiberali e d'Ingegno;\" treatises on conversation, like Guazzo's \"Civil\nConversatione;\" and finally, a large number of treatises on the\neducation of women and children.\n\nAmong all these the \"Cortegiano,\" one of the earliest, stands out\npre\u00ebminently, just because it is the spontaneous product of the age of\nwhich it is also a reasoned expression; that is to say, because it is a\nwork of art of the Renaissance rather than a mere scholastic treatise\nof the Catholic Reaction. It is in no sense a courtesy-book; it is\nconcerned with principles of social conduct rather than with details\nof etiquette. But of all the mere courtesy-books, the \"Galateo\" alone\nsurvives; its name is current coin in Italian speech to-day; and in the\neighteenth century Dr. Johnson coupled it with the \"Cortegiano\" as \"two\nbooks yet celebrated in Italy for purity and elegance.\"\n\nA French scholar of our own day has said that for modern culture\n\"antiquity\" means ancient Greece and Rome, but that for modern manners\n\"antiquity\" means mediaeval France. Yet this is only in part true, and\nthese sixteenth century books sum up that combination of \"courtoisie\"\nand \"civilitas\" which gives its special note to Renaissance manners,\nand which distinguishes such books from their predecessors of the\ntwelfth to the fifteenth centuries. We have but to examine any\ntypical discussion of manners in mediaeval literature, such as the\nfamous description of the exquisite table manners of the Prioress in\nthe Prologue to the \"Canterbury Tales,\" or the passage in the \"Roman\nde la Rose\" from which Chaucer borrowed his own details, to note a\ncharacteristic distinction. Both of these passages are concerned with\nwomen; in the Middle Ages it was only a woman who was supposed to\nexhibit such refined delicacy in the details of conduct. Liberality,\nmagnanimity, courage, loyalty, chivalrousness to women, and courtesy\nin its larger sense,--these and other social virtues the mediaeval\nman was supposed to possess; but even in the courtly circles of\nProvence, it may be doubted whether the delicacy and refinement of\nevery movement which Chaucer ascribes to his Prioress would have been\nexpected of the courtliest knight. Moderation and discretion--called\n\"measure\" or \"manner\"--were the nearest mediaeval approach to these\nrequirements for men. Moderation may be said to be implicit in the\nideal of the gentleman in every age (indeed, it may be said to express\nthe limitations of the ideal, for moderation is as often a vice as a\nvirtue); but it was never more insisted on than in those ages when\nit was heeded least. For the Middle Ages, measure and good manners\nwere almost synonymous terms. \"Courtesy and measure are the same\nthing,\"--we are told in the fourteenth century French romance of\n\"Perceforest,\"--\"for manner and measure must be added to all your deeds\nif you would have great virtue.\" This may seem to be closely akin to\nDella Casa's statement that polished behaviour consists in adding a\ngood grace to a good deed; but to the hero of \"Perceforest,\" it would\nhave argued lack of \"measure,\" or discretion, for any man to adopt\ngraces and refinements so essentially feminine and unmanly as the table\nmanners of Chaucer's Prioress.\n\nIt was in the Renaissance, and in the courts and cities of Italy, that\nthe larger virtues of measure and magnanimity and liberality were first\nfelt to be inadequate, in men no less than in women and children,\nwithout the minor nuances of good manners. It was first felt there that\nin such matters as yawning or coughing in another's face, carelessness\nand greediness in eating, and other annoying traits, there could be\nonly one standard for both sexes and for all ages. If the mediaeval\nideal of \"courtoisie\" was based essentially on the relation of the\nsexes, without regard to individual instinct or social agreement in\nthe wider sense, the \"Galateo,\" in basing good manners on the desire\nto please others, wholly regardless of sex, represents a real advance,\nor at least a widening of social interest. On a basis of mediaeval\nmanners, then, the Renaissance superimposed the classical ideal of\n\"urbanitas\" or \"civilitas.\" In keeping with the spirit of his time,\nDella Casa rounded all this practice and precept into a code; and\nbecause to codify is to stereotype, he is in part responsible for the\nfact that the pattern he formulated has scarcely been altered from his\nday to ours.\n\nThere is one side of personal manners, however, in which there has\nbeen much change. When Bacon says that \"cleanness of body was ever\ndeemed to proceed from a due reverence to God,\" he can hardly be said\nto summarize theological opinion on the subject of cleanliness in the\npreceding fifteen hundred years. The rules of St. Benedict permit\nbathing only to invalids and the very old, except on rare occasions;\nalthough an eighteenth century French ecclesiastic insists that the\nchurch never objected to bathing, \"provided one indulges in it because\nof necessity and not for the sake of pleasure.\" But our concern is\nonly with secular society, and there we find that cleanliness was\nconsidered only in so far as it was a social necessity, if indeed then;\nas an individual necessity or habit it scarcely appears at all. Della\nCasa's standard of social manners applies here, too: cleanliness was\ndictated by the need of pleasing others, and not because of any inner\ndemand of individual instinct. But even in this Italy was in advance of\nher neighbours, if personal cleanliness represents social advance. In\nFrance, odorous greatness was the rule, and contemporary chronicles\nrecord the filthy personal habits of Henry of Navarre, the great Cond\u00e9,\nand Louis XIII. The \"Loix de la Galanterie,\" nearly a century after\nthe \"Galateo,\" advises the gallant to wash his hands every day--and\n\"his face almost as often.\" All this has changed. Personal cleanliness,\nbecause of its complete acceptance as an individual necessity, has\nvirtually ceased to touch the problem of social manners at any point;\nand cultivated society simply acts from time to time by formulating\nnew delicacies of neatness and cleanliness, makes them the habit of\nlife, and, forgetting them completely, passes on to new trifles of\nperfection. Perhaps we can judge this modern change without too great\nan exaggeration of its importance, if we bear in mind the paradox of\nthe modern wit, that \"dirt is evil chiefly as evidence of sloth, but\nthe fact remains that the classes that wash most are those that work\nleast.\"\n\nI have already pointed out that one of the limitations of that code of\ngood breeding which we have inherited from the Renaissance and which\nit is almost the mission of modern life to destroy, is that it looks\nmerely to the comfort of those around us at any accidental point of\ntime or place, often if not always at the expense of other groups,\nother classes, and wider interests. Those who inveigh against democracy\nas destructive of the \"finer graces\" of life have hit upon what is, for\ngood or evil, the very essence of its reformative programme. A modern\nidealist sums up this newer attitude when he says of the old code\nthat it asks us \"rather to let a million pine than hurt the feelings\nof a single man.\" But wholly apart from this, codes and rules have no\nmore justification in the art of life than in the arts of poetry and\npainting. Each individual soul must express its past and its present,\nits inheritance and its aspiration, in its own way; and it is as futile\nand vulgar to apply \"rules\" in the estimate of a life as it is in the\ncriticism of a poem or a picture. Children and novices and immature\nsocieties may obtain practical guidance from the empirical observations\nof those who have had experience, but in order to create a real life of\ntheir own, a real social atmosphere, they must reach the point where\nthe very rules that nurtured them no longer apply. To disregard every\nrule of good breeding is the symbol of real attainment in the creative\nart of living.\n\nBut this is no place to wage a battle for old codes or new ones. The\n\"Galateo\" describes habits and impulses that for centuries have moved\nthe souls of men, dictated their conduct, given them pleasure and pain,\nand that probably for centuries will continue to do so. Nothing that\nhas so stirred men and women, however trifling it may seem, can fail to\nhold a little human interest for those who call themselves Humanists.\n\n                                                    J. E. S.\n\nNew York, February, 1914.\n\n\n\n\nGalateo of Maister John Della Casa, Archebishop of Benevento.\n\n\nOr rather, A Treatise of the Manners and Behaviours, it behoveth a\nMan to use and eschewe, in his Familiar Conversation. A Worke very\nnecessary & profitable for all Gentlemen, or Other.\n\nFirst written in the Italian Tongue, and now done into English by\nRobert Peterson, of Lincolnes Inne Gentleman. Satis, si sapienter.\n\nImprinted at London for Raufe Newbery dwelling in Fleetestreate litle\nabove the Conduit. An. Do. 1576.\n\n\n\n\nTHE DEDICATION\n\n\nTo the Right Honorable my singular good Lord, the Lord Robert Dudley,\nEarle of Leicester, Baron of Denbigh, Knight of the Honorable order of\nthe Garter, Maister of the Queenes Majesties Horses, and one of her\nHighnesse privie Counsell: Robert Peterson wisheth perfect felicitie.\n\nLighting of late (Right Honorable) upon this treatise of courtesie,\npenned by an experienced Italian, & drawn for the profit therof, in to\nso many languages: I thought his lessons fit for our store, & sought to\nmake him speake Englishe.\n\nWise was that Cato, that ended bothe his learning, and living day\ntogether. And truly, Courtesie and Courtiership, be like Hippocrates\ntwinnes, that laughe together, and grow together: and are so one\naffected, that who so divorceth them, destroyeth them. But yet, seeing\nmoe redie to condemne the least trip then commend the best meaning,\nand knowing that the Scarre sticketh thogh good desert do hele the\nwound: & perceiving that Naevus in articulo pueri delectat Alcaeum, &\nRoscii oculi perversissimi catulum, That is, many dote on their fansie:\nI durst not send this, mine Heire and firste fruites of my toile, to\nthe view of the world, without the guarde of your Patronage, wherin\nthere is no presumption to teach them that are perfected, but may serve\neither as Simonides Characters, to stablish memory, or as an Index, to\npoint them to other behaviours enrolled whersoever. Spread therefore (I\nbeseeche your honour) the winges of wel liking over this worke, which\npresseth to you, as not only the patrone to protect, but the patterne\nto expresse any courtesie therin conteined. Mine Authour reporteth one\nMaestro Chiarissimo a perfect Mason, when he had described the finest\nprecepts of his art, to have made his Regolo a piller so exactly, as\nwould beare the proofe of every demonstration, thinking it learned\nspeedely, where the mind and the eye, precept and experience joined\nhands together: whose steps I tread (though with better successe then\nmine Author, who could not finde a Regolo) hoping, when others shall\ncome to trie these preceptes, not by showe or sound, as fooles do\ntheir Golde: but, by your behaviour, as by the touchstone: when they\nshal come, not to ken aloofe, but at hand, to view your so singular\ndemeanour, so civil, so courteous, as maketh you renoumed abrode, and\nhonored at home: coveted of the Noblest, & wonderful of the learnedst:\nwhen they shall in the glasse of your courtesie, see the blots that\nblemishe the dignitie of their estate: when they compare these lessons\nwith the Regolo, they shal herein see no lesse commoditie, then was\nin Alcibiades Sileni (whereunto Socrates was compared) whiche though\nthey bare not, in the front, any shewe of singularitie: yet within,\nbare they pictures of excellent wit & delight. This worke, if it\nplease your honour to vouchsafe as a companion of ease to trace the\npathes, which you have already so well beaten, (which presumeth not\nto be guide for conduction) or if your honour daine at highe leasure\nto peruse it (whiche is not cunningly but faithfully translated) I\ndoubt not, but your countenance will so credit the Author, as wil\nembolden him to presse amongst the thickest throng of Courtiers: And\nherewithall beseeche your honour, to accept the humble and dutifull\nmeaning minde of him: who, not satisfied, till he might by some meanes\ngive shewe of his thankefull minde, for your honorable favours shewed\nunto him, hathe offered this small, though as faithfull a gifte as\nSinaetes did to Cyrus: hoping, that your honour will take it as well\nin worth, as Artaxerxes did his poore Persians handfull of water. Thus\nwith hartie prayer, for the advauncement of your estate, increase of\nhonor, & attainement of perfect and perpetual felicitie: I commend\nyour Lordship, to the patronage and protection of the Almightie. Your\nLordships moste humble to dispose and commaunde.\n\n                                             Robert Peterson\n\n\n\n\nCOMMENDATORY VERSES\n\n\nAl Signor Ruberto Peterson, esortandolo A\ntradurre in Inghilese il Galateo\n\n  Ben posson dirsi avventurate carte\n      Quelle ch' el dotto, e gentil Casa spese:\n      Quand' in breve discors' \u00e0 insegnar prese\n      Del honesta creanza la prima arte.\n  Poi che tanto si apprezz' in ogni parte\n      Quel ch' ei ne scrisse, e ch' ei si ben intese\n      E ch' ogn' un con mani\u00e9re pi\u00f9 cortese\n      Dal bel trattato suo tosto si parte.\n  Esso \u00e0 Donn' e donzelle, & cavallieri\n      Non sol d'Italia: ma di Francia, e Spagna\n      Di gentilezza mostr' i modi veri.\n  Venga per voi felice anco in Brettagna\n      E parli Inglese ne Palazzi alteri\n      Del regn' invitto che 'l Tamigi bagna.\n\n                                             Francesco Pucci\n\n\n  Le creanze, e i costumi,\n  Tanto splendenti lumi,\n  Ch'a gli huomini fan l'huom superiore,\n  Eccoli tratti fore\n  De l'Italico seno\n  E piantati ne l'Anglico terreno.\n  Or se li goda ogniun, che porta amore\n  A 'l suo decoro, e a 'l suo compiuto onore.\n\n                                         Alessandro Citolini\n\n\nEdouardus Cradoccus, S. Theologiae Doctor & Professor\n\n  Moribus quisquis rudis est ineptis,\n  Nescit is vitam placidam tueri:\n  Nemini gratus, sociusque nulli\n                            Charus habetur.\n\n  Quisquis at pulchre simul & decore\n  Se gerit, mentis studio repellens\n  Rusticos mores, popularis ille\n                            Jure videtur.\n\n  Hoc Petersoni liber hic venustus\n  Praestat, ostendens habitu decoro\n  Possit ut quisque probitate splendens\n                            Utilis esse.\n\n  Idque dum magno satagit labore,\n  Italum fecit patria loquela\n  Hunc perornatas meus hic amicus\n                            Fundere voces.\n\n\nThomas Drant, Archedeacon in praise of this Booke\n\n  An happy turne that Casa once did hatche,\n  Of haviours choice this booke in Ital' phrase:\n  An Archebishop, and writer without matche\n  In this he was, and peereles pight with praise.\n  Such he his lore so well and wise doth lend:\n  It heare ne reade we can, but must amend.\n\n  This booke by Tiber, and by Po hath past,\n  Through all Italia Townes and Country lands.\n  Iberus, throughe thy Spanishe coasts as fast\n  It after yoade: and Gauls it held in hands,\n  Throughe Rhenus realmes it spred in prosperous speede,\n  To Lordes and Ladies reaching comly reede.\n\n  It Peterson, to Britain eyes doth bring\n  Translated true and trimme: and fit to frame\n  Faire maners fine for men. This prety Ring\n  Bedecketh feate our life: discourse and game\n  It ordereth apt with grace. The booke is grave,\n  Eke wise and good, for civil folke to have.\n\n\nTo his friend Maister Robert Peterson Gent.\n\n  Thy Galateo (Peterson) doth shrowd him selfe to long.\n  What? shall it sleepe Endymions yeares? thou dost thy countrie wrong.\n  She hath a childs parte, Plato saies, and with the Author cries,\n  That both thy toile, and this her gaine, may reare his skill to skies.\n  What thoughe thou thinke thy present small, for view of gallant ones\n  This litle Diamond, shall out prize, a quarry full of stones.\n  And Noble Cyrus (Man) will daine cold water in Sinaetaes hand:\n  Then fray not, if thy booke, in pure, unfiled termes doe stand.\n  Translatours can not mount: for though, their armes with wings be\n      spread,\n  In vaine they toile to take the flight, their feete are clogd with\n      lead.\n  This faith, that makes the Authour, speake his owne in language new:\n  Renoumes the more, then if thou blazdst it out, in painted hew.\n  For, serpents lurke in greenest grasse, and with a garishe gloze,\n  The Strumpet pounts in pride, where matrones marche in comelie\n      clothes.\n  Go publishe it, and dreade not scowling Momus poisond spite.\n  And though Archilochus Iambes fly, or Theons taunts doe bite:\n  Thinke, winds doe haunt the gallauntst trees, and Envy things of\n      state.\n  And lightning checks, Cerauniaes tops, whome no hils els do mate.\n  The best have borne the bob, and Zoiles brutes durst geve the charge:\n  But Zoile hangs, and Callisthen keepes in cage for talking large.\n  And yet, wordes they be winde: but as erst Plinies Draconite\n  No toole could pierce or carve: or as the gemme Chalazias hight,\n  Keepes cold, though it in Aetna frie, or Adiantons flowers\n  Drawes not a drop, though skies distill downe everlasting showers:\n  So good desert, doth chalenge good reporte by reasons rate,\n  Though oft they beare the checkes and taunts, they cannot take the\n      mate.\n  Yet seeke Mecaenas wings to shroude thy toile: Virgilio\n  Found his Augustus: Ennie thou maist finde thy Scipio.\n  This trump shall sound thy praise. Sir Phoebus golden rayes shall\n      turne\n  To foggie mistes, and seas that beare their ysie crust, shall burne:\n  And lumpishe lowte, with country shares shall salte Sea fome divide,\n  And sowe his graine in Afrik Syrtes that wallow every tide,\n  Before this worke shall die: which neither Joves thundering threate,\n  Nor fierie flames shall waste, nor rustie, cankred age shall freate.\n          Nolo Persium nolo Laelium.\n\n                                   Your friend. I. Stoughton\n                                                 Student\n\n\n  The vine is praisde, that daintie grape doth give\n  Although the fruite more please then holsome be,\n  Each fertil tree, is favord for the fruite,\n  So is the hearb that gallant is to see.\n\n  If this be trueth, he needes must merit well,\n  That gives us groundes to guide our erring wayes,\n  And trades us truely in the golden maze,\n  Where vertue growes, and courtlike manner stayes.\n\n  Galateo first did frame this golden booke\n  In Ital land. From thence it went to Spaine.\n  And after came into the coasts of Fraunce.\n  And nowe at last in England doth remaine.\n\n  The Authour sure deserveth more renoume,\n  That so could spend his time for our behoofe,\n  Then my poore wit or cunning can recite,\n  As thou thy selfe by reading shalt finde proofe.\n\n  And as the Authour merits passing well,\n  So doth my friend deserve as greate a meede:\n  That makes a worke so hard to understand,\n  So easie that each simple may it reede.\n\n  I say no more: for (lo) it were in vaine\n  To praise good wine by hanging up a bushe,\n  The best will give (I hope) my friende his due.\n  As for the bad, I way them not a rushe.\n\n                                Thomas Browne of L. I. Gent.\n\n\n\n\nTHE TREATISE OF MASTER JHON DELLA CASA\n\nWherin under the person of an old unlearned man, instructing a youthe\nof his, he hath talke of the maners and fashions, it behoves a man to\nuse or eschewe, in his familiar conversation: intituled Galateo, of\nfashions and maners.\n\n\nFor as muche as thou doste now enter the journy, wherof I have allredy\nronne forth the better parte (as thou seest) I meane the transitorie\nwaye of this mortall life: I have determined (such is the Love I beare\nthee) to shewe all the daungerous straights thou must passe: For my\nexperience maketh me feare, y^t walking that way thou mayst easily\neither fall, or by some meanes or other go astray. To the ende thou\nmaist once, taughte both by my instructions and experience, be able\nto keepe the right waye, as well for the helthe of thy Soule, as the\ncommendation and praise of the Honourable and Noble house thou doest\ncome of. And bycause thy tender Age, is unfit (as yet) to receave\nmore principall and higher precepts, reserving them for fitter time,\nI will beginn to discourse of such things as many men will deeme,\nperchaunce, but trifles: I meane what manner of Countenance and grace,\nbehoveth a man to use, that hee may be able in Communication and\nfamiliar acquaintance with men, to shewe him selfe plesant, courteous,\nand gentle: which neverthelesse is either a vertue, or the thing that\ncomes very nere to vertue. And albeit Liberalitie, or magnanimitie, of\nthemselves beare a greater praise, then, to be a well taught or manored\nman: yet perchaunce, the courteous behaviour and entertainement with\ngood maners and words, helpe no lesse, him that hath them: then the\nhigh minde and courage, advaunceth him in whome they be. For these\nbe such things as a man shall neede alwayes at all hands to use,\nbecause a man must necessarily be familiar with men at all times, &\never have talk & communication with them: But justice, fortitude, and\nthe other greater, and more noble vertues, are seldome put in uze.