rays of that light which rebound from the good proceedings in philosophy; whereas contrariwise the furious pricks of lust, timorous frights, unmanly and base flights, childish and excessive joys, dolorous sorrows and doleful moans, by reason of some piteous illusions, strange and absurd visions appearing in dreams, may be well compared unto_ the broken waves and billows of the sea beating upon the rocks and craggy banks of the shore; for that the soul having not as yet that settled perfection in itself which should keep it in good order, but holdeth on a course still according to good laws only and sage opinions, from which when it is farthest sequestered and most remote, to wit, in sleep, it sufiereth itself to return again to the old wont and to be let loose and abandoned to her passions: But whether these things