\nNeither is y^e liberall and noble minded man, caused every hower\nto doe bountifull things: for to use it often, cannot any man beare\nthe charge, by any meanes. And these valiant men y^t be so full of\nhighe minde and courage: are very seldome driven to trye their valour\n& vertue by their deeds. Then as muche as these last, doe passe those\nfirst, in greatnes (as it were) & in weight: so much do the other\nsurmount these in number, & often occasion to use them. And, if I\ncould wel intend it, I could name you many, whoe, (being otherwise\nof litle account) have ben & be still, muche estemed & made of, for\ntheir cherefull & plesaunt behaviour alone: which hath bin suche\na helpe & advauncement unto them, that they have gotten greate\npreferments, leaving farre behinde them, such men as have bin endowed\nwith those other noble and better vertues, spoken of before. And as\nthese plesaunt & gentle behaviours, have power to draw their harts &\nminds unto us, with whome we live: so contrariwise, grosse and rude\nmaners, procure men to hate and despise us. Wherby albeit the lawes,\nhave injoined no paine for unmanerly & grose behaviours, as the fault\nthat is thought but light (& to saye a trueth, it is not greate) yet we\nsee notwithstanding, y^t nature herselfe punisheth them w^t sharpe &\nshrewde correction, putting them by this meanes, besydes y^e companie\n& favour of men. And truly even as greate & foule faults, doe muche\nharme: so doe these light, much hurt, or hurte at least more often.\nFor, as men doe commonly fere y^e beasts y^t be cruell & wild, & have\nno maner of feare of som litle ones, as y^e gnats and the flies, & yet\nby y^e continual noiaunce they find by them, complaine them selves\nmore of thes then of y^e other: so it chaunceth y^t most men do hate\nin maner asmuche, y^e unmanerly & untaught, as y^e wicked, & more.\nSo y^t there is no doubte, but who so disposeth himselfe to live,\nnot in solitarie and deserte places, as Heremites, but in fellowship\nwith men, and in populous Cities, will think it a very necessarie\nthing, to have skill to put himselfe forth comely and seemely, in his\nfashions, gestures and maners: the lacke of which parts doth make those\nother vertues lame, and litle or nothing can they work to good effect,\nwithout other helpes: wheare this civilitie and courtesie, without\nother releefe or patrimonie, is riche of it selfe, & hath substance\nenough, as a thing y^t standeth in speache and gestures alone.\n\nAnd that y^u mayst now more easily learne the way unto it, thou must\nunderstand, it behoves thee, to frame and order thy maners and doings,\nnot according to thine owne minde and fashion: but to please those,\nwith whome thou livest, and after that sort direct thy doings: And this\nmust be done by Discretion and Measure. For who so applieth himself\nto much, to feede other mens humors, in his familiar conversation,\nand behaviour with men, is rather to be thought a Jester, a Jugler or\nflatterer, then a gentleman wel taught and nourtured: As contrariwise,\nwhoe so hath no care or mind to please, or displese, is a rude,\nuntaught, and uncourteous fellowe. For asmuche then, as our maners,\nhave some pleasure in them when we respect other men, and not our owne\npleasure: if we diligently searche forthe what those things be, that\nmost men do generally like or dislike: we shall in suche sorte wisely\nand easily finde out, the meanes & wayes, to choose and eschewe, those\nfashions and maners, we are to leave or take, to live amongest men.\nWe say then, that every act that offendeth any the common senses,\nor overthwarteth a mans will and desire, or els presenteth to the\nImagination and conceite, matters unpleasaunt, & that likewise, which\ny^e minde doth abhorre, such things I say bee naught, and must not be\nused: for we must not only refraine from such thinges as be fowle,\nfilthy, lothsome and nastie: but we must not so muche as name them. And\nit is not only a fault to dooe such things, but against good maner, by\nany act or signe to put a man in minde of them. And therefore, it is an\nilfavoured fashion, that some men use, openly to thrust their hands in\nwhat parte of their bodye they list.\n\nLikwise, I like it as ill to see a Gentleman settle him selfe, to do\nthe needes of Nature, in presence of men: And after he hath doone, to\ntrusse him selfe againe before them. Neither would I have him (if I may\ngeve him councell) when he comes from suche an occupation, so much as\nwashe his hands, in the sight of honest company: for y^t the cause of\nhis washing, puts them in minde of some filthy matter that hath bene\ndone aparte. And by the same reason, it is no good maner, when a man\nchaunceth to see, as he passeth the waye (as many times it happeneth)\na lothesome thing, y^t wil make a man to cast his stomacke, to tourne\nunto the company, & shewe it them. And much worse I like it, to reache\nsome stinking thing unto a man to smell unto it: as it is many a mans\nfashion to do, w^t importunate meanes, yea, thrusting it unto their\nnose, saying: \"Foh, feele I pray you, how this doth stink:\" where they\nshould rather say, \"smell not unto it: for it hath an ill sent.\" And as\nthese and like fashions offend the senses, to which they appertaine:\nso to grinde the teethe, to whistle, to make pitifull cries, to rubb\nsharpe stones together, and to file uppon Iron, do muche offend the\nEares and would be lefte in any case. Neither must wee refraine those\nthings alone, but we must also beware we do not sing, and specialy\nalone, if we have an untuneable voice, which is a common fault with\nmoste men: And yet, hee that is of nature least apt unto it, doth use\nit moste. So there be some kinde of men, that in coffing or neesing,\nmake suche noise, that they make a man deafe to here them: other some\nuse in like things, so little discretion, that they spit in mens faces\nthat stand about them: besides these there be some, that in yauning,\nbraye and crye out like Asses. And yet such, with open mouth wil\never say and do what they list, and make such noise, or rather such\nroaring, as the dumme man doth, when he striveth with him selfe to\nspeake. All these yllfavoured fashions, a man must leave, as lothsome\nto the eare and the eye. And a man must leave to yawne muche, not\nonly for the respect of the matter I have saide alreadye, as that it\nseemes to proceede, of a certaine werines, that shewes that he that\nyawneth, could better like to be els where, then there in that place:\nas wearied with the companie, their talke, and their doings. And sure,\nalbeit a man be many times disposed to yawne, yet if he be occupied\nwith any delight, or earnest matter to think uppon: he shall have no\nminde to doe it. But if he be lumpishe & idle: it is an easy matter\nto fall in to it. And therefore, When a man yawneth, in place where\nthere bee slouthfull and Idle folkes, that have nothing to doe, the\nrest, as you may see many times, yawne againe for companie by & by:\nas if he that yawned, had put them in minde to doe it, which of them\nselves they would have done first, if hee had not be-goone unto them.\nAnd I have many times heard learned and wise men say, that A yawner\nmeaneth as much in Latin as a careles and Idle bodie. Let us then flye\nthese condicions, that loathe (as I said) the eyes, the Eares, & the\nStomacke. For in using these fashions, we doe not only shewe that we\ntake litle pleasure in the company, but we geve them occasion withall,\nto judge amis of us: I meane y^t we have a drowsye & hevie nowle, which\nmakes us ill wellcom, to all companies we come unto. And when thou\nhast blowne thy nose, use not to open thy handkercheif, to glare uppon\nthy snot, as if y^u hadst pearles and Rubies fallen from thy braynes:\nfor these be slovenly parts, ynough to cause men, not so much not to\nlove us, as if they did love us, to unlove us againe. As the Sprite\nof Labirintho doth testifie (who soever he were that made it) who (to\nquenche y^e heate wherwith Master John Boccase burned in desire and\nLove of his Lady unknowne) tells, come ella covaua la cenere, sedendosi\ninsu le calcagna; & tossiua, & isputaua farfalloni.\n\nIt is also an unmanerly parte, for a man to lay his nose uppon the cup\nwhere another must drinke: or uppon the meate y^t another must eate,\nto the end to smell unto it: But rather, I would wish he should not\nsmell at all, no not to that which he himselfe should eate and drinke:\nbecause it may chaunce there might fall some droppe from his nose, that\nwould make a man to loath it: although there fall nothing at all in\ndeede. Neither, by mine advise, shalt thou reache to any man, that cup\nof wine wherof thy selfe hast first dronke and tasted: w^tout he be\nmore then a familiar friend unto thee. And much lesse must thou give\nany parte of the peare or the fruite, which thou hast bitten in thy\nmouth before. And esteeme not light of my talke, for that these things\nbe of little account: For even light stripes (their number may be such)\nbe able to slaye fast ynoughe.\n\nNow you shall understand, there was in Verona, a bishop a wise man, a\nlearned & of a singular good wit by nature, whose name was Giovanni\nMatheo Giberti: Amongst many good parts y^t were in him, he was very\ncourtious & liberall, to all gentlemen & noble men that came unto him,\ndoing them all y^e honor he could in his house, not with over much\npompe and cost, but with convenient entertainement and measure, such\nas besemed well a man of the Clergie. It chaunced in his time, a noble\ngentleman called Count Richard, passed that way, to spend a fewe dayes\nwith the Bishop and his householde together: which was thoroughly\nfurnished w^t honest gentlemen and very well learned. And bycause\nthey found him a Noble gentleman, courteous and well beseene in all\ngood behaviour, they praised him muche, and made muche of him, save\nthat one unmanerly fashion they muche misliked in him. When the Bishop\nwas advertised of it, consulting with some of his familiars about it\n(as he was a wise man in all his doings) straite they concluded, it\nshould be necessary to let y^e Count have knowledge of it: albeit they\nfeared, they should offend him. Upon this, y^e Count taking his leave,\nand redy to ride away the next morning, the Bishop called one of his\nservants unto him, (a man of good discretion) and gave him in charge\nto take his horse, to beare the Count company, some parte of his waye:\nAnd when he sawe his time, after an honest sorte, to tell him, that\nwhich they had determined betwene them selves. The same gentleman that\nhad this charge, was a man well strooken in yeares, very lerned, and\nmervailous pleasaunt, welspoken, comely, and had muche frequented in\nhis time, y^e Courtes of greate Princes: who was (perhaps) and is,\ncalled Galateo: at whose request and councell, I first tooke in hand to\nset forth this present treatise. Riding with the Count, he found him\nplesaunt talke ynoughe, and passing from one matter to another, when he\nthought it time to returne to Verona, in taking leave at parting, with\na gentle & cherefull countenaunce, he used this speache unto him. \"Sir\nCount, my Lorde yealdeth you many thanks for the honour you have done\nhim, in that it hath pleased you to vouchesafe his poore house: and\nthat he may not be unthankfull, for this your greate courtesie shewed\nunto him, he hath geven me in charge, that I must leave a present with\nyou in his behalfe: and he sends it unto you with earnest request, that\nyou please to take it in good worthe: and this is the gift. You are a\ngoodly gentleman, and the best manered man my Lorde hath ever seene:\nSo that very heedefully beholding your behaviours, and particularly\nconsidering them all, hee findeth no one that is not very comely and\ncomendable, only one unsemely tricke alone excepted, which you make\nwith your lippes and your mouth together, feeding at your meate with\na certaine straunge noyes, unpleasaunt to all men that heare it. This\nmy Lord willed me to tell you, and prayes you to endevour your selfe\nto leave it, and withall to accept in lewe of a beter present, this\nloving admonition and councell of his: for he is sure, there is none\nin the worlde, would make you the like present.\" The Count (that never\nwist of his fault till now) hearing himselfe reproved, chaunged his\ncountenance a little, but (as a man full of stomacke ynough) taking\nhart at grasse, he said: \"Tell your Lorde, that if all the gifts that\nmen wont to geve eche other, were such as his, men should be muche more\nriche then they are. And for his greate courtesie and liberalitie to\nmee, geve him many thanks I pray you, and let him be sure, I will not\nfaile from henceforthe to mend my fault, and God be with you.\"\n\nNow what shal we thinke this Bishop, his modest and honest company\nabout him would say, if they sawe these whome wee see other while,\n(like swine w^t their snouts in the washe, all begroined) never lift\nup their heads nor looke up, and muche lesse keepe their hands from\nthe meate, and w^t both their cheeks blowne (as if they should sound a\ntrumpet, or blowe the fier) not eate but ravon: whoe, besmearing their\nhands, almost up to their elbowes, so bedawbe y^e napkins, that y^e\ncloathes in the places of easement, be other while cleaner. And to mend\nthese slovenly maners, be not ashamed, many times with these filthy\nnapkins, to wipe awaye the sweat that trickleth and falleth downe their\nbrowes, their face and their necke (they be such greedy guts in their\nfeeding) and otherwhile to, (when it comes uppon them) spare not to\nsnot their sniveld nose uppon them. Truly these beastly behaviours and\nfashions, deserve not alone, to be thrust out of this noble bishops\nhouse, that was so pure and cleane: but to be throughly banished all\nplaces, where any honest men should com. Let a man then take hede, hee\ndoe not begrease his fingers so deepe, y^t he befyle the napkins to\nmuch: for it is an ill sight to see it: neither is it good maner, to\nrubbe your gresie fingers uppon y^e bread you must eate.\n\nThe servaunts that bee appointed to waite uppon the table, must not\n(in any wise) scratche and rubbe their heades, nor any parte els in\nthe sight of their Lorde & Master: nor thrust their hands in any those\npartes of their body that be covered, no not so muche as make any\nproffer: as some careles fellowes doo, holding their hands in their\nbosome, or cast under the flappes of their coates behind them. But they\nmust beare them abroade without any suspicion and keepe them (in any\ncase) washt & cleane without any spot of durt uppon them. And they that\ncary the dishes, or reache the cup, must beware at that time, they doe\nnot spit, coughe or neese: for in such doings, Suspicion is as greate,\nand offendeth asmuche, as the very deede it selfe: and therefore,\nservants must forsee, they geve no cause to Maisters to suspect: For\nthat which might chaunce, anoyeth asmuche, as if it had chaunced\nindeede.\n\nAnd if thou do roaste any fruite, or make a toaste at the fier, thou\nmust not blowe of the ashes, (if there be any) for it is an old saying,\nthat, winde was never without water. But y^u must lightly strike it\nuppon the plate, or after some suche sorte or other beate of y^e ashes.\nThou shalt not offer thy handkerchiefe to any man to use it, albeit,\nit be very cleane washed: for he to whome thou doest offer it, can not\n(perhaps) awaye w^t it, and may be to curious to take it.\n\nWhen a man talketh with one, it is no good maner to come so neere, that\nhe must needes breathe in his face: for there be many that cannot abide\nto feele the ayer of another mans breathe, albeit there come no ill\nsavour from him. These and like fashions, be very unsemely, and would\nbe eschewed, because their senses, w^t whome we acquaint our selves,\ncannot brooke nor beare them.\n\nNow, let us speake of those things which (without any hurt or anoyaunce\nto the senses) offende the minds of most men, before whome they be\ndoone. You shall understand, that The appetites of men, (throughe a\nnaturall instinct and inclination) be verie strange and divers: Some\nbe cholerike & hasty, & may not be satisfied with out revenge: other\ndoe give them selves cleane over, to pamper the belly: this man sets\nhis delighte in lust and sensualitie: that man is carried away with\nhis covetous desires: and many suche appetites more there are, to\nwhich mans minde is too subject: but you shall not in any company,\neasily judge or discerne betweene them, where and in what, they bee\nmoste affected. For, these matters doe not consist in the maners, the\nfashions and speache of men: but rest in some other point. They seeke\nto purchase y^t which the benefit of mutuall conferrence may yeald\nthem, & that doe (as I weene) good will, honour, comforte and pleasure,\nor some other thing like unto these: & therfore we must neither say\nor doe the thing, that may give any signe of litle loving or esteming\nthem, we live withall.\n\nSo that, it is a rude fashion, (in my conceipte) y^t som men use, to\nlie lolling a sleepe in that place, where honest men be met together,\nof purpose to talke. For his so doing, shewes that he doth not esteeme\nthe company, and little rekoneth of them or their talke. And more then\nthat, he that sleepeth (and specially lying at litle ease, as he must)\nwonts (for the moste parte) to doe some fowle thing, to beholde, or\nheare: and many times they awake sweating and driveling at the mouth.\nAnd in like maner, to rise up where other men doe sit and talke, and\nto walke up and downe the chamber, it is no point of good maner. Also\nthere be some that so buskell them selves, reache, streatch and yawne,\nwrithing now one side, and then another, that a man would weene, they\nhad some fever uppon them: A manifest signe, that the company they\nkeepe, doth weary them.\n\nLikewise doe they very ill, y^t now & then pull out a letter out of\ntheir pocket, to reade it: as if they had greate matters of charge,\nand affaires of the common weale committed unto them. But they are\nmuch more to bee blamed, that pull out their knives or their scisers,\nand doe nothing els but pare their nailes, as if they made no account\nat all of the company, and would seeke some other solace to passe the\ntime awaye. Theis fashions to, must be left, y^t some men use, to sing\nbetwene the teeth, or playe the dromme with their fingers, or shoofle\ntheir feete: For these demeanours shewe that a body is carelesse of any\nman ells.\n\nBesides, let not a man so sit that he turne his taile to him that\nsitteth next to him: nor lie tottering with one legg so high above the\nother, that a man may see all bare that his cloathes would cover. For\nsuch parts be never playde, but amongst those to whome a man needs use\nno reverence. It is very true, that if a gentleman should use these\nfashions before his servants, or in the presence of some friende of\nmeaner condition then him selfe: it would betoken no pride, but a love\nand familiaritie.\n\nLet a man stand uppright of him selfe, and not leane or loll uppon\nanother mans shoulder: and when he talketh, let him not pounche his\nfellow with his elbowe, (as many be wont to doe) at every worde they\nspeake, saying: \"Did I not say true Sirra. Master. N. It is Master. H.\"\nAnd still they be jotting with their elbowe.\n\nI would have every man well appareled, meete for his age and calling:\nfor otherwise, they seeme to have men in contempt that be better\nattired then themselves.\n\nAnd therefore the Citizens of Padua, were woont to take it done of\nspighte unto them, when any gentleman of Venice walked up & downe their\ncitie in his coate, as though he thought him selfe in the countrey. And\na mans apparell, would not be made of fine cloathe alone: but he must\nframe it, all that he may, to the fashions that other men weare, and\nsuffer him selfe to bee lead by common use: although (perchaunce) it\nbe, and seeme to be lesse commodious, lesse gallant, and lesse faire in\nshewe, then his oulde.\n\nAnd if all men els, doe weare their heads powled: it shalbe an ill\nsight for thee alone, to weare a longe bushe of haire. And where\nother men, make muche of their beardes and weare them longe: thou\nshalt not doe well to cut thine of, or shave it. For that weare to be\noverthwarte in everything: which thou must (in any case) beware of,\nexcept necessitie require it, as thou shalt heare hereafter. For this\nsingularitie, beyond all other ill customes, makes us generally spited\nof all men. Thou must not then go against common custome in these\nthings, but use them measureably: that thou maist not bee an odd man\nalone in a countrey: that shall weare a long Gowne downe to the foote,\nwhere other men weare them very shorte, litle beneath the waste. For\nas it hapens to him, that hath a very crabbed ilfavoured face, (I meane\nsuche, as is more harde and sower then most mennes be, for nature doth\nmostly shape them well in moste men) that men will wonder and (with a\nkinde of admiration) gape most uppon him: So fares it with them that\nattire them selves, not as most men doe: but as they are egged by\ntheir owne fantasticall heads, with long heare spred downe to their\nshoulders, their beardes short and shaven, and weare quaiues or greate\ncappes after y^e Flaundres fashion: that all men doe gaze uppon them,\nas wondering at suche, whome they weene have taken uppon them, to\nconquer all countries wheresoever they come. Let your apparell then,\nbe very well made, and fit for your body: for they that weare rich and\ncoastly garments, but so illfavouredly shaped, that a man would weene\nthe measure had bin taken by another: geve us to judge one of these\ntwaine, that either they have no regarde or consideration how to please\nor displease: or els have no skill to judge of measure or grace, or\nwhat doth become them.\n\nSuch maner of people, with their rude behaviours and fashions, make men\nwith whome they live, suspect, they doe esteeme them but light. And\nthat causeth them worse welcome whersoever they com and ill beloved\namongest men.\n\nBut there be some besides these, that deserve more then bare\nsuspicion: their deeds and their doings be so intollerable, that a\nman cannot abide to live amongest them by any meanes. For they be\never a let, a hurt and a trouble to all the companie, they be never\nredie: ever a trimming: never well dressed to their mindes. But when\nmen be readie to sit downe to the table, the meate at the boorde, and\ntheir handes washed: then they must write or make water, or have their\nexercise to doe: saying, \"It is too early: we might have taried a\nwhile: what haste is this, this morning?\" And thus they disquiet all\nthe company, as men, caring for them selves alone & their owne matters,\nwithout consideration in the worlde of other men. Besides this, they\nwill in all things be preferred above others: they must have the best\nbed, and best chamber: they must take uppon them the highest place\nat the table, and be first set and served of all men. And they be so\ndeintie and nice, that nothing pleaseth them, but what they them selves\ndevise: they make a sower face at any thing ells. And they be so proude\nminded, that they looke that men should waite uppon them when they\ndine, ride, sporte, or solace them selves.\n\nThere be other so furious, testie & waywarde, that nothing you doe can\nplease them: and what soever is said they aunswer in choler, and never\nleave brauling w^t their servants, and rayling at them, and continually\ndisturbe the company with their unquietnes: using such speeches: \"Thou\ncauledst me well up this morning. Looke heere how cleane thou hast\nmade these pynsons. Thou beaste, thou diddest waite well uppon me to\nChurche. It were a good deede to breake thy head.\" These be unsemely\nand very fowle fashions: suche as every honest man will hate to death.\nFor, albeit a mans minde were full fraught with all humilitie, and\nwould use these maners, not uppon pride or disdaine, but uppon a\nrechelesse care, not heeding his doings, or elles by meanes of ill\ncustome: yet notwithstanding, because his outward doings, woulde make\nmen thinke him proude: it cannot be chosen, but all men woulde hate him\nfor it. For, Pride is none other thinge, then to despise and disdaine\nanother. And as I have saide from the beginning: Eache man desireth to\nbee well thought of, Albeit there bee no valoure or goodnes in him.\n\nIt is not long, since there was in Rome a worthy gentleman, of singular\ngood witt and profound learning, whose name was Ubaldino Bandinelli.\nThis gentleman was woont to say, that as ofte as hee went or came from\nthe Courte, although the stretes weare ever full of gallant Courtiers,\nof Prelates and Noble men, and likewise of poore men, and people of\nmeane and base condition: yet he thought he never encountred any, that\nwas either better or worse then himselfe. And without doubte hee could\nmeete with fewe, that might bee compared in goodnes to him: respecting\nhis vertues, that did excel beyond measure. But we must not alwayes in\nthese things measure men by y^e Elne: We must rather waye them in the\nmillers scoles, then in the goldsmythes balaunce. And it is a courtious\nparte, redily to receave them in to favour: not bycause they bee\nwoorthe it: but as men doe with coines, bycause they be currant.\n\nTo go further, wee must doe nothing in their sight whome wee desire to\nplease, that may shewe wee covet, rather to rule and to reigne, then to\nlive in a familiar equalitie amongest them. For hautines of harte and\nambitious disposition, as it kindleth an ill opinion: so it ministreth\nmuche cause of contempte, which in conclusion will so woorke against\nthee, y^t thou shalt bee cleane cast out of honest company. But our\ndooings must rather beare a signe and shewe of reverence, meekenes, &\nrespect to y^e company, in which wee fellowship ourselves. So that,\nwhat so ever is doone in meete and convenient time, may hapely deserve\nno blame: but yet in respect of the place and the persone, it may be\nreproved well: althoughe for it self, y^e matter deserve no rebuke.\nAs to brawle and to raile at your servaunts (which we have talked of\nbefore) but muche more to beate them. Because these partes, are asmuche\nas to reigne and to rule: which no honest and civil gentleman will use,\nin presence of them he doth respect with any reverence or courtesie.\nBesides this, the company is muche offended with it, and their\nmeetinges are broken, and especially, if it be done at the table, which\nis a place of solace and mirthe, and not of brawle and scolding. So\nthat I must nedes commend Currado Gianfigliazzi for his civil behaviour\nin y^t he multiplied no words with Chichibio to trouble his guests:\nalbeit he deserved to be sharply punished for it, when he would sooner\ndisplease his master then Brunetta. And yet if Currado had made lesse\nadoe about it then he did: it had ben more his praise. For then he\nshould never have neded, to call uppon God, to witnes his threatnings\nso muche as he did.\n\nBut to returne to our matter: it is not good for a man to chide at the\ntable for any cause. And if thou be angrie, shew it not, nor make no\nsigne of thy greefe, for the reason I have tolde thee, and specially\nif thou have straungers with thee: because thou haste called them to\nbe merry, and this wil make them sad. For, as the sharpe and tarte\nthings y^t other men doe feede uppon in thy sight, doe set thy teeth\nlikewise on edge: so to see other men vexed and out of quiet, it maketh\nus unquiet too. I call them Fromward people, which will in allthings be\novertwhart to other men: as the very worde it selfe doth shewe. For,\nFrome-warde, signifieth asmuche, as Shorne against the wooll. Now, how\nfit a thinge this frowardnes is, to win the good will of men, and cause\nmen to wishe well unto them: that you your self may easily Judge, in\nthat it consisteth in overtwharting other mens desiers: which qualitie\nnever mainteineth friendship, but maketh friends become foes. And\ntherfor let them that desire to be well thought of and welcome amongst\nmen, endevour them selves to shunne this fault: For it breedes no good\nliking nor love, but hatred and hurt. I would councell you rather to\nmeasure your pleasures by other mens willes: where there shal come no\nhurt nor shame of it: and therin alwayes to doe & to saye, more to\nplease other mens mindes and fansies, then your owne.\n\nAgaine, you must be neither clownishe nor lumpishe: but pleasaunt and\nfamiliar. For there should bee no oddes, betweene the Mystell and the\nPungitopo: but that the one is wilde: the other growes in gardens. And\nyou must understand, that he is pleasaunt and courteous: whose manners\nbee suche in his common behaviour, as practise to keepe, and maintaine\nhim friendeship amongst them: where hee that is solleyne and waywarde,\nmakes him selfe a straunger whersoever hee comes: a straunger, I meane,\nasmuch as a forreigne or alienborne: where contrariwise, he that is\nfamiliar & gentle, in what place so ever he comes: is taken for a\nfamiliar and friend with all men. So that it shalbe necessarie for\na man, to use him selfe to salute, to speake, and to answer after a\ngentle sorte, and to behave him selfe w^t all men so: as if hee were\ntheir countryman borne, & of their olde acquaintance. Which some can\nill skill to doe, that never give a man a good countenaunce: easily\nsay, No, to all things: never take in good worthe, the honour and\ncourtesie that men doe unto them (like to the people I spake of before,\nrude and barbarous): never take delight in any pleasaunt conceites or\nother pleasures: but ever refuse it all, what soever is presented or\noffered unto them. If a man say: \"Sir, suche a one willed me to commend\nhim unto you:\" They aunswere straite: \"what have I too doe with his\ngreetings?\" And if a man say: \"Sir, suche a one your friend, asked me\nhow you did.\" They aunswer againe in choler: \"Let him come feele my\npulse.\" These carterlike and clownishe aunswers and maners, and the men\nthem selves that doe use them: would bee chased and hunted away, out of\nall good and honest company.\n\nIt ill becomes a man when hee is in company, to bee sad, musing, and\nfull of contemplation. And albeit, it may bee suffered perchaunce\nin them that have long beaten their braines in these Mathematicall\nstudies: which are called (as I take it) the Liberall Artes: yet\nwithout doubte it may not be borne in other men. For, even these\nstudious fellowes, at suche time, when they be so ful of their Muses:\nshould be much wiser to get them selves alone.\n\nAgaine, to bee to nice or to deintie: it may not be abiden, and\nspecially in men. For, to live with suche kinde of people: is rather\na slaverie then pleasure. And sure there bee som such, so softe &\ntender: y^t to live and deale with such people, it is as daungerous: as\nto medle with the finest and brittelest glasse that may be: So muche\nthey are affraide of every light touche. And they wilbe as testy and\nfrowarde, if you doe not quickly and readily salute them, visite them,\nworship them, and make them answer: as some other body would be, for\nthe greatest injurie y^t can be donne unto them. And if you doe not\ngive them all the due reverence that may be: they will presently take a\nthousand occasions to quarell and fall out with you. If you chaunce to\nMaster him, and leave out his title of Honour or worship: he takes that\nin dougeon, and thinkes you doe mock him. And if you set him beneath\nas good a man as him self at the table: that is against his honour. If\nyou doe not visite him at home at his house: then you knowe not your\ndutie. Theis maner of fashions and behaviours, bring men to such scorne\nand disdaine of their doings: that there is no man, almost, can abide\nto beholde them: for they love them selves to farre beyonde measure,\nand busie them selves so much in that, that they finde litle leisure\nto bethinke them selves to love any other: which (as I have saide\nfrom the beginning) men seeke to finde in the conditions and maners\nof those with whome they must live: I meane, that they should apply\nthem selves to the fansies & mindes of their friendes. But to live w^t\nsuche people, so hard to please: whose love and friendship once wonne,\nis as easily lost, as a fine scarfe is lightly caried away with the\nwinde: that is no life but a service: and, besides that it yealdeth no\npleasure, it geves a man greate disdaine and horror. Let us therefore\nleave these softe and wanton behaviours to women.\n\nIn speach a man may fault many wayes. And first in the matter it selfe\nthat is in talke, which may not be vaine or filthye. For, they that\ndoe heare it, will not abide it: as y^e talk they take no pleasure to\nheare: but rather scorne the speache and the speaker both. Againe,\na man must not move any question of matters that be to deepe & to\nsubtile: because it is hardly understoode of the moste. And a man must\nwarely foresee, that the matter bee suche, as none of the company may\nblushe to heare it, or receave any shame by the tale. Neither must he\ntalke of any filthy matter, albeit a man would take a pleasure to heare\nit: for, it ill becomes an honest gentleman, to seeke to please, but in\nthings that be honest.\n\nNeither in sporte nor in earnest, must a man speake any thing against\nGod or his Saintes, how witty or pleasaunt so ever the matter be.\nWherein, the company that Giovan Boccaccio hathe brought to speake\nin his Novelles and tales, hath faulted so muche: that me thinkes\nevery good body, may justly blame them for it. And you must thinke\nIt is not only a token of great detestation & Impietie in a man, to\ntalke in jestinge wise of God: but hee is a wicked & sinfull man,\nthat will abide to heare it. But you shall finde some suche good men,\nas will flie asmuche as the plague, the company of such as talke so\nunreverently, and without respect, of the incomprehensible Majestie of\nGod. And wee must not alone speake religiously of him: but in all our\ntalkes wee must avoide what wee may, that our wordes may not witnes\nagainst our life and our workes. For men doe hate their owne faultes\notherwhile, when they see them in another.\n\nLikewise it is unsavourie, to talke of things out of time, not fitting\nthe place and company: although the matter it selfe, and spoken in\ntime, were otherwise both good and godly. We must not then reherse\nFriers sermones to young gentlewomen, when they are disposed to sporte\nthem selves: as y^t good man did, that dwelles not farr hence, nere\nto S. Brancatio. And in feastes & at table, wee must beware wee doe\nnot rehearse any sorowfull tales, nor put them in minde of woundes, of\nsicknes, of deathes, of Plagues, or of other dolefull matters. But\nif another man chaunce to move suche matter: it shalbe good, after\nan honest and gentell sorte, to exchaunge that talke, and thrust in\nsome other, y^t may give them more delighte and pleasure to heare\nit. Albeit, not long since I heard it said to a worthy gentleman our\nneighbour, that Men have many times more neede to weepe then to laugh.\nAnd for that cause hee said, these dolefull tales, which wee call\nTragedies, were devised at first, that when they were playd in the\nTheatres (as at that time they were wont) they might draw fourth teares\nout of their eyes, that had neede to spend them. And so they were by\ntheir weeping, healed of their infirmitie. But albeit it bee good\nto doe so: yet it will il become us to drive men into their dumpes:\nespecially where they bee mett to feaste and to solace themselves, &\nnot to mourne. For if there be any, y^t hath suche weeping disease:\nit will bee an easie matter to cure it, w^t stronge Mustard or a\nsmoaky house. So that, in no wise, I can excuse our friend Philostrato,\nfor his worke that hee made full of dule and of death, to suche a\ncompany as desired nothing more then mirthe. Wee must the rather use\nsilence, then discourse of suche sorrowfull matters.\n\nAnd they doe asmuche amisse too, that never have other thing in their\nmouthe, then their children, their wife, and their nourse. \"My litle\nboy, made mee so laughe yesterday: heare you: you never sawe a sweeter\nbabe in your life: my wife is such a one, Cecchina told mee: of troth\nyou would not beleeve what a wit shee hath:\" There is none so idle\na body, that will either intend to answer, or abide to heare suche\nfoolishe prittle prattle. For it ircks a mans eares to harken unto it.\n\nThere be some againe, so curious in telling their dreames from point\nto point, using such wonder and admiration withall, y^t it makes a mans\nhart ake to heare them: & specially because (for y^e most parte) they\nbe such kinde of people: as it is but labour lost to heare, even the\nvery best exploits they doe, when they be most awake, and labour most\nto shew their best. Wherfore we must not trouble men with so base and\nabsurde matter as dreames bee: especially suche foolishe things, as\nmost times men have. Albeit I have heard say many times, that wisemen\nin times past, have leaft in their bookes many sortes of dreames,\nconteining matters of deepe knowledge and understanding: it followeth\nnot yet, that wee, the unlearned and common sorte of people, should\nuse it in our familiar and common talke. And sure of all the dreames\nthat ever I heard (albeit I hardly listen to any) in my conceit, I\nnever heard any, that was worth the hearing but one alone, which the\ngood Master Flaminio Tomarozzo a gentleman of Rome did see, a man not\nunlearned and grosse: but full of knowledge and singular witte. And\nthus was his dreame, This gentleman Master Flaminio Tomarozzo, thought\nhe was sitting in a very riche Apothecaries shop, a neere neighbour\nof his. And after he had bin there a while (what soever the occasion\nwas) the people were up in a rore one a sodaine, and fell to spoiling\nof all that was in the shoppe. One tooke an Electuarie, another a\nConfection, some one thing, some another, and presently eate it upp\nall: So that within a while, there was neither virell glasse, ertherne\npot, wodden boxe, nor any potels of drugges, that was not emptied,\nbroken, or overthrowne. But amongest them all, ther was one verye small\nglasse, full to the toppe of verie cleare water, which many did smell\nto, but no man would taste. He stoode not there long, but there came\nin a tall man, an aged and very grave man, to look unto. This Aged\nfather beholding this unfortunate Apothecaries boxes and pottes, and\nfinding some emptied, some overthrowne, and the better parte broken:\nAt lenght casting his eye aside, he chaunced to see the smal glasse I\nspake of before, and setting the same to his mouthe, hee dranke it up\nso cleane: that he leaft not one droppe. And this doone, he went from\nthence as the rest did before. Master Flaminio was abashed and marveled\nmuche at this matter. And therefore turning to the Apothecarie he saied\nunto him: Sir, whoe is this that came laste? and why did he drinke up\nso savourly, all the water in that litle glasse, which all the reast\nrefused. To whome the Apothecarie seemed to make this aunswer. My\nsonne, this is the Lord God. And the water, that hee alone dranke, and\nall the reast refused and would not taste as you saw: was discretion:\nwhich, you know wel ynough men will not taste of, by any meanes.\n\nSuch kind of dreames, I hould well a man may rehearse, and heare\nwith much pleasure and profit. Bycause they doe more resemble, the\nCogitations & thoughts of an awakened minde: or better, I shoulde\nsay, the vertue sensitive: then the visions and sights of a drowsie\nhead. But those other dreames, without shape, fashion or sense: (which\nthe moste parte of suche men as we are, bee wont to have) would be\nforgotten cleane, and lost with our sleepe. Howbeit, I doe not deny but\nthe dreames of good men and learned, be better and wiser than theires\nof the wicked and more unlearned sorte.\n\nAnd albeit a man would weene, there can bee nothing in the worlde\nmore vaine then Dreames: yet there is one thing more light then they,\nand that are Lies. For there is yet some shadowe, and, as it were, a\ncertaine feeling of that which a man hath seene in his dreame. But\nthere is neither shadowe nor bodye of a trueth in a lie. And therfore\nwe should lesse busie mens eares, and their mindes to harken to lies,\nthen to dreames, because they bee otherwhile received for truethes.\nBut time, in the ende, discovers suche pelfe: that liers, not only\ndoe gaine no credite, but no man vouchesafes to harken unto them,\nin otherwise (as the men that carry no substaunce in their woordes)\nthen if they had saide nothing or blowne a litle winde. And you shal\nunderstand, ther be many y^t use to lie, not minding any ill purpose\nin it, or to make their owne peculiar proffit by it, to hurt other\nmen or shame their neighbour: onely they doe it, for a pleasure they\ntake to tell a lie: as men that drinke not, all for thirst: but for a\npleasure they take, to taste of the wine. Other some doe tell lies, to\nmake a vaine glorious boasting of them selves: vaunting and telling in\na bravery, what wonderfull exploits they have doone, or bearing men in\nhand, they be greate doctours and learned men.\n\nIn Silence too, after a sorte, without speache, a man may tell a\nlesinge: I meane with his gestures and grace: as some you shall see,\nthat being of meane, or rather base condition and calling, use suche a\nsolemnitie in all their doings, and marche so stately, and speake with\nsuche a prerogative, or rather discourse like Parleament men, setteling\nthem selves, as it were, in a place of Judgement, proudly prying about\nthem like Peacockes: that it is a very death to behold them.\n\nAnd some suche you shall finde, that allthough they bee combered with\nno more wealthe then easily serves their turne: yet will they never\nappeare unles their neckes be laden with chaines, their fingers full\nof rings, their cappes beset with agletts, and every other parte\nbespangled, as though they would defie y^e King of Castiglio. Whose\nbehaviours be full of follies and vaine glorie, which cometh of pride,\ngrowing of vanitie it selfe. So that wee must eschew these faults, as\nfoule and unseemely things. You shall understand, in many Cities, and\nthose of the best, the lawes doe not suffer, that riche men should go\nmuche more gorgeously attired, then the poore. For poore men thinke\nthey have a wrong: when men seeme, but in countenaunce alone, as it\nwere Imperiously to reigne over them. So that we must carefully beware\nwe fall not into these follies.\n\nNeither must a man boaste of his Nobilitie, his Honour or riches:\nmuche lesse vaunt of his witt, or gloriously reherse to much of his\ndeedes & valiant Actes, or what his Auncestors have done, nor uppon\nevery occasion, fall in rehersall of suche thinges, as many men doe.\nFor in suche case, a man would weene, they seeke, either to contend\nwith the Company, (if they be, or will take uppon them to bee, as good\nGentlemen, & of as muche wealthe and worthines, as they bee:) or elles\nto overcrowe them, (if they live in meaner condition and calling,\nthen they doe). And as it were to upbraide them, their poore and base\ncondition of life.\n\nA man must neither embase, nor exalte him selfe to muche out of\nmeasure: but rather bury in silence some parte of his merits, then\narrogate to muche unto him. Bycause Goodnes it selfe, when it excedeth\nmuche, is ever envide of some. And you may be sure, they that embase\nthem selves thus beyond measure, refusing that worship and honour\nthat is but duely their owne of very right: shewe more pride in this\ncontempte, then they that usurpe those things, that are not so due unto\nthem. So y^t a man perchaunce, might saye, Giotto hath not deserved\nthose Commendations y^t some beleve, in y^t he refused to be called\nMaster: being not only a master but without doubt a singular and\ncunning master in his art in those dayes. But be it blame, or praise\ny^t he deserved: it is most sure, he that refuseth that which every\nman els doth hunt for: sheweth therin, he reproveth or contemneth the\ncommon opinion of men. And, to contemne the honour & renowne, which\nother men gape for so much, is but to glorie and magnifie him selfe\nabove other. For asmuche as there is no man (without he be mad) will\nrefuse and reject things that be deare and of price: unles hee be\nsuche, as hathe plenty and store of those deare and deintie things.\n\nWee must not boast of those good things that be in us, nor set them to\nlight: for in y^e one, wee doe upbraide men their faults: In the other,\nwee scorne to muche their vertues. But it behoveth every man to speake\nhis owne praise, as litle as hee may. And if occasion drive him unto\nit: it shalbe good, modestly to speake the truethe, as I have told you\nbefore.\n\nAnd therefore, they that desire to doe men a pleasure: must needes\nleave one faulte, y^t is to common with all men: they must not shewe\nthem selves so afraide and fearefull to speake their mindes, when a\nman dothe aske their advise. For, it is a deadly paine to here them,\n& specialy if they be men, in y^e Judgement of y^e world, of good\nunderstanding and wisedome. What a fetching about is this, ere they\ncome to y^e mater? Sir I beseche you pardon mee, if I doe not say well.\nI will speake like a gros man as I am: & grosly according to my pore\nskil. And Sir, I am sure you will but mocke me for it. But yet, to obey\nyou: & they drawe their words forth so long, & put them selves to suche\npaine: y^t, while these ceremonies be a doing, y^e hardest question\ny^t is, might have bin determined with fewer words and shorter time:\nbycause they cannot get out of these protestations, when they bee in.\n\nThey bee also very tedious to men, and their conversation & maners\nare very troublesome: whoe shewe too base and abject a minde in their\ndoings. And where the chefest and highest place, is apparantly due unto\nthem: they will ever creepe downe to the lowest. And it is a spitefull\nbuisines to thrust them up: For they will straite jogge backe againe,\nlike a resty Jade, or a Nagge that startleth a side at his shadowe. So\nthat, there is muche a dooe w^t them, when wee meete at a doore. For\nthey will not (for all you can dooe) in any case enter before you, but\nso traverse their ground, go backe, and so fray and defend with their\narmes and their handes: that at every thirde steppe, a man must be\nready to wage battell with them: and thus they breake of, all solace\nand pleasure, and otherwhile, the buisines they meete aboute.\n\nAnd therfore, Ceremonies, which wee name, as you heare, by a straunge\nterme, as lacking a worde of our owne, bycause our elders, having no\nknowledge of those superstitious fashions, coulde not well give them\na proper name. Ceremonies, I saye, (in my Judgement,) differ not much\nfrom lies & dreames, for their own very vainesse it selfe. So that wee\nmay couple and joine them together in this our treatise, sithe occasion\nserves so fitt to speake of them here. As a good man hath often shewed\nme: those solemnities that church men doe use at their Altars, and in\ntheir divine service bothe to God and his holy things, are properly\ncalled Ceremonies: but after, men did begin, to reverence eche other\nwith curious entertainements, more then were convenient, and would be\ncalled masters and Lords, amongest them selves, yealding bending, and\nbowing their bodies, in token of reverence one to another, uncovering\ntheir heads, using highe titles and Styles of honour, and kissing their\nhands as if they were hollye things: some body, by like considering\nall these things well, and finding these newe founde curious follies\nwithout any name: thought good to Christen and call them Ceremonies,\nbut sure in a jest as I take it: as to be mery and make good cheare, we\nterme it in sport, a triumph: which custome, no doubt, tooke not his\nbeing at us, but elles where, as barbarous & straunge: and not long\nsince, from whence I knowe not, transported into Italie: whose deedes\nbeing wretched, and effects base and vile, hath gotten encrease and\nhonor, in vaine woords alone, and superfluous titles.\n\nCeremonies then, if we consider well their intents that use them:\nare but vaine shewes of honour and reverence, towardes him to whome\nthey be doone: framed of semblance and wordes touching their titles\nand courtious offers. I say vaine: In that we honour men to their\nface, whome we reverence not in deede, but otherwhile contemne. And\nnevertheles, because we may not go against custome, wee give them these\ntitles: The most honorable Lord suche a one: the Noble Lord suche a\none. And so otherwhile wee offer them our humble service: whome wee\ncould better unserve then serve, & commaund then doe them any duety.\n\nThen not Lesinges alone, but also Treacheries and Treasons, shalbe\ncalled Ceremonies. But because these wordes and these titles above\nrehersed, have lost their strength: and waste, (as a man may say of\nIron) their temper, w^t such continuall occupying of it as it we\ndoe use: we must not so precisely way them as other words, nor so\nstrictly construe the meaning of them. And, that this is true, that\nwhich allwayes happens to all men, dothe shewe it plaine inoughe.\nFor if wee meete with a man, we never sawe before: with whome, uppon\nsome occasion, it behoves us to talke: without examining wel his\nworthines, most commonly, that wee may not offend in to litle, we give\nhim to much, and call him Gentleman, and otherwhile Sir, althoughe he\nbe but some Souter or Barbar, or other suche stuffe: and all bycause\nhe is appareled neate, somewhat gentleman like.\n\nAnd as men in times past, were wont to have under the Privilege of\nthe Pope & Emperour, peculiar & distinct titles of honour, which\nmight not be untouched, without doing wrong to the privileged men:\nnor againe attributed & geven without a scorne, to them that were no\nsuch privileged persones: So at this daye, wee must more freely use\nthose titles, and the other significations of honour, like to those\ntitles: bycause Custome the mightiest Lorde, hathe largely therewith,\nprivileged men of our time.\n\nThis use and custome, then so faire and gallant without, is altogether\nvaine within, and consisteth in semblance without effect, & in wordes\nwithout meaning. But this notwithstanding, it is not lawful for us to\nchaunge it: but rather, bycause it is not our fault, but the fault of\nour time, wee are bounde to followe it: but yet wee must discretely doe\nit.\n\nSo that wee are to noate, that Ceremonies are used, either for a\nProfit, or for a Vanitie, or for a Duetie. And every lie that is told\nfor a mans private profit: is a deceite, a sinne, and a dishonest\nparte: for, in what so ever it bee, A man can never honestly lie.\n\nAnd this is a common fault with flatterers, that counterfet them selves\nto be our friendes, and apply them selves ever to our desiers, what\nsoever they be: not bycause wee would have it so, but to the ende\nwee should doe them some pleasure, for it. And this is not to please\nus, but to deceive us. And albeit this kind of fault be, peradventure,\nby reason of custome sufferable: yet notwithstanding bycause of it\nselfe, it is fowle and hurtefull, it ill becomes a gentle man to doe\nit. For it is no honestie to seeke a pleasure by the hurt of another.\nAnd if lies and false flatteries, may bee termed Ceremonies (as I\nhave saide before:) so oft, as we use them for respect of our gain &\nprofit: so oft wee doe hazard our good name and credite: so that this\nconsideration alone, might move us well to leave all Ceremonies, and\nuse them no more.\n\nIt resteth now that I speake of those y^t bee done of Dutie, and of\nthose that be done of a Vainesse. As touching y^e first, We must not\nleave them undone in any wise. For he that faileth to doe them, dothe\nnot onely displease, but doth a wrong to him, to whome they be due. And\nmany times it chaunceth y^e men come to daggers drawing, even for this\noccasion alone, that one man hath not done the other, that worship and\nhonour uppon the way, that he ought. For to saye a trueth The power of\ncustome is great & of much force, (as I said) and would be taken for a\nlawe, in these cases. And that is the cause we say: You: to every one,\nthat is not a man of very base calling, and in suche kinde of speach\nwee yealde such a one, no maner of courtesie of our owne. But if wee\nsay: Thou: to suche a one, then wee disgrace him and offer him outrage\nand wronge: and by suche speach, seeme to make no better reconing of\nhim, then of a knave and a clowne.\n\nAnd although the times past, and other countries, have used other\nmaners: let us yet, keepe ourselves to our owne: And let not us dispute\nthe matter, which is the better of twaine. For wee must observe, not\nthose, that we Judge in our owne conceits to be good: but suche, as\nbe currant by custome, & used in our owne time: as lawes, which we be\nbound to keepe, thoughe they be not all of the best, till suche time,\nas the magistrates, the Prince, or they that have power to amend them,\nhave chaunged them to better.\n\nSo that It behoves us, hedefully to marke the doings and speache,\nwherewith daily practise and custome, wonteth to receave, salute,\n& name in our owne country, all sortes and kinds of people, and in\nall our familiar communication with men, let us use the same. And\nnotwithstanding the Admerall (as peradventure the maner of his time\nwas suche) in his talke with Peter the King of Aragon, did many times:\nThou him: Let us yet saye to our King: Your majestie: and your highnes:\naswell in speache as in writing. And if they have followed the use of\ntheir time: then let not us breake the fashions of ours. And these doe\nI call Duetifull Ceremonies, bycause they proceede not, as we would,\nor of our owne free willes: but are laide uppon us by the Lawes: I\nmeane, Common custome.\n\nAnd in suche things, as carry no evill meaning in them, but rather some\nface of courtesie: reason would and commaundeth, we shoulde rather\nobserve common Custome, then dispute and lay the lawe for them.\n\nAnd albeit, to kisse in shewe of reverence, of very right appertaineth\nto the reliques of Saints and there holy matters: yet if it bee the\nmaner of your country, at parting, to say: Signori, Io vi bascio la\nmano. Or: Io son vostro servidore: Or els: vostro schiavo in catena:\nyou must not disdaine it, more then other. But, In farewelles and\nwritings, you must salute and take leave, not as reason, but as custome\nwill have you: and not as men wont in times past, or should doe: but as\nmen use at this day: for it is a chorlishe maner to say: What greate\ngentleman is he I pray you, that I must master him: Or: is he becom\nmaster parson, that I must kisse his hands? for he that is wont to be\n(Sird) and likewise (Sirreth) other: may thinke you disdaine him, and\nuse some outrage unto him, when you call him to his face, by his bare\nname, and give him no addition.\n\nAnd these termes of Seignory, service, & duetye, and such other\nlike unto these, as I have saide: have lost a greate parte of their\nharshnes, and (as hearbes long steepte in the water) are sweetened,\nand made softe and tender, by reason of muche speache in mens mouthes,\nand continuall use to speake them. So that we must not abhorre them, as\nsome rude and rusticall fellowes, full of foolishe simplicitie, doe:\nthat would faine beginne the letters we write to Kinges and Emperours\nafter this sort, vz. If thou and thy children be in healthe it is well:\nI am also in healthe: saying, that suche was the beginning of the\nletters, the Latins did write to the magistrates of Rome. If men should\nlive by their measure, and go backe to those fashions and maners, our\nfirst fathers did use: the worlde then by litle and litle, would come\nso about, that we should feede uppon acornes againe.\n\nAnd in these Duetifull Ceremonies, there be also certain rules and\nprecepts, we must observe: that wee may not bee touched w^t Vainesse\nand Pride. And first of all, wee must consider the country where wee\ndoe live. For all customes be not currant a like in all countreys.\nAnd peradventure that which they use in Naples, which is a Citye\nreplenished with gentlemen, of good houses, and Lordes of greate power,\nwere not so fitte for Florens and Luke: Which are inhabited, for the\nmost part, with Merchants and plaine gentlemen, without any Prince,\nMarques, or Barone amongest them. So that the brave and Lordelike\nmanners of the gentlemen of Naples transported to Florence: should\nbe but waste, and more then needes: like a tall mans gowne cast over\na dwarfe: as also the manners of Florence shoulde be to pinchinge\nand straite, for the Noble natures and mindes of the gentlemen of\nNaples. And although the gentlemen of Venice use great embracings and\nentertainementes amongst themselves, and fawne without measure the one\non the other, by reason of their offices, degrees and favours they\nlooke to finde when they meete and assemble to choose their officers:\nyet for all this, it is not convenient, that the good men of Rouigo, or\nthe Citizens of Asolo, should use the like solemnities, embraceings and\nentertainements one to another, haveing no such kinde of cause amongst\nthem: Albeit all that same countrie (if I bee not deceived) is falne a\nlitle, into these kinde of follies, as over carelesse and apt inough\nby nature, or rather learning those maners of Venice their Lady and\nMistris: because Everie man gladly seeketh to tread the steps of his\nbetter: although there be no reason for it.\n\nMoreover we must have a regarde to the time, to the age, and the\ncondition of him, to whom we use these ceremonies, and likewise respect\nour owne calling: and with men of credite maintaine them: but w^t men\nof small account cut them of cleane, or at least, abridge them as muche\nas wee may, & rather give them a becke then a due garde: Which the\ncourtiers in Rome can very well skill to doe.\n\nBut in some cases these Ceremonies be very combersome to a mans\nbusines, and very tedious: as \"Cover your head,\" sayes the Judge,\ny^t is busied w^t causes, and is scanted of time to dispatche them.\nAnd this fellow so full of these Ceremonies, after a number of legges\nand shuflinge curtesis, aunswers againe: \"Sir I am very well thus.\"\nBut sayes the Judge againe, \"Cover your head I say.\" Yet this good\nfellow tourning twise or thrise to & fro, making lowe conges downe to\nthe grounde w^t muche reverence and humilitie, aunswers him, still: \"I\nbeseache your worship, let me doe my duetie.\" This busines and trouble\nlasteth so long, & so muche time is trifled: that the Judge might very\nnere have dispatched all his busines within that space. Then, although\nit be every honest mans parte, and the duety of every meaner body, to\nhonour the Judges, and men y^t be called to worship & honour: yet,\nwhere time will not beare it: it is a very troublesome thing to use it,\nand it must be eschewed, or measured with reason.\n\nNeither be y^e self same Ceremonies semely for young men, respecting\ntheir Age: y^t ould men doe use together. Nor yet can it becom men of\nmeane and base condition, to use the very same, y^t gentlemen & greate\nmen may use one to another. And if wee marke it well, we shall find,\ny^t the greatest, y^e best men, & men of most valour, doe not alwayes\nuse y^e most Ceremonies them selves, nor yet love nor looke a man\nshould make many goodly curtsies unto them, as men that can ill spend\ntheir thoughts one matters so vaine.\n\nNeither must handy crafts men, nor men of base condition, buisie them\nselves to much, in over solemne Ceremonies to greate men, and Lordes:\nit is not lookt for in suche. For they disdaine them, more then allowe\nthem: because it seemes that in such, they seeke, & looke, rather for\nobedience and duetie, then honour. And therefore it is a foule faulte\nin a servaunt, to offer his master his service: for he counts it his\nshame, & he thinks the servant doth make a doubt, whether he is master\nor no; as if it were not in him to imploy him, & commaund him too.\nThese kinde of Ceremonies would be used frankely. For, What a man\ndothe of duetie, is taken for a debte, and hee finds him selfe litle\nbeholding to him that doth it. But he that dothe more then he is bound\nto: it seems he parteth with somewhat, and that makes men to love him,\nand to commende him for a liberall man. And I remember mee well, I have\nhearde it saide, that a worthy Graecian a greate versifier, was ever\nwont to saye: that He that could skill to entertaine men with a small\nadventure, made a greate gaine.\n\nYou shall then use youre Ceremonies, as the tailer shapes his garments,\nrather to large then to litle: but yet not so, that hee cutteth one\nhose large inough to make a cloke. And if thou doe use in this point,\nsome litle gentle behaviour, to suche as be meaner then thy selfe:\nthou shalt be counted lowly. And if thou doe asmuche to thy betters:\nthou shalt bee saide a Gentleman well taught, and courtious. But hee\nthat dothe herin to muche, and is over lavishe, shalbe blamed as vaine\nand light: and perhaps worse thought of too: counted a busie body, a\nfidging fellowe, and in wise mens sight, a flatterer: which vice, our\nelders have called, (if I doe not forget me) dowble diligence. And\nthere is no faulte in the worlde, more to bee abhorred, or y^t worsse\nbeseemes a gentleman, then this. And this is the thirde maner of\nCeremonies, which simply procedeth of our owne will, and not of custome.\n\nLet us then remember, that Ceremonies, (as I have alwayes said) were\nnot so necessarie by nature, but a man might doe well inough without\nthem: As for example, our countrie lived (it is not long since) in\nmaner cleane without any. But other mens diseases have infected us,\nwith these infirmities and many mo. So that, custome and use observed:\nthe rest that is more, is but waste: and such a sufferable leesing, as\nif it be more in deede then is in use, it is not only unsufferable, but\nforbidden: and so uppon, the matter, a cold and unsavourie thing to\nnoble mindes, that cannot brouse uppon shrubbes and shewes.\n\nAnd you shall understand, that trusting my owne skill but little, in\nwriting this present treatise: I thought good to consult with many, and\nto take the Judgement of better learned men then my selfe. And this\nin my reading I finde. There was a King, they call him Oedipus: being\nbanished and driven out of his countrie (uppon what occasion I know\nnot) he fled to King Theseus at Athens, the better to save him selfe\nand his life, from his enemies, that mainely pursued him. This Oedipus\nnow comming before the presence of Theseus, by good chaunce hearing\nhis daughter speake, (whome he knew by her voice, for he was blind and\ncould not beholde her with his eyes) he was so presently striken with\njoy, that, not tarying to doe his allegeaunce and duetie to the King,\nhe did presently embrace, & make much of his daughter before him: his\nfatherly affection so led him, and rulde him so. But in the end finding\nhis fault, and better advising himselfe of his doings: he would needs\nexcuse it to Theseus, & humbly prayd his grace to pardon his folly. The\ngood and wise King, cut of his talke, and bad him leave his excuses,\nand thus saide unto him: Comfort thy selfe, Oedipus, and bee not\ndismayd at that thou hast done. For I will not have my life honoured\nwith other mens woordes, but with my owne deedes. Which sentence a man\nshould have alwayes in mind.\n\nAnd albeit men be well pleased, that men doe give them worship &\nhonour: yet when they find them selves cuningly courted, they be soone\nweary of it, and also disdaine it. For these glaverings, or flatteries\nI should say, to amend their knaveries & falsehoodes, have this fault\nwithall: that these glavering fellowes doe plainly shewe, they count\nhim, whome they court in this sorte, but a vaine, and arrogant bodie,\nan asse of grose capacitie, and so simple, y^t it should be an easie\nmatter to baite him and take him too. And these Vaine and Curious\nCeremonies, besides that they be superfluous: they beare with all a\nshape of flattery, so slenderly covered, that every man doth openly see\nthem, and know them plaine: in suche sorte, that they that doe them,\nto the end to make a gaine, besides that ill that is in them, wherof\nI spake before: shewe them selves also, gentlemen ill taught, without\ngood maner or any honest fashion.\n\nBut there is another sorte of Ceremonious people, who make it an arte\nand merchandise, and keepe a booke and a reconing of it. One these\nmen (they say) they must smile, on such men they must laughe: and\ny^e better man shall sit in the chair, and the other uppon a lowe\nstoole: which superstitious Ceremonies, I beleve, were transported\nout of Spaine into Italie. But our country, hath geven them but colde\nentertainement, and as yet they have taken but slender roote here: for\nthis precise difference of worship, and gentry, is not liked of, with\nus. And therefore it is but ill maner, for a man to make him selfe\nJudge, which is the better man.\n\nBut it is much worse for a man to make a sale of his Ceremonies and\nentertainments, (after y^e maner of harlots) as I have seene many\ngentlemen doe in the court, geving good wordes and faire countenaunces\nfor a rewarde and recompence, of the goods and the time, their\nservaunts have spent in their service.\n\nAnd sure they that take a pleasure to use over many Ceremonies, more\nthen neede: shewe they doe it uppon a lustines and bravery, as men that\nhave nothing elles in them of any valour.\n\nAnd bycause these follies are learned w^t ease inough, and carry\nwithall a litle faire glose in shewe: they bestowe all their whole\nmindes none other waye. But grave matters they can not abide to weelde,\nas things to farre above their reache: and coulde finde in their harts\nto dwell in these toyes and trifles, as men whose capacitie conceiveth\nnought of Importaunce: like tender milkesops that can beare no brunt:\nor that, beside a glorious outside, have not mettall inough in them to\nabide a flea biting. And therfore, they could wishe it were so: that\nthese entertainments and acquaintance with men, should go no further\nthen the first sight. And of these there bee an infinite number.\n\nAnd some againe be to full of words, and abound to muche in curtious\ngestures to cover and hide the defects and faults of their treacheries,\nand their vile & base natures: For they see, if they should be as baren\n& rude in their woords, as they be in their deeds & their doings, men\nwould in no case abide them. And to saye a trueth, yow shall finde y^t\none of these two causes, drawe most men one, to use these wast and\nneedles Ceremonies, and nothing els: which lightly most men cannot away\nwithall, bycause they be hindered by them, & their meanes, to live as\nthey would, and lose their libertie: whiche a man dothe preferre above\nanything ells.\n\nWee must not speake ill of other men, nor of their doings: althoughe it\nplainely appere, that men do willingly lend good eare to heare it, as\neasily moved therto, by y^e nature of malice and envy, that pines at\nour Neighbours prosperity and rising to worship & honour: for at length\nmen will eschewe the acquaintaunce of Slaunderous people, as much as\nthey shunne the Oxe, y^t goreth with his horns, or strikes w^t his\nfeete: making their reconing, that what they tell them of us, asmuche\nthey will tell us, of them.\n\nAnd some ther be, that so quarel at every word, question, and wrangle,\nthat they shew they have litle skill in other mens natures: for,\nEvery man desireth the victory should go one his side: and hates it\nasmuche, to be mastered in words, as to be vanquished in any other acte\nthat he dothe. So y^t, willfully to overthwart a man, it workethe no\nLove and good will: but rather displeasure, rancoure and malice. And\ntherfore, he that sekes to be well thought of, and would be taken for\na pleasaunt and good Companion, must not so redily use these speaches:\nIt was not so: And, Nay: it is as I tell you. I wil lay a wager with\nyou: But he must rather take pains, to apply himself to other mens\nminds concerning such things, as have matter of small importaunce: By\ncause the victorye, in such cases, is daungerous: for, the gaininge\nthe cause, in trifling questions, dooth often loose the Love of a\nfaithfull friend. And men are so farre out of love & liking, of such\nhot fellowes: that they will by no meanes growe acquainted with suche,\nleast they be driven every hower to bralle, to chide, and to fighte\nwith them for it. And suche kinde of people doe purchase these names:\nMaister Uniciguerra: Or, Sir Contraponi: Or, Sir Tuttesalle: And\nsometime: il Dottor suttile.\n\nAnd if you chaunce otherwhile, to be intreated of the company to\nspeake your mind: I would have you doe it after a gentle sort, without\nshewing your selfe so greedie to carry the bucklers away, as if you\nwould eate them up for haste. But you must Leave to every man his\nparte: And bee it right or wronge, consent to the minds of the most,\nor the most importunate: and so leave the fielde unto them: that some\nother, and not your selfe, may beate and sweat, and chace in the\nwinning of the cause. For these quarelous contentions, bee foule and\nill favoured fashions for gentlemen to use: and they get them ill will\nand displeasure of all men for it: and they bee uncomely for their owne\nunseemelines, which of it selfe offendeth every good honest minde, as\nit may chaunce you shall heare hereafter.\n\nBut the common fault of men is such, and eche man is so infected with\nthis selfe love and liking of him selfe: that he hath no respect or\ncare to please any man ells.\n\nAnd to shewe them selves fine headed, of muche understanding, and wise:\nthey counsell, reprove, dispute, and bralle, to daggers drawing, and\nallowe nothing els but that they say them selves.\n\nTo offer advise, unrequested: what is it els but to vaunt youre selfe\nwiser then he is, whom you do counsell: nay rather it is a plaine\nchecke to him, for his Ignoraunce and folly. And therfore, you must not\ndo so, with all your acquaintance generally: but only with your very\nfriendes, or suche whom you are to governe & rule: or els, when a man\nhapely standes in daunger & perill, how muche a straunger so ever he\nbe. But in our common Acquaintance and conversation, Let us not busy\nour selves, and medle to muche with other mens doings. In which fault\nmany doe fall: but most of all, the men of least understanding. For,\nMen of grose capacities consider but litle: And they take no longe time\nto debate with them selves, as men that have litle busines to doe.\n\nBut how so ever it be, hee that offereth and geveth his counsell: geves\nus to thinke, hee hathe this conceite of him selfe: that all the witt\nis in him, and other poore men have none at all.\n\nAnd sure there bee some, that stand so muche in conceite of their wit:\nthat they will be in maner, at warres, with him, that wil not follow\nthe counsell they give them. And thus they will say: \"Very well: a\npoore mans counsell will not be taken: suche a one will doe as he list:\nsuche a one geves no heede to my wordes.\" As though there were not more\nArrogancie in thee, that sekest to bring a man to followe thy Counsell:\nthen there is in him, that followes his owne advise.\n\nAnd they doe also make the like fault, y^t take uppon them to reprove\nand correct mens faults, and to geve a definite sentence in all things,\nand lay the lawe to all men. \"Suche a thing would not be done: You\nspake suche woordes: Doe not so: say not so: The wine that you drinke\nis not good for you: it would be red wine. You should use suche an\nElectuarie, and suche pilles:\" And they never leave to reprove and\ncorrect. And let us passe that over, that otherwhile, they busy them\nselves so much, to purge other mens grounds: that their owne is\novergrowen, and full of thornes and nettles. For it is a mervailous\npaine unto them, to heare one that side.\n\nAnd as there be few or none, whose minds can frame, to spend their\nlife with a Physition, a Confessour, and muche lesse a Judge that hath\njurisdiction and power to controwle and correct all criminall faultes:\nso is ther not one, that can take any pleasure to live, or make himself\nfamiliar with suche Censors: so hard, and severe. For, every man loveth\nlibertye: and they woulde robbe us of it, and get to be our masters.\nSo that it is no good manner to be so redie to corect and give rules\nunto men: we must geve Scholemasters and Fathers leave to do that. And\nyet that notwithstanding, experience doth shewe, the childeren and\nscholers both, do often hide them selves from them, you see.\n\nI doe not allow, that a man should scorne or scoffe at any man, what so\never he be: no not his very enimy, what displeasure so ever he beare\nhim: for, it is a greater signe of contempt and disdaine, to scorne a\nman, then to do him an open wrong: forasmuch as wrongs may be done,\neither of choler, or of som covetous minde or other. And ther is no man\nwill take a displeasure with that, or for that, he doth not set by: nor\nyet covet that thing, he doth altogether contemne. So that, a man doth\nmake some accompt of him he dothe wronge: but of him that he scoffes\nand scornes, he makes no reconing at all, or as litle as may be.\n\nAnd the Nature and effect of a scorne, is properly to take a\ncontentation and pleasure to do another man shame and villany: thoughe\nit do our selves no good in the world. So that, good maner & honesty,\nwould us beware we scorne no man in any case: wherin they be much to\nbe blamed, that reprove men those blemishes they have in their person,\neither in woords, as Master Forese da Rabatta did, laughing at the\ncountenaunce of Master Giotta: or in deeds, as many doe, counterfeting\nthose that stutter, haulte, or be crookte shoulderd. And likewise,\nthey that scoffe at any man, that is deformed, ill shapen, leane,\nlitle, or a dwarfe, ar much to be blamed for it: or, that make a gibing\nand jesting at such follies as another man speaketh, or the woordes\nthat escape him by chaunce: and with all, have a sporte and a pleasure\nto make a man blush: all these spitefull behaviours and fashions,\nworthely deserve to be hated, and make them that use them, unworthy to\nbeare the name of an honest gentleman.\n\nAnd such as use to jest at a man, be very like unto these: I meane\nthem that have a good sport to mocke and beguile men, not in spite or\nscorne, but on a meriment alone. And you shall understand, There is\nno difference betweene a scorne and a mocke: but the purpose alone\nand intent a man hath, in the meaning the one or the other. For a man\nmockes and laughes otherwhile, in a sport and a pastime: but his scorne\nis ever in a rage and disdaine. Although in common speache and writing,\nwee take the one woorde sometime for the other. But He that doth scorne\na man: feeleth a contentation in the shame he hath done him: And hee\nthat dothe mocke, or but laughe: taketh no contentation in that he hath\ndone: but a sport, to be merry & passe the time away: where it would\nbe, both a greefe and a sorrow, perchaunce, unto him, to see that man\nreceave any shame, by any thing he said or did unto him.\n\nAnd althoughe I profited litle, in my Grammar in my youthe; yet I\nremember that Mitio, who loved Aeschines so muche, that he him selfe\nhad wonder at it; yet other while, toke a sporte & a pleasure to mocke\nhim: as when he said to him selfe: I will go to give him a mocke: so\nthat, I must inferre, that the selfe same thing, done to the very selfe\nsame body: according to the intent of him that doth it, may be either a\nmocke or scorne.\n\nAnd bycause our purpose, cannot be plainely knowne unto other men: it\nshall not be good for us to use such parts, as bring men in doubt and\nsuspicion, what our intent and meaning is in them: but rather let us\neschewe them, then seeke to be counted Jesters. For, It many times\nchaunceth, in boording and Jesting, one tackes in sporte, the other\nstrikes againe in earnest: & thus from playing, they come to fraying.\nSo, he that is familiarly mockte in pastime, recons it, otherwhile,\nto be done to his shame & dishonour, and therat he takes a disdaine.\nBesides this, A mocke is no better, then a deceite. And naturally, it\ngreveth every man to erre and be deceived. So that, many Reasons ther\nbe to prove, That He that seekes to purchase goodwill, and be well\nthought of: must not make him selfe to cunning in mockes and Jestes.\n\nIt is very true, we are not able, in no wise, to leade this paineful\nlife, altogether without some pleasure and solace: And bycause Jestes\ndo geve us some sporte, and make us merry, and so consequently refreash\nour spirits: we love them that be pleasaunt, merry conceited, and\nfull of solace. So that a body would thinke, I should rather persuade\nthe contrarie: I meane, I shoulde say: It is convenient and meete in\ncompany, to use prety mockes, and otherwhile some Jestes and taunts.\nAnd without doubt, they that can stint after a friendly and gentle\nsort, be muche more made of, and better beloved then they that cannot\nskill or have no wit to doe it. Howbeit, it is needeful in this, to\nhave a respect to many things.\n\nAnd forasmuche as it is the intent of him that doth Jest: to make a\nsport and pastime at his faulte, whome he doth love and esteeme, and of\nwhom he doth make more then a common account: it must be well lookte\nto, that the fault, wherin his friend hath fallen, be suche, as he may\nsustaine no slaunder or shame, or any harme by any talke or Jeste he\nmakes uppon it: otherwise, his skil doth ill serve him, to make a good\ndifference betweene a pleasaunt Jest, and a very plaine wronge.\n\nAnd there be some men, so short & so testy, that you must, in no wise,\nbe merry, nor use any jesting with them. And that can Biondello well\ntell, by Maister Philippo Argenti in the gallery of Caviccioli.\n\nAnd moreover, It cannot be good to jeaste in matters of weite, and\nmuche lesse in matters of shame. For, men will weene that wee have\na good sporte (as the common saying is) to bragge and boast in our\nevill: as it is said, the Lady Philippe of Prato, took a singular\npleasure and contentation in the pleasaunt & prety aunswer she made, to\nexcuse her loose and wanton life. And therefore, I cannot thinke that\nLupo of Uberti did any thing extenuat or lessen his shame: but rather\nincreaste it greater, by the Jeste that hee made to excuse his faulte,\nand qualifye the opinion of his cowardly minde. For, where he might\nhave kept him selfe safe without daunger in the castle of Laterin,\nwherein he was besieged round about, and shutte up: hee thought hee\nhad plaide the man good inoughe, in that hee could say at the yealding\nit up: that \"A wolfe doth not love to be besieged and shutte up.\" For,\nwhere it is out of time for to laughe, there to use any Jestes or\ndaliaunce, it hath a very colde Grace.\n\nAnd further, you shall understand, there be some Jestes y^t bite, &\nsome y^t bite not at all. For the first sorte: let y^t wise counsell\nthat Lauretta gave for that point, suffice to teach you: That Jestes\nmust bite the hearer like a sheepe, but not like a dogge. For if\nit pinche, as the bite of a dogge: it shalbe no more a Jeste but a\nwronge. And the lawes almost in all countries, will, that who saith any\nvillanie unto a man, shalbe grevously punished for it. And, perchaunce,\nit were not amisse, to provide with all, some sharp correction for him,\nthat should bite in way of jesting, beyond all honest measure. But\ngentlemen should make account, that the lawe that punisheth wronges,\nextendeth as farre to jestes, and that they should seldome or very\neasily nip or taunt any man.\n\nAnd besides all this, you must understand, that a jest, whether it\nbite, or bite not, if it be not fine & full of wit, men take no\npleasure at al to heare it, but rather are wearied with it: or at least\nwise, if they doe laughe, they laughe not at the jest, but at the\njester him selfe, that brings it forthe so colde.\n\nAnd bycause, Jestes be no other thing but deceites: and deceite (as\na thing that is framed of subtilenes & craft) cannot be wrought but\nof men, that have fine and redy wittes, and very present: therefore\nthey have no grace in men that be rude, and of grose understanding:\nnot yet in them alwayes, that have the best and floweing wittes: as,\nperadventure, they did not altogether become Master John Boccaccio.\n\nBut tauntes and Jestes be a special redines and aptnes of wit, and\nquicken the motions of the minde: wherefore they that have discretion,\ndoe not in this point, consider their will, but their disposition of\nnature: and after they have once or twise tried their wittes, and finde\nthem unfit for suche purpose: they leave to labour them selves any\nfurther in that kind of exercise: that it may not chaunce unto them,\nthat hapt to the knight of the lady Horetta. And if you looke in to the\nmaners of many, you shall easily see, this that I tell you is true:\nI say, that To Jest or to taunt, is not currant with every man that\nwill, but onely with them that can. And there be many that for every\npurpose, have in their mouth redy, many of these wordes, which wee call\nBicticcichi: that have no maner of sense or meaning in them. And some,\nthat use very foolishly and fondly to chaunge Sillables into woords.\nAnd some you shall heare speake and make answer, otherwise then a man\nwould lightly looke for, without any wit or pleasure in the world in\ntheir talke. And if you doe aske them, \"Doue e il signore?\" they answer\nagaine. \"Doue egli ha i piedi:\" and likewise \"Et gli fece unguer le\nmani con le grascia di signore Giovan Boccadoro. Doue mi manda egli?\nAd Arno. Io mi vogli\u00f3 radere, Sarebbe meglio rodere. Va chiama il\nBarbieri. Et perrhe non il Barbadomani.\" Al which be to grose, to rude\nand to stale: and such were almost, all the pleasaunt purposes and\njestes of Dioneo.\n\nBut I will not take uppon me at this time, to discourse of the best\nand the worst kinde of jestes, what they be: aswel for that other men\nhave written treatises thereof much more lernedly and better then I\ncan: as also, bycause jestes and tauntes, have at first sight, a large\nand sure proofe of their grace or disgrace: such, as thou canst not\ndo much amisse in this point, w^tout thou stand to much in thy owne\nconceite, and think to well of thy selfe: for where the jest is prety\nand pleasaunt, there a man straite is merry, and shewes a liking by\nlaughing, and makes a kinde of admiration of it. So that, where the\ncompany geves foorth no liking of thy sportes and conceites, by their\nmirthes and their laughing: hould thy selfe still then, and jest no\nmore. For it is thy owne faulte thou must think, and not theirs that\ndo heare the: forasmuch as the hearers, as it were allured, with the\nredie, pleasaunt, and subtile aunswers or questions (do what they can,\nwill they or nill they) cannot forbeare their laughing, but laughe in\nspite of their teeth. From whom as from our right & lawfull Judges, wee\nmust not appeale to our selves.\n\nNeither must a man, to make other men merie, speake foule and filthie\nwordes, nor make ilfavoured gestures, distorting his countenaunce, &\ndisfiguring his bodie: For, No man should, for other mens pleasures,\ndishonest & dishonour him self. It is an arte for a Juggler & jester to\nuse: it doth not become a gentleman to do so. We must not then, imitate\ny^e common and rude behaviours of Dioneo. Madonna Aldruda Alzate La\ncoda.\n\nNor we must not counterfet our selves to be fooles & unsavorie doltes:\nbut as time & occasion serveth, tell some pretie tale or some news,\nnever heard of before, he y^t can: & he y^t cannot, let him hold his\npeace. For, these be y^e partes of y^e wit: which, if they be sodain &\nprety, give a proofe & a shew of y^e quicknes of y^e wit, & the goodnes\nof y^e maners of him y^t speakes them: which thing doth verie much\nplease men & makes them our lovers & friends. But if they be otherwise,\nthey woorke them a contrary effect. For, a man would weene the asse\nwould play his parte: or y^t some hody dody & louberly lout would\nfriske and daunce in his doublet. There is another pleasaunte kind of\ncommunication, & y^t is when y^e pleasure & grace doth not consist\nin one merrie conceite alone, but in long & continued talke: which\nwould be well disposed, wel uttered, & very wel set forth, to shew y^e\nmaners, y^e fashions, y^e gestures & behaviours of them we speke, of\nso properly & lively, as y^e hearer should think that he heareth them\nnot rehearsed, but seeth them with his eyes do those very things he\nheares them to speak of: which be very well observed by the gentlemen\nand gentlewomen both, in Boccace: although yet otherwhile (if I be not\ndeceived) they do affect and counterfet, more then is sightly for a\ngentleman or gentlewoman to doe, like to these Comedie Players. And\nto doe this well, you must have the matter, the tale, or the story,\nyou take uppon you to tell, perfect in your minde: and woordes so redy\nand fit, that you neede not say in the end: \"That thing, and tother\nthing: This man, what doe you call him: That matter, helpe me to terme\nit:\" And, \"remember what his name is.\" For this is just the trot of\nthe knight of the Lady Horetta. And if you doe reherse any chaunce,\nin which there be many speakers: you must not say, \"He said and he\naunswered:\" bycause this worde (He) serveth for all men. So that the\nhearer that harkens unto it, is easily deceived, and forgets whome you\nmeane. Then, it behoves them that discourse matters at length, to use\nproper names, & not to chaunge them after.\n\nAnd more over, a man must beware that he say, not those things,\nwhich unsaide in silence would make y^e tale pleasaunt inoughe and\nperadventure, geve it a better grace to leave them out. As to say thus.\n\"Such a one, that was the sonne of such a one, that dwelt in Cocomer\nstreete: do you knowe him? he maried the daughter of Gianfigliazzi, the\nleane scragge, that went so much to Saint Laraunce. No? do not you know\nhim? why? do you not remember the goodly straight old man that ware\nlong haire downe to his shoulders?\" For if it were nothing materiall\nto the tale, whether this chaunce befell him, or him: all this long\nbabble, and fond and folishe questions, were but a tale of a Tubbe: to\nno purpose, more then to weary mens eares that harken to it, and long\nto understand the end. As peradventure our Dant hath made this fault\notherwhile, where he sayeth:\n\n  \"And borne my parents were of yoare in Lumbardie,\n  And eke of Mantuaes soile they both by country be.\"\n\nFor, it was to no purpose, whether his mother were borne at Gazuolo, or\nells at Cremona.\n\nBut I lerned once of a straunger, a Rethorician very lerned, a\nnecessarie lesson concerning this poinct: that Men must dispose and\norder their tale, first with bynames, and then rehearse them (as neede\nis) that be proper. For, the bynames alwayes beare the respect of\nthe persones qualitie: but the other are to be used at the Fathers\ndiscretion, or his whome they concerne.\n\nAnd therfore, that bodie whome in your thought and imagination to\nyour selfe, you doe conceive, might be Lady Covetousnes her selfe: in\nspeache you shall call Maister Erminio Grimaldi: if suche be the common\nopinion, the countrie hathe of him. And, if there be no man in place\nwhere you dwell, so notoriously knowne as might serve the turne fit\nfor your purpose: you must then imagine the case further of, and set\nhim a name at your pleasure. It is very true, that With muche greater\npleasure we harken and better beholde (as it were with our eyes) what\nsoever is told us of men of our acquaintance, if the matter be suche\nas toucheth their maners: then what we doe heare of straungers and men\nunknowne unto us. And the reason is this: when wee doe knowe, that\nsuche a man is woont to doe so: we doe easily beleeve, he hathe doone\nso indeede: and wee take asmuche knoweledge of him, as if wee were\npresent: where it chaunceth not so with us, in the case of a straunger.\n\nOur wordes (be it in longe discourses or other communication) Must\nbe so plaine, that all the companie may easily understand them: and\nwithall, for sounde and sense they must be apt and sweete. For if you\nbe to use one of these two wordes: you shall rather say, Il ventre:\nthen L'Epa. And where your country speache will beare it, you shall\nrather say: La Pancia, then il Ventre: Or, il Corpo. For, by these\nmeanes you shalbe understoode, and not misse understoode, as we\nFlorentines say, nor be darke and obscure to the hearers. The which\nthing our Poet, meaning to eschewe: in this very woorde it selfe (I\nbeleve) sought to finde out another, not thinking muche of his paines\n(bycause it liked him wel) to seeke farre to borrow it els where. And\nsaid:\n\n  Remember how the Lorde a man was faine to be,\n  For mans offence and sinne in Cloister of virginitie.\n\nAnd albeit Dant the learned Poet, did litle set by suche kinde of\nrules: I doe not think yet, a man should allow well of him in doing so.\nAnd sure, I would not councell you to make him your Maister in this\npoint, to learne A Grace: forasmuche as he him selfe had none. For,\nthis I finde in a Chronicle of him.\n\n\"This Dant, was somewhat proude for his knowledge, scornefull and\ndisdainfull, and muche (as Philosophers be) without any grace or\ncourtesie: having no skill to behave him selfe in company.\"\n\nBut to come to our purpose againe: I say, our speache must be plaine:\nwhich will be easie inough to doe: if you have wit to choose those\nwordes that be naturally bred in our soile: and with all not so olde\nw^t Age, that they are become rotten and withered: and as overworne\napparell, leaft of and cast a side. As, Spaldo, and Epa, and Vopo,\nand Sezzaio, & Primaio. And moreover, the wordes you shall use, must\nhave no double understanding, but simple. For by coupling suche wordes\ntogether: wee frame that speache that is called Aenigma. And to speake\nit plainer in our owne language, we call it Gergo. As in this verse:\n\n  Io vidi un che da sette passatoi\n  Fu da un canto all' altro trapassato.\n\nAgaine, our wordes would be, (as nere as they might be) aptly and\nproperly applied to that thing we go about to deliver, & as litle\nas may be, common to other matters: for, in so doing, a man shall\nweene, the matter it selfe is openly laide before him: & that it\nis not expressed with wordes, but pointed foorthe with the finger.\nAnd therefore we may more properly say: A man is knowen by his\ncountenaunce, then by his figure or counterfet. And Dant did better\nexpresse the matter, when he saide,\n\n  \"The weightes\n  That peize the weight doe make the balance creeke,\"\n\nThen if he had saide\n\n  \"Crie out and make a noise.\"\n\nAnd it is a more proper and peculiar speache to say, The shivering of\nan ague, then to call it The Colde. And flesh that is Tidie, to terme\nit rather, Fatte: then Fulsome.\n\nTher be some woordes more in this place to like effect, which I meane\nnot to stande uppon now: bycause our Englishe tounge cannot hansomely\ndeliver their perfect meaning. For the Italians have (as we have, and\nall other Countreis ells as well as wee) certaine peculiar wordes and\ntermes, so naturally and properly their owne, as it is not possible to\nexpresse them aptly and perfectly in any other Language. And therefore\nthe Author him selfe, fearing, or knowing asmuche in the sense of these\nwordes, which he hath inferred in this place (as it were preventing a\nblame) in maner excuseth and speaketh asmuch as I say, as the matter it\nselfe that insueth doth shewe. For, the Author him selfe following his\npurpose saithe thus.\n\n\"I am well assured, if some straunger should, unhappely for my credite,\nhit uppon this treatise of mine: he would laughe mee to scorne, and say\nthat I taught to speake in riddles, or els in Ciphers. For as muche as\nthese wordes, be almost so properly our owne, that other countries have\nno acquaintance with them: or, if they woulde use them, yet they cannot\ntell how to understand them. For, who is it that knowes what Dant ment\nin this verse.\n\n  Gia veggia per Mezzul perdere o Lulla.\n\n\"Sure, I beleeve no man ells but we that are Florentines can understand\nit. Notwithstanding, for any thing that I have saide, if there be any\nfault in this text of Dant: it is not in the wordes. But, if he have\nfaulted, it is rather in this: that (as a man somewhat wilfull) he\nwould take uppon him, a matter harde to be uttered in wordes, and per\nadventure unplesaunt to heare: then that he hath exprest it ill.\"\n\nIt is not then for a man to use any talke, with him that understandeth\nnot that language you talke unto him. Nor yet, bycause a Douche man\nunderstandes not the Italian tounge, must wee (for that cause) breake\nof our talke, to holde talke with him, to make our selves counterfets,\nas Maister Brusaldo did, and as some other be woont, that fondly and\ncoldly, without any grace, thrust them selves in to Chat in their\nlanguage with whome they talke, what so ever it be, and chop it out\nevery worde preposterously. And many times it chaunceth, the Spaniard\ntalkes Italian with the Italian, and the Italian babbles againe in a\nbravevery and gallantnes, the Spanishe toung with the Spaniard. And\nyet, it is an easier thing to know, y^t they both talke like strangers:\nthen to forbeare to laugh at the folish follies that scape them both in\nspeache. Let us not therfore use our forreigne language, but when it is\nneedefull for us to be understoode, for some necessitie or other, that\nappertaineth unto us: And in common use, use our owne tounge, thoughe\nnot altogether so good: rather then a forreigne language, better then\nour owne that is naturall unto us. For a Lumbarde shall speake his owne\ntounge more aptly (which is, notwithstanding, but base and barbarous)\nthen he shall speake the Tuscane, or other language: even bycause he\nhath not so redily, so proper and peculiar wordes, althoughe he studie\nmuch for them, as wee our selves that be Tuscanes.\n\nBut yet, if a man have a respect to them with whome he talkes: and for\nthat cause forbeare & leave out those singular wordes, (which I have\nspoken of) and in stede of them use the generall and common: his talke,\nby suche meanes, shall have the lesse pleasure & delight.\n\nBesides this, it becometh everie honest gentleman, to eschewe those\nwordes that have no honest meaning. And, The goodnes of wordes\nconsisteth either in their sound, or pronouncing: or, in their sense\nand meaning. For as much as som wordes speake an honest matter, and\nyet, perchaunce, there is a certaine unhonest sense perceaved to\nstand in the pronouncinge of the worde it selfe: as Rinculare: which,\nnotwithstanding, is daily used of all men. But if a man or woman should\nspeake after this sorte, & at that verie warning doe it in sight of any\n(che si dice il farsi indietro) then would the grosenesse of the worde\nplainlie appeare unto them. But our Palate, throughe Custome and Use,\nhappilie tasteth y^e wine (as it were) and the bestnes of the sense of\nthe worde, and not y^e Dregges or Leeze.\n\n  She gave the Spanish figge with both her thumbes at once.\n\nSaith Dant.\n\nBut our women, would be much ashamed to speake so: yea to shunne this\nambiguous woord, y^t signifieth a worse matter, they rather say Le\ncastagne. Albeit yet some of them at unwares, many times, name that\nunadvisedly, which if another man had spoken to trie them, would have\nmade them blushe to heare that remembred in way of blasphemie, which\nmakes them women. And therefore, suche as be, or would be better\nmannered or taught, take good heede they doe eschewe, not only things\nuncleane and unhonest, but woordes also: and not somuche those that be\nevill indeede, but those that may be, or doe but seeme to be unhonest,\nfoule & filthie: as some men say these are of Dant.\n\n  She blewe large blastes of winde\n  Both in my face and under.\n\nOr els these.\n\n  I pray thee tell mee where about the hole doth stand.\n\nAnd one of the Spirits said.\n\n  Then come behinde and where the hole is, it may be scand.\n\nAnd you must knowe, that albeit two, or moe wordes, otherwhile chaunce\nto tell one selfe thinge, yet the one is more cleanly then the other.\nAs for example, to say: Con lui giacque, & Della sua persona gli\nsodisfece. For this self same speach, if it were in other termes, would\nbe to broad before & to filthie to heare it. And speaking of Endymion,\nyou may more aptly say: Il Vago della Luna: then you can say Il Drudo,\nalthoughe both these wordes doe import and signifie A lover, and a\nFriend. And a much honester speache is it, if you talke of Aurora, to\ncall, her. Tritons prety gerle and lover, then Concubine. And it better\nbecomes a mans and womans mouth, to call Harlots, women of the worlde\n(as Belcolore did, who was more ashamed to speake it then to doe it)\nthen to use their common name: Thaide \u00e8 la Puttana. And as Boccace\ndeclared y^e power of Meretrici and Ragazzi. For, se cosi hauesse\nnominato dall'arte loro i maschi, come nomin\u00f2 le femine; his talke\nwould have byn foule & shamefull. And withall, A man must not alone\nbeware of unhonest and filthie talke: but also of that whiche is base\nand vile, and especially where a man talketh & discourseth of greate\nand highe matters. And for this Cause, perchaunce, woorthely some blame\nour Beatrice, sayeing:\n\n  To passe throughe Lethes floud, the highest Fates would blott,\n  If man mighte taste the Viandes suche, as there dooe fall by Lott,\n  And not pay firste a due repentaunce for his scott.\n\nFor, in my conceite, these base wordes that come out of the Tavernes,\nbee verie uncomely for suche a worthy discourse. And when a man hathe\nlike occasion to speake of y^e Sunne, it shall not be good to call it\nThe Candell or the Lampe of the world: bycause such woordes do put us\nin minde of y^e Oyle, & the stuffe of the kitchin. Neither should a man\nthat is well advised, say that Saincte Dominicke was Il Drudo della\nTheologia: Nor yet talke, that the glorious Sainctes have spoken suche\nbase and vile woordes: As for Example to say.\n\n  And leave to scratche whereas the scabs of sinne breake out.\n\nFor they savour of y^e dregges, & y^e filth of y^e common people, as\nevery man may easily see.\n\nAgaine, in your long and large discourses, you must have y^e\nlike considerations & cares, & some more: y^e which you may more\ncommodiously learne of your Maisters y^t teache you y^t arte, that is\ncommonly called Rhetorike.\n\nAnd amongest other things, You must accustome your selfe, to use suche\ngentle and courtious speache to men, and so sweete, that it may have\nno maner of bitter taste. And you shall rather say, I cannot tell how\nto say it: Then say: you ar deceived: Or, it is not true: Or, you know\nit not. For, it is a courteous and friendly parte to excuse a mans\nfaulte, even in that very thing, wherein you know how to blame him.\nAnd withall, it doth well, to make the proper and peculiar fault of\nyour friend, indifferent and common to you both: and first, to take\none piece to your selfe, and then after, to blame and reprove him for\nit. Wee were deceived and failed muche: we forgot our selves yesterday\nto doe so. Althoughe suche negligence & errour, or what soever it\nbe: be altogether his fault and not yours. And Restagnone forgat him\nselfe muche, when he saide to his companions: If your wordes doe not\nlie. For, A man should not bring another mannes faithe and honestie in\nquestion and doubte. But, if a man promise you any thing, and doe not\nperforme it: it shall not doe well, for you to say unto him, You have\nlost your credite with mee: without some necessarie cause doe drive you\nto say so, as to save your owne credite and honestie. But, you shall\nrather say: You could not do it: Or, you did not remember to doe it:\nThen, you have cleane forgotten mee. For, these kinde of speaches, have\nsome prickles & stinges of Complaint, Anger and Choler. So that, suche\nas use them selves to speake suche churlishe and fumishe woordes, are\ntaken for sharpe and sower fellowes: & men doe asmuche shunne their\nacquaintance: as to thrust them selves uppon thornes and thistles.\n\nAnd bycause I knowe som, of this naughtie condition & qualitie: I meane\nsome y^t be so hastie and greedy to speake, y^t they take not the sense\nwith them, but over passe it and runne before it, as the grehound, that\ndoth not pinche by overshooting his game: ther fore I will not spare\nto tell you that, which may be thought needeles to touche, as a thing\nto well knowen: and that is, that You shall never speake, before you\nhave first considered & laide the plot in your minde what it is you\nhave to saie. For in so doing, your talke shalbe well delivered and\nnot borne before the time. I trust, straungers will easily beare with\nthis worde: if at least they vouchsafe to read these trifles of mine.\nAnd if you doe not skorne my preceptes: it shall never chaunce you to\nsay: \"welcome Maister Agostino,\" to such a one, whose name is Agnolo,\nor Bernardo. And you shal never need to say, \"Tell me your name:\" Nor\nsay againe, \"I saide not well:\" Nor, \"Lorde what doe I call him:\" Nor\nto hack and to stutter long together, to finde out a worde, \"Maister\nArrigo:\" no \"Master Arabico:\" Tushe, what doe I call him I should say,\n\"Maister Agabito.\" These fonde & foolish behaviours & fashions, paine a\nman as much to heare them, as to be drawne and haled with cordes.\n\nThe voice would be neither hoarse nor shrill. And, when you laugh\nand sporte in any sorte: you must not crye out and criche like the\nPullye of a well: nor yet speake in your yawning. I knowe well it is\nnot in us, to geve our selves a ready tongue or perfect voice at our\nowne will and pleasure. Hee y^t doth stutter, or is hoarse: let him\nnot alwayes bable and gabbe, and keepe a courte alone: let him rather\namend the defect of his tounge with silence, and hearinge: and withall\n(if hee can) with studie diminishe the fault of Nature. It is an ill\nnoise to heare a man raise his voice highe, like to a common Crier.\nAnd yet I would not have him speake so lowe and softly, that he that\nharkens, shall not heare him. And if he be not heard at y^e first time\nhe speaketh, he must speake, the next time, somewhat plainer: but yet,\nnot yoape out aloude, that he make not men thinke he is woode and angry\nwith them: for hee shall doe but well, to rehearse that againe he hath\nspoken, y^t men may understand what he said.\n\nYour wordes would be disposed, even as the common use of speache doth\nrequire and not unsorted, disordered and scattered confusedly: as many\nbe woont to doe uppon a bravery, whose maner of talke is more like a\nScrivener (me thinke) that readeth in his mother tounge, the Indenture\nhe hath written before in latine: then a man that reasoneth or talketh\nin his Naturall language: as this for example.\n\n  They drawe by sent of false and fained steps of truth.\n\nOr if a man should preposterously place his wordes thus.\n\n  Those times did blossomes geve before their time of soothe.\n\nWhich maner of speache, may be otherwhile allowed in versifiers: but it\nis utterly forbidden in common talke.\n\nAnd, it behoves a man, not onely to shunne this versifying maner of\nspeache, in his familiar and common discourse, or talke: but likewise\neschewe y^e pomp, bravery, & affectation, that may be suffered and\nallowed to inriche an Oration, spoken in a publike place. Otherwise,\nmen that doe heare it, will but spite it, and laughe him to scorne for\nit.\n\nAlbeit perchaunce, a Sermon may shewe a greater cunning and arte, then\ncommon talke. But, Everie thing must have his time and place. For, he\nthat walkes by the way must not daunce, but goe. For, every man hath\nnot the skill to daunce, yet every man can skill to goe. But, Dauncing\nis meete for feastes & weddings: it is not to use in the stretes. You\nmust then take good heede you speake not with a majestie.\n\n\nIt is thought by many Philosophers.\n\nAnd suche is all Filocolo, and the other treatises of Maister John\nBoccace, except his greater woorke, and litle more perchaunce Corbaccio.\n\nI would not for al this, that you should use so base a speache, as y^e\nscum, as it were, and the froth of the meanest and vilest sorte of\npeople, Launderers & Hucksters: but suche as gentlemen should speake\n& talke, which I have partly told you before, in what sort it may be\ndone: that is, if you talke of matters that be neither vile, vaine,\nfowle, nor lothesome. And if you have skill to choose amongest the\nwoords of your owne countrie speache, the purest and most proper, suche\nas have the best sounde, and best sense, touching nor remembring, in\nno case, no matter that is foule, vile and base: & if you can place\nyour woords in good order, and not shoofle them together at random, nor\nyet, with over muche Curious studie, file them (as it were) one your\nbeades. Moreover, if you do dispose such things as you have to say with\ndiscretion. And take good hede that you couple not unfit & unlikely\nmatters together: as for Example.\n\n  As sure as God is in Heaven:\n  So stands the staffe in the chimny corner.\n\nAnd if you speake not so slowe, as if you were unlustie: nor so hasty,\nas if you wer hungrie: but as a wise and a temperate man should doe.\nLikewise, if you pronounce youre woords and your sillables with a\ncertaine grace & sweetnes: not as a Scholemaister y^t teacheth young\nChildren to read & to spell. Neither must you mumble them nor supp them\nup, as if they were glued & pasted together one to another. If you\nremember these and such other rules and precepts: youre talke will be\nliked, and heard with pleasure enoughe: and you shall well maintaine\nthe state and countenaunce, that well besemeth a gentleman well taught\nand honest.\n\nBesids these, there be some, that never hould their tounge. And as the\nshippe that sailes, doth not presently stand still, by taking downe\nthe sailes: So doe they runne forward, as caried away with a certaine\nbraide: and loosing the matter of their talke, yet leave not to babble,\nbut either repeate that againe that is said, or els speake still they\ncannot tell what.\n\nAnd there be other so full of babble, that they will not suffer another\nto speake. And as wee doe see otherwhile, uppon the flowers in the\ncountrie where they thresh corne, one Pullet pull the corne out of the\nothers beake: so doe they catche the tale out of his mouth y^t beganne\nit, and tell it them selves. And sure, suche maner of people, induce\nmen to quarell and fight with them for it. For, if you doe marke it\nwel: Nothing moves a man sooner to anger: then when he is soudainely\ncut short of his will and his pleasure, be it of never so little and\nsmall importaunce. As when you gape wide with yawning: another should\nthrust his hand in your mouth: or when you doe lift your arme redy\nto hurle a stone: it is soudainly staide by one that stands behinde\nyou. Even then, as these doings, and many moe like unto these, which\ntend to hinder the will and desire of another (albeit but in way of\nsporte & of play) are unseemely, and would be eschewed: So in talke and\ncommunication with men, wee should rather pull one, and further their\ndesiers, by what meanes we can, then stop them and hinder them in it.\n\nAnd therefore, If any man be in a redines to tell his tale: it is no\ngood maner to interrupte him: nor to say that you doe knowe it well.\nOr, if hee besprinckle his tale here and there, with some prety lie:\nyou must not reprove him for it, neither in wordes nor in gesture, as\nshaking your hed, or scowling uppon him, as many be wont: gloriously\nvaunting them selves, that they can, by no meanes, abide the taste of\na Lie.... But, this is not the reason of this, it is the sharpenes and\nsowernes of their owne rusticall & eager Natures, which makes them so\nvenemous & bitter in all companies they come: that no man cares for\ntheir acquaintance.\n\nLikewise, It is an illfavoured condition to stop another mans tale\nin his mouth: and it spites him asmuche, as if a man should take him\nby the sleeve & hould him backe, even when he is redie to runne his\ncourse. And when another man is in a tale, it is no good maner for you,\nby telling the company some newes, & drawing their mindes to other\nmatters, to make them forsake him cleane, and leave him alone. For, it\nis an uncourtious parte for you to leade and carry away the company:\nwhich the other (not you) hath brought together.\n\nAnd, when a man tells his tale, you must geve good eare unto him:\nthat you may not say otherwhile, O what?: Or, how?: which is many a\nmans fashion to doe. And this is asmuch trouble and paine to him that\nspeaketh: as to shoofle against y^e stones, to him that goeth. All\nthese fashions, and generally, that which may stoppe, and that which\nmay traverse the course of another mans talke, must be shunned.\n\nAnd, if a man tell his tale slowe like a drawe-latche: you must not yet\nhasten him forwarde, nor lende him woordes, although you be quicker in\nspeache then hee. For, many doe take that ill, and specially suche, as\npersuade themselves they have a Joly grace in telling a tale. For, they\ndoe imagine you thinke not so well of them, as they themselves doe: And\nthat you would geve them instructions in their owne Arte: as Merchaunts\nthat live in greate wealth & plentie, would count it a greate reproche\nunto them, that a man should proffer them money, as if they lived\nin lacke, & were poore and stoode in neede of releefe. And you must\nunderstand, that, Every man in his owne conceite, thinkes he can tell\nhis tale well: althoughe for modestie sake he deny it. And I cannot\ngesse how it cometh to passe, that the veriest foole doth babble most:\nwhich over muche prattle, I would not have a gentleman to use, and\nspecially, if his skill be but scant in the matter in talke: Not onely,\nbycause it is a hard matter: but, He must run in many faults that\ntalkes muche: but also, bycause a man weenes, that, He that talkes all\nthe talke to him selfe, woulde (after a sorte) preferre him self above\nthem all that heare him, as a Maister would be above his scholers. And\ntherfore, It is no good maner for a man to take uppon him a greater\nstate, then doth become him. And in this fault, not men alone, but many\ncountries fall into, so cackling and prattling: that, woe be their\neares that geve them hearing.\n\nBut, as over muche babble makes a man weary: so doth over muche Silence\nprocure as greate disliking. For, To use silence in place where other\nmen talke to and fro: is in maner, asmuche a fault, as not to pay your\nshare and scot as other men doe. And as speache is a meane to shewe men\nyour minde, to whome you speake: so, doth Silence againe make men wene,\nyou seke to be unknowne. So y^t, as those people which use to drinke\nmuche at feastes, and make them selves drunke, are wont to thrust them\nout of their companie, that will not take their drinke as they doe: So\nbe these kinde of mute & still fellowes, coldly welcome to pleasaunt\nand mery companie, that meete to passe the time away in pleasure and\ntalke. So that, It is good maner for a man to speake, and likewise to\nhold his peace, as it comes to his turne, and occasion requires.\n\nAs an old Chronicle maketh mention. There was in the parts of Morea,\na very good workman in stone: Who for y^e singular good skill he\nhad in his Art, was called (as I take it) Maestro Chiarissimo. This\nman (now well strooken in yeares) made a certaine treatise, & therin\ngathered together al y^e precepts & rules of his arte: as the man y^t\nhad very good skill to doe it: shewing in what sorte the proportions\nand lineaments of the body, should be duely measured, as well everyone\na parte by it selfe, as one respecting another: y^t they might justly\n& duely be answerable y^e one to the other: which treatise of his, he\nnamed Regolo. Meaning to shewe, that according to that, all the Images\nand pictures, that from thensforth any workeman should make, should be\nsquared & lined forth: as y^e beames, and y^e stones, and the walles,\nare measured by y^e rules & precepts of that booke. But, for that it\nis a muche easier matter to speake it, then to worke it, or doe it:\nand besides that, The greatest number of men, especially of us that\nbe prophane and not learned, have our senses much quicker then our\nunderstanding, and consequently, better conceive particular things and\nExamples, then the generall propositions and Syllogismes (which I might\nterme in plainer speache, Reasons) for this cause this worthy man I\nspeake of, having regard to the Nature of workemen: whose capacities\nare unfit and unable to weeld the weighte of generall Precepts and\nrules: and to declare more plainely, with all his cunning and skill:\nhaving found out for his purpose, a fine marble stone, with muche\nlabour and paine, he fashioned and shaped an Image of it, as perfectly\nproportioned in every parte and member: as the precepts and rules of\nhis treatise had before devised. And as he named the booke, so did he\nname that Image, and called it by name of Regolo.\n\nNow, (and it pleased god) I would I could but one parte of those twoe\npoints, which that noble Ingraver & worckeman I speake of, had perfect\nskill and knowledge to doe: I meane, that I could gather together in\nthis treatise, after a sorte, the due measures of this Art I take\nuppon me to treate of. For, to perfourme the other, to make the second\nRegolo: I meane, to use and observe in my maners, the measures I speake\nof, framing and forming, as it were, A Visible Example, and a material\nImage of them: it were now, to muche for me to doe. For asmuch as, It\nis not inough to have knowledge and Art, in matters concerning maners\n& fashions of men: But it is needefull withall, to worke them to a\nperfect effect, to practise and use them muche: which cannot be had\nuppon the soudaine, nor learned by & by: but it is number of yeares\nthat must winne it: & y^e beste parte of mine be runne fourth alredy,\nyou see.\n\nBut for all this, you must not make y^e lesse reconing of these\nprecepts. For, A man may well teache another the way: although he have\ngone out of the way himself. And, peradventure, they that have lost\ntheir wayes, do better remember the hard wayes to find: then they that\nnever went a misse. And, if in mine infancie, when minds be tender and\npliable, like a young twigge, they that had y^e charge & governement\nof me, had had the skill to smoothe my manners, (perhaps of Nature\nsomwhat hard and rude) and would have polished and wrought them fine:\nperadventure I should have beene such A one, as I travaile to make thee\nNowe, whome I love no lesse then if thou were my sonne. For albeit,\nthe power of Nature be greate: yet is she many times Maistered and\ncorrected by custome: But, we must in time begin to encounter and beate\nher downe, before she get to muche strength and hardines. But most men\nwill not doe so: but rather yealding to their appetite without any\nstriving, following it where so ever it leades them, thinke they must\nsubmitte themselves to Nature: As though Reason were not a naturall\nthing in man. But, Reason hath (as a Lady and Mistris) power to chaunge\nolde customes, and to helpe & hold up Nature, when she doth at any time\ndecay and fall. But very seldome we harken unto her. And y^t for y^e\nmoste parte, maketh us like unto them whome god hath not endued w^t\nReason: I mean brute beastes, in whome notwithstanding, something yet\nworketh: not their owne Reasons (for they have none of them selves) but\nours: as in horses you see it: which by nature would be ever wilde,\nbut y^t their rider makes them tame, and withal, after a sorte, redy\n& very well paced. For many of them would have a hard trot, but that\nthe rider makes them have an easier pace. And some he doth teache to\nstand still, to galopp, to treade the ringe, and passe the carreere:\nAnd they learne to doe it all well you see. Then, if the horse, the\ndog, y^e hauke, & many other beastes besides, more wilde then these,\nbe guided and ruled by Reason, and learne that which their owne Nature\ncannot attaine, but rather repugneth: and become after a sorte cunning\nand skilfull, so farre as their kinde doth beare it, not by Nature,\nbut by custome & use: how muche then may we thinke wee should excell\nthem, by the precepts and rules of our Reason, if wee tooke any heede\nunto it. But, The Senses desire & covet present delightes, what soever\nthey be: and can abide no paines, but puts them of. And by this meanes,\nthey also shake of Reason, and thinke her unpleasant, forasmuche as\nshe sets before them, not pleasure, many times, hurtfull: but goodnes\nand vertue, ever painfull, sower and unsavoury in taste. For, while\nwe live according to the Sense, wee are like to the selly sickman,\nto whom al cates never so deinty & sweete, seeme untoothsome: and he\nchideth still with his Cater and Cooke, in whome there is no fault at\nall for it. For, it is the Nature of his disease, and the Extremitie\nof his sicknes, and not the fault of his meate, that he doth not\nsavourly taste what he eates. So Reason, which of it selfe is sweete\nand savourie: seemes bitter in taste unto us, though it have no ill\ntaste in dede. And therfore as nice & deintie felowes, we refuse to\nmake any taste of her: & cover our grosnes, w^t saying that Nature\nhath no spurres nor raines y^t can prick her forth, or hold her backe.\nWhere sure, if an Oxe or an Asse, or a Hogge, could speake: I beleeve,\nthey could not lightly tell a more fowle & shamefull tale then this.\nWe should be children still all the time of our riper yeares, & in our\nextreame age: and waxe as very fooles with gray hoary heads, as when\nwe were very babes: if it were not that reason, which increaseth in us\nwith our yeares, subdueth affections in us and growen to perfection,\ntransformeth us from beastes in to men. So that it is well seene,\nshee ruleth our senses and bridleth our willes. And it is our owne\nImperfection and not her faulte, if we doe swarve from vertue, goodnes,\nand good order in life.\n\nIt is not then true, that there is not a bridell and Master for Nature,\nNay, she is guided and ruled by twaine: Custome I meane, and Reason.\nBut, as I have tould you a litle before: Reason without Custome and\nuse, cannot make an uncivile bodie, well taught and courtious: Which\ncustome and use, is as it were, bred and borne of time. And therefore\nthey shall doe well, to harken betime unto her, not only for that, by\nthis meanes, a man shall have more time and leasure to learne to be\nsuch as she teacheth, and to become as it were a houshould servaunt\nof hers, and one of her traine: but also bycause The tender age, as\npure and cleane, doth easily receave all Impressions, and reteineth\nmore lively, the colours wherewith she is dyed: then when a man comes\nto riper yeares: And also, bycause The things wherein wee have byn\nnourished and trained from our youth, doe ordinarily please us, above\nall other things. And for this cause, it is said that Diodato, a man\nthat had a singular good gift & grace of utterance, would evermore\nbee the first that came fourth uppon the stage to shewe his Comedie:\nallthoughe they were all but counterfets unto him, whosoever they\nwere that should have spoken before him. But he would not his voice\nshould occupie other mens eares, after they heard another man speake.\nAlthough, in respect of his doings, it were a greate deale Inferiour to\nhis. Seing then, I cannot agree my workes and my wordes together, for\nthose causes I have shewed you before, as Maestro Chiarissimo did: whoe\nhad as good a skil to do it, as he had knowledge to teache it: let it\nsuffice that I have tould in some part what must be done, by cause I am\nnot by any meanes able to doe it in dede. He that liveth in darkenes,\nmay very well Judge what comfort it is to enjoy the benefit of light.\nAnd by an over long silence, we knowe what pleasure it is to speake: so\nwhen you beholde my grose and rude maners: you shall better Judge, what\ngoodnes and vertue there is in courtious behaviours and fashions.\n\nTo come againe then to this treatise, which growes now to some end: wee\nsay that Those be good maners and fashions, which bring a delight, or\nat least, offend not their senses, their minds, and conceits, with whom\nwe live. And of these, wee have hitherto spoken inoughe.\n\nBut you must understand with all this, that, Men be very desirous of\nbewtifull things, well proportioned and comely. And of counterfet\nthings fowle and ill shapen, they be as squemish againe, on the\nother side. And this is a speciall privilege geven to us: that other\ncreatures have no capacitie, to skill what bewtie or measure meaneth.\nAnd, therefore, as things not common w^t beastes but proper to our\nselves: we must embrace them for them selves: and holde them dere: &\nyet those, much more, y^t drawe nerest to y^e knowledge of man: as\nwhich are most apt and inclined to understand the perfection which\nNature hath lefte in men.\n\nAnd albeit, it be a hard matter, to shewe precisely, Bewtie, what\nmaner of thing it is: yet y^t you may have some marke, to know her by:\nyou must understand, y^t Where jointly & severally, every parte & the\nwhole hath his due proportion and measure, there is Bewtie. And that\nthing may justly be called faier, in which the saide proportion and\nmeasure is found. And by that I did once learne of a wise & a learned\nman: Bewtie he said, would consist but of one, at the moste. And\nDeformitie contrarywise, measured her selfe, by Many. As you may see by\nthe faces of faier and goodly women. For, the even lineaments and due\nproportions of every of them: seeme to have byn created & framed by the\njudgement and sight of one face alone. Which cannot be thought in them\nthat be foule & deformed. For, when you beholde a woman, that hath,\nperadventure, bigge and bowle eyes, a little nose, blubbe cheekes, a\nflat mouth, an out chinne, & a browne skinne: you thinke straite that\nthat face is not one womans alone: but is moulded of many faces, and\nmade of many peeces. And yet, you shall finde amongest them, some such,\nwhose partes considered alone by them selves, be very perfect to see\nto: but all set together, be foule and ill favoured: not for any other\ncause, but that they be y^e lineaments of many faier women, and not of\none: So that a man would weene, shee had borrowed her partes, of this\nand that woman. And it may be, that Painter that had all the faier\nmaides of Calabria, naked before him: had none other intent therein,\nthen to judge & discerne in many, y^e partes y^t they have, as it were,\nborrowed heere one, & there another, of one, alone: to whome restoring\nfrom eache y^t was her right: imagining y^t Venus bewty should be such,\nand so proportioned: he set him selfe to paint her.\n\nAnd, you must not think, y^t this is to be seene in the faces, the\npartes, and the bodies of women alone: but it happeneth more or lesse,\nin speache, in gestures & doings. For, if you should chaunce to see\na Noble woman gorgius and gallant, washing of cloutes in a River by\ny^e highe waye side: Althoughe if this were not, you might hapely\npasse away by her, w^t little heede to her person or state: yet this\nwould not brook you nor like you, y^t her servile doings doe shewe her\nmore then one. For her state should answer her honourable condition\nand calling. But her woorke is suche, as is meete for women of base\nand servile life: & although you shall feele, neither ill savour nor\nsent come from her, nor heare any noise that should offend you, nor\nany thing els to trouble your minde: yet the foule and filthy maner\nof doing it, and the unseemely act itselfe: will make you muche to\nloathe it. You must then beware of these fowle and uncomely behaviours,\nasmuche, nay, more then of those other, I have spoken all this while.\nFor, it is a harder matter a greate deale, to knowe when a man faulteth\nin these, then when he faulteth in them. Bycause, It is easier much, we\nsee, to feele then to understande. But yet, it may chaunce otherwhile,\nthat even that which offendeth the senses, may also offend the minde:\nthoughe not altogether after one sorte, as I have told you before:\nshewing you that A man must apparell him selfe, according to the\nfashions that other men use: that it may not be thought he doth reprove\nand correct their doings: The which thing offendeth most men that seeke\nto be commended: And the wisest men that be, mislike it too. For, the\ngarments of the olde world, have lost their date, for men of this age\nand this season to weare. And it is suche an ill shapen sight, to see a\nman clad with other mens cloathes: that a man would weene there would\nbe a fray betwene the doublet & y^e hose: their cloathes doe sit, uppon\nthem so untowardly.\n\nSo that, many of those matters I have spoken of allredy, or\nperadventure all, might be aptly rehersed here again: forasmuch as this\nmeasure I speake of here, is not observed in these things: nor the\ntime, nor y^e place, nor the worke, nor the worker, accorded & fitted\ntogether, so well as it should be. For mens minds and fansies doe like\nit, & take a pleasure and delight in those things. But I thought it\ngood to apply & speake these matters, rather under y^e badge, as it\nwere, of the Senses and desires: then properly assigne them to the\nminde: that a man may the more easily perceive them: bycause It is a\nnaturall thinge, for everie man to feele and desire: but every man\ncannot so generally understand, and especially that, whiche we call\nbewtie, gallantnes or entertainement.\n\nIt is not inoughe for a man, to doe things that be good: but hee must\nalso have a care, hee doe them with a good grace. And a good grace\nis nothing els, but suche a maner of light (as I may call it) as\nshineth in the aptnes of things set in good order and wel disposed,\none with another: and perfectly knit and united together. Without\nwhich proportion and measure, even that which is good is not faire: &\nthe fairenes it self, is not plesaunt. And as meates, though they be\ngood & savourie will give men no minde to eate them, if they have no\npleasaunt relish and taste: So fares it with the maners of men other\nwhile (althoughe in them selves in no respect they be ill, but foolishe\na little, and fond) if a man doe not season them with a certaine\nsweetenes, which you call (as I take it) Grace, and Comlines.\n\nSo that, every vice of it selfe, without any further matter to helpe it\n(it cannot be chosen) must needes offend a man. For, Vices be things so\nfoule and filthie: that honest and modest mindes, will greeve to see\ntheir shamefull effects. And therefore, it shall behove them that seeke\nto be well thought of, with their familiar acquaintance, above all\nthings els to eschewe vices, and especially those, that be foulest and\nworst: as Leachery, Covetousnes, Crueltie, and other. Of which, some\nbe beastly, as Drunkennes, and Gluttonie: some uncleane, as Leacherie:\nother some horrible, as Murther, and such other: all which for them\nselves, and for the very naughtines, that is properly in them al, all\nmen eschewe more, or lesse: But, as earst I said, generally al, as\nthings of greate disorder, make a man misliked muche of all men.\n\nBut, bycause I have not taken uppon me to shew unto you, mens sinnes,\nbut their Errors: it shalbe no parte of my charge at this time to\nentreate of y^e Nature of vices & vertues: but onely of the seemely\n& unseemely fashions and maners wee use one with another. One of the\nwhich unseemely fashions was, that Count Richard did use: of which I\ntould you before. Which, as unseemely and unfitting with those other\nhis good and faire maners hee had besides: that same worthie Bishop (as\na skilfull and cunning Maister in musicke will easily here a note out\nof Tune) had quickly founde out.\n\nIt shalbe then, necessarie for gentlemen and men of good behaviour,\nto have a regard to this measure I speake of: in going, in standing,\nin sitting, in gesture, in porte, in apparell, in talke, in silence,\nin rest and in action. For, a man must not apparell him selfe like\na woman: that the Attire may not be of one sorte, and the person of\nanother: as I doe see it in some that weare their heads & their beards\ncurled with bodkins, and have their face, and their necks, & their\nhands, so starchte and painted, that it were to muche for a girle, nay,\nharlot, that makes a merchandize of it, and sets her selfe to the sale.\n\nYou must smell, neither of sweete nor of sower: for a gentleman would\nnot savour nastily like a begger: n\u00e8 del maschio venga odore di femina\no di meretrice. I doe not by this forbid, but you may very well use\nsome sweete smelles of sweete waters.\n\nYour apparell must be shaped according to the fashion of the time, and\nyour calling, for the causes I have shewed you before. For, We must not\ntake uppon us to alter customes at our will. For time doth beget them,\nand time doth also weare them out.\n\nEvery man may applie those fashions, that be in common use, y^e moste\nto his owne advantage that he can. For, if perchaunce your legges be\nvery long, and men use but short garments: you may use a meane, not\nto long, nor to short. And if your legges be to small, to greate, or\ncrooked: make not your hosen of to light and garishe a colour, that\nit may not call men to looke and to gawre uppon your deformitie. Thou\nmust weare no garment that shall be to light, or overmuche daubde with\ngarding; that men may not say, thou hast Ganymedes hosen, or wearest\nCupides doublet. But, whatsoever it be thou wearest, let it be fit and\nwell made for thy bodie: least thou seme to brave it, in another mans\ncloathes.\n\nBut with all, thou must in any case respect thy condition or estate.\nFor, A man of the Clergie, must not be attired like a Souldier:\nnor a Souldier goe like a Player. When Castruccio was in Rome with\nLodovico Bavero at a greate Pompe, and triumphe: who was both Duke of\nLucca and Pistoia, and Count of Palazzo, and Senatour of Rome: this\nCastruccio, being Lorde greate Maister of the saide Lodovico Bavero his\nhousehoulde: for his bravery, made him a coate of crimsin, uppon the\nbrest wherof, there was this devise, in letters of Golde\n\n  It is even as God will.\n\nAnd uppon the backe behinde.\n\n  And it shallbe as God will.\n\nI beleeve, you thinke this garment, would have become Castruccio his\nTrumpeter better, then it could become him.\n\nAnd although Kings be free from checke, and may doe what they list:\nYet, I could never commend King Manfrede, Whoe ever more used, to suite\nhim selfe in greene. Wee must then have a care, that our apparell be\nnot onely wel made for the bodie: but that it be meete for our calling.\nAnd withall, it be suche, as the countrie doth use, where wee live.\nFor, As in divers places be divers measures, and yet bying and selling\nevery where used: So in sundry landes be sundrie customes, and yet\nevery where a man may behave him, and apparell him selfe, soberly and\ncomely.\n\nThese same feathers, which the Neapolitanes and Spaniardes be wont to\nweare, and braveries and Embroderies: have but ill place amongest grave\ngowned men, & the attires that Citizens doe weare. But their Armour and\nweapons become suche place a greate deal worse. So that, looke what\nhapely might be allowed in Verona, would not, perchaunce, be suffered\nin Venice. For as muche as these gallants, all begarded, and huffing\nin fethers, & warlike fellowes, would not doe well, in this Noble\nCitie so peacefull & Civil. Suche kinde of people be rather, in maner,\nlike nettles and burres, amongest good and sweete garden flowers,\nAnd therefore, they come out of season to men that medle with graver\nmatters then they doe.\n\nI would not have a gentleman to runne in the streate, nor go to fast:\nfor that is for lackies, and not for gentlemen to doe. Besides that, it\nmakes a man weary, sweate, and puffe: which be very unsightly things\nfor suche men to doe. I would not yet have a man go so softe and\ndemurely, as a maide or a wife. And when a man walkes, it is no good\nsight to see a man shake his bodie to muche, nor to hold his handes\nbare and emptie: nor yet cast & fling his armes up & downe, in such\nsort as a man would weene, hee were soweing of Corne in the field: nor\nStare in a mans face, as if he had spied a mares nest.\n\n\"Ther be some again, in their gate pul up their fete as high as a horse\ny^t hath y^e spaven: y^t a man would think they did pluck their fete\nforth of a bushell. Other againe stampe their feete so harde on the\nground: that they make allmoste asmuche noise as a carte. Another goes\nas if he were splay footed. And suche a one quivers with his legges,\nas he stands. Some other againe, at every foote, stoope to stroke up\ntheir hose as they goe. And some set their handes to their sides, and\njet up & downe like a Pecocke: which fashions doe muche offend men: not\nas well, but as ill beseeming a man to use them.\" For, if your horse,\nperchaunce, doe champe and play on the bit, and gape or lill out his\ntounge, albeit this geve little proofe of his goodnes: yet it commends\nhim well to the sale: and you shoulde finde a misse of it, if it were\notherwise: not bycause y^e horse should be ther fore the worse: but\nbycause he should shew the lesse courage and pleasure. Now, if it\nstand so, that Comelines and Grace, be so much made of in beasts, and\nalso in things without life or sense, as experience doth shewe, that,\nTwo things of equall goodnes & comodities, beare not for all that, a\nlike price, if a man doe beholde a finer proportion & bewtie, more in\nthe one then he sees in the other: How muche then more, should it be\nestemed and commended in men, capable of Reason.\n\n\"It is a rude fashion for a man to clawe or scratche him selfe, when he\nsitteth at the table. And a man should at such time have a very greate\ncare y^t he spit not at all. But, if neede inforce him, then let him\ndoe it, after an honest sorte.\" I have heard tell, many times, of suche\ncountries that be so sober: that they doe never spitt. And what should\nthen let us, but we may well forbeare it for suche a little while.\nWe must also beware we doe not eate so greedily, that wee get the\nhicket, or belche withall: as some that feede so fast, that they noy\nthe company with it: they blowe and puffe so loud. Likewise, you must\nnot rubbe your teeth with your napkin, & much lesse with your fingers.\nFor these be trickes for a sloven. Neither must you openly rince your\nmouth w^t the wine, and then spit it fourthe. Neither is it gentleman\nlike, to carry a sticke in your mouth from the table when you rise,\nlike y^e birde that builds her a nest: or put it in your eare, for that\nis a Barbars tricke.\n\nAnd to weare a toothpicke, about your necke: of all fashions that is\ny^e worst. For, besides that it is a bauld Jewell for a gentleman\nto pull forth of his bosome, and putteth men in mind of those\nTooth-drawers, that sit one their benche in the stretes: it makes \"men\nalso to thinke, that the man loves his belly full well, and is provided\nfor it. And I see no reason, why they should not aswell carry a spoone,\nabout their neckes, as a toothepicke.\"\n\nIt is a rude fashion besides, to leane over the table, or to fill your\nmouth so ful of meate, that your cheekes be blowne up w^tall: neither\nmust you by any maner of meanes, give another man to know what pleasure\nyou take, in the meate or the wine. For y^t it is for Taverners and\nBousers, to use suche fashions. And to entertaine men y^t sit at your\ntable, with these words: \"You eate nothing this morning. There is\nnothing that likes you.\" Or, \"tast you of this or of that:\" I doe not\nallowe of these fashions, although they be commonly received and used\nof all men. For, albeit by these meanes, they shewe they make much of\nthose they have invited unto them: yet, many times, they make men to\nleave to eate wher they would. \"For, it geves them to thinke, they\nhave their eyes, allwayes uppon them, and that makes them ashamed to\nfeede.\"\n\nAgaine, I doe not like it, that a man shall take uppon him to be a\ncarver of any meate that stands before him: if he be not muche the\nbetter man, that is the carver: that he to whome he carves, may thinke\nhe receiveth some credite & honour by it. For, Amongest men that\nbe of like condition and calling, it makes a hart burning: that he\nthat playes the carver, should take more uppon him then another. And\notherwhile, y^t which hee carveth, doth not like him to whom it is\ngeven. And more then this, by this meanes he sheweth, that the feaste\nis not sufficiently furnished, or at least not well disposed in order,\nwhen some have muche, & other none at all. And y^e Maister of the\nhouse, may chaunce to take displesure at that, as if it were done to\ndoe him shame. Neverthelesse in these matters, a man must demeasne him\nself, as common use and custome will allowe, and not as Reason & duetie\nwould have it. And I would wishe a man rather to erre in these points\nwith many, then to be singular in doing well. But whatsoever good maner\nthere be in this case, thou must not refuse it, whatsoever is carved\nunto thee. For it may be thought thou doest disdaine it, or grunt at\nthy carver.\n\nNow, to drink all out to every man: which is a fashion as litle in use\namongst us, as y^e terme it selfe is barbarous & straunge: I meane,\nIck bring you, is sure a foule thing of it selfe, & in our countrie\nso coldly accepted yet: y^t we must not go about to bring it in for a\nfashion. If a man doe quaffe or carrouse unto you, you may honestly say\nnay to pledge him, & geveing him thankes, confesse your weakenesse,\nthat you are not able to beare it: or else, to doe him a pleasure, you\nmay for curtesie taste it: and then set downe the cup to them that\nwill, and charge your selfe no further. And although this, Ick bring\nyou, as I have heard many learned men say, hath beene an auncient\ncustome in Greece, and that the Graecians doe muche commend a goodman\nof that time, Socrates, by name, for that hee sat out one whole night\nlong, drinking a vie with another good man, Aristophanes: and yet y^e\nnext morning in the breake of the daye, without any rest uppon his\ndrinking, made suche a cunning Geometricall Instrument, that there was\nno maner of faulte to be found in the same: And albeit they say besides\nthis, that Even as it makes a man bould and hardy, to thrust him selfe\nventerously otherwhile, in to daungerous perils of life: so likewise\nit brings a man in to good temper and fashion, to enure him selfe\notherwhile, with the daungers of things not ever chauncing: And bycause\nthe drinking of wine after this sorte, in a vie, in such excesse and\nwaste, is a shrewde assault to trie the strength of him that quaffes\nso lustily: these Graecians, would have us to use it for a certaine\nproofe of our strength and constancie: and to enure us the better, to\nresist and master all maner of strong temptations.\n\nAll this notwithstanding, I am of a contrary mind: and I doe thinke all\ntheir reasons to fond, and to foolishe. But, we see that Learned men\nhave suche art and cunning to persuade, and such filed wordes to serve\ntheir turne: that wrong doth carry the cause away, and Reason cannot\nprevaile. And therefore let us give them no credite in this point. And\nwhat can I tell, if they have a secret drift herein, to excuse and\ncover the fault of their countrey, that is corrupt with this vice. But\nit is daungerous, perchaunce, for a man to reprove them for it: least\nasmuch happen to him, as chaunced to Socrates him selfe, for his over\nlavish controuling and checking of every mans fault. For, he was so\nspited of all men for it: that many articles of heresies & other foule\nfaultes were put up against him, and he condemned to die in the end:\nallthough they were false. For in truthe, he was a very good man, &\na Chatholike: respecting y^e Religion of their false Idolatrie. But\nsuer, in that he drunke so muche wine that same night: he deserved no\npraise in the worlde. For, the hoggshead was able to holde & receive\na great deale more, then his companion and hee were able to take: if\ny^t may get any praise. And though it did him no harme, that was more,\nthe goodnes of his strong braine: then the continencie of a sober man.\nAnd let the Chronicles talke what they list of this matter, I give\nGod thankes, that amongest many the Plagues that have creapt over the\nAlpes, to infect us: hitherto this worst of all the rest, is not come\nover: that we should take a pleasure and praise, to be drunke. Neither\nshall I ever beleve, that a man can learne to be temperate, of suche a\nMaister as wine and drounkennes.\n\nThe Stewarde of a Noble mans house, may not be so bolde to invite\nstraungers, uppon his owne head, and set them downe at his Lorde &\nMaisters table. And there is none that is wise, will be intreated to\nit, at his request alone. But otherwhile, the servaunts of the house,\nbe so malepert and saucie, that they will take uppon them, more then\ntheir Maister: of which things wee speake in this place, more by\nchaunce, then that the order we have taken from the beginning, doth so\nrequire it.\n\nA man must not uncase him selfe, in the presence of any assembly. \"For\nit is a slovenly sight, in place where honest men be met together of\ngood condition and calling. And it may chaunce he doth uncover those\nparts of his bodie, which work him shame & rebuke to shewe them:\nbesides y^t, it maketh other men abashed to looke upon them. Againe,\nI wold have no man to combe his head, nor washe his hands before men.\nFor such things would be done alone in your chamber, and not abrode:\nwithout it be, I say, to washe your hands when you sit downe to the\ntable. For, there it shall doe well, to washe them in sight, although\nyou have no neede: that they with whome you feede, may assure them\nselves you have done it. A man must not come forthe with his kercheif,\nor quaife one his head, nor yet stroke up his hosen uppon his legges in\ncompany.\n\n\"Some men there be, that have a pride or a use to drawe their mouthes\na little awry, or twinckle up their eye, & to blow up their cheekes,\nand to puffe, and to make, with their countenaunce, sundrie such like\nfoolishe and ilfavoured faces and gestures.\" I councell men to leave\nthem cleane. For, Pallas her selfe, the Goddesse (as I have hearde\nsome wise men say) tooke once a greate pleasure to sound the flute &\nthe cornet: & therin she was verie cunning. It chaunst her, on day,\nsounding her Cornet for her plesure over a fontain, she spide her selfe\nin the water: and when she beheld those strange gestures she must nedes\nmake with her mouth as she plaid: she was so much ashamed of it that\nshe brake the cornet in peces & cast it away.\n\nAnd truely she did but well, for it is no instrument for a woman to\nuse. And it becomes men as ill, \"if they be not of y^t base condition\nand calling, that they must make it a gaine, & an art to live uppon\nit. And looke what I speake, concerning the unseemely gestures of the\ncountenance and face: concerneth likewise, all the partes and members\nof man. For it is an ill sight, to lill out y^e tounge, to stroke your\nbearde much up and downe (as many doe use to doe) to rubbe your hands\ntogether: to sighe, & to sorrowe: to tremble or strike your selfe,\nwhich is also a fashion w^t some: to reatche and stretche your selfe, &\nso retching, to cry out after a nice maner, Alas, Alas: like a country\ncloune, y^t should rouse him selfe in his couche.\"\n\nAnd he that makes a noise w^t his mouth in a token of wonder, and other\nwhile, of contempte and disdaine: \"counterfeteth an ilfavoured grace.\nAnd Counterfet things, differ not muche from truethes.\"\n\nA man must leave those foolishe maner of laughings, groase and\nuncomely. \"And let men laughe uppon occasion, and not uppon custome.\nBut a man must beware he doe not laughe at his owne gestes, and his\ndoings. For that makes men weene hee woulde faine praise him selfe. It\nis for other men to laughe that heare, and not for him that telles the\ntale.\"\n\nNow, you must not beare your selfe in hand, that bycause eache of these\nmatters considered a parte, is but a small fault, y^e hole therefore\ntogether should be as light: but you must rather persuade your selfe\ny^t Many a litle doth make a mickle, as I tould you from the beginning.\nAnd how muche lesse they be, so much the more neede a man hathe to\nlooke well in to them: bycause they be not easily perceived a far of,\nbut creepe in to us by custom, before we be a ware. And, As light\nexpences often used, in Continuance of time, doe covertly waste and\nconsume a greate masse of wealth and riches: So doe these light faultes\nwith the multitude and number of them, in secret overthrow all honest\nand good civilitie and maner. So y^t we must not make a light reconing\nof them.\n\nMoreover, it is a nedefull observation to bethinke your selfe, how\nyou doe move your bodie, and specially in talke. \"For, it many times\nchaunceth, a man is so ernest in his tale, that hee hath no minde of\nany thing els. One wagges his head. Another lookes bigg and scowles\nwith his browes. That man pulls his mouth awry. And tother spittes in\nand uppon their faces with whome he talkes. And som suche there be that\nmove their hands in suche a sorte, as if they should chase y^e flies\nas they go: which be very unhansome & unseemely maners to use.\" And I\nhave heard it saide (for you knowe I have byn familiarly acquainted\nwith learned men in my time) that Pindarus that worthy man was wont to\nsaye: that \"Whatsoever it were that had a good & savourie taste: was\nseasoned by the hands of the Graces. Now, what shall I speake of them\ny^t come forthe of their studies with their penne in their eare: and\nnibble their hankercheifs in their mouthe, or ly lolling w^t their legge\nover the table, or spit one their fingers, and of a number of other\nblockishe gestures and fashions more then these, which cannot be all\nrehearsed well: nor shal not, I meane, put me to further paines to tel\nthem al if I could. For, there be manie perchaunce will say this is to\nmuche, that I have said allredie.\"\n\n\nFINIS\n\n\n\n\nBIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE\n\n\n\n\nBIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE\n\n\nGiovanni della Casa, the author of the \"Galateo,\" was born near\nFlorence in 1503, and died at Rome in 1556. He took orders before\n1538, and became successively Apostolic Clerk, Apostolic Commissary,\nArchbishop of Benevento, Papal Nuncio at Venice, and Secretary of State\nunder Paul IV. He was distinguished as a poet, as a diplomatist, and as\nan orator.\n\nThe \"Galateo\" was written between 1551 and 1555, at the suggestion of\nGaleazzo Florimonte, Bishop of Sessa, whose \"poetic\" name it bears\nin consequence. It was published posthumously at Venice, in 1558,\nin a volume entitled \"Rime e Prose di M. Giov. della Casa,\" and was\nrepublished separately at Milan in 1559, at Florence in 1560, and often\nthereafter. A complete edition of the works of Della Casa, in three\nvolumes, was edited by Casotti at Florence in 1707.\n\nThe \"Galateo\" was translated into French by Jean du Peyrat in 1562, and\nagain, anonymously, with the original and the translation on opposite\npages, in 1573. A Spanish version by Domingo Becerra was published in\n1585, and this was followed in 1599 by a loose imitation by Gracian\nDantisco, entitled \"El Galateo Espa\u00f1ol,\" which in its turn was\ntranslated into English in 1640 by William Styles as \"Galateo Espagnol,\nor the Spanish Gallant.\" In 1598 an edition of the \"Galateo\" in four\nlanguages, Italian, French, Latin, and Spanish, was published at Lyons;\nand a German version was added in the editions of 1609 and 1615.\n\nThe first English translation, by Robert Peterson of Lincoln's Inn,\nappeared in 1576, as \"Galateo of Maister Iohn Della Casa, Archebishop\nof Beneventa, or rather a Treatise of the Manners and Behaviours it\nbehoveth a Man to use in his familiar Conversation;\" and an edition of\nit, limited to one hundred copies, was privately printed by H. J. Reid\nin 1892. Peterson's rendering is based almost entirely on the anonymous\nFrench translation of 1573, although he occasionally refers to the\nItalian original on the opposite pages. Two proofs of his indebtedness\nwill suffice: Where the Frenchman renders the single Italian word\n\"mezzanamente\" by the phrase \"avec discretion et m\u00e9diocrit\u00e9,\" Peterson\nfollows him with \"by Discretion and Measure;\" and again, the single\nword \"questa\" in Della Casa becomes \"cette gracieuset\u00e9 et courtoisie\"\nin the French and \"this civilitie and courtesie\" in the English version.\n\nAt least five other English translations have been published. In\n1616, Thomas Gainsford appended to his \"Rich Cabinet\" an \"Epitome of\nGood Manners extracted from Archbp. J. de la Casa;\" the treatise\nwas paraphrased by N. W. as \"The Refin'd Courtier\" in 1663; in 1701,\nan English translation (from the Latin version of N. Chytraeus) was\npublished \"by several young Gentlemen educated at a private Grammar\nSchool near Hackney,\" under the title of \"J. Casa his Galateus, or a\nTreatise of Manners;\" a version entitled \"Galateo of Manners\" appeared\nin 1703; and still another version, entitled \"Galateo, or a Treatise on\nPoliteness and Delicacy of Manners,\" appeared in 1774. Della Casa was\nalso the author of another treatise on conduct, \"Trattato degli Uffici\ncommuni tra gli Amici superiori e inferiori,\" which was translated\ninto English by Henry Stubbe in 1665, as \"The Arts of Grandeur and\nSubmission.\"\n\nPeterson's version is reproduced in the present work. The proofs\nhave been collated with the British Museum copy of the original 1576\nedition by Mr. W. B. Owen, formerly scholar of St. Catharine's College,\nCambridge. In deference to the insistence of the publisher and the\ngeneral editor, a few passages \"perfume our pages only in their native\nItalian.\"\n\n                                                    J. E. S.\n\n\n\n\n                             THIS VOLUME\n                   WITH TITLE-PAGE BY T. M. CLELAND\n                     WAS PRINTED BY D. B. UPDIKE\n                       AT THE MERRYMOUNT PRESS\n                            BOSTON, U.S.A.\n                                MDCCCC\n                                 XIV\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's Notes:\n\n\nPunctuation errors repaired.\n\nThe following correction has been made to the text:\n\n     Page 88: not shoofle them together at random[original reads\n     \"randon\"]","title":"A Renaissance Courtesy-book: Galateo of Manners & Behaviours","tradition":"philosophy-ethics","translated_text":null,"word_count":34448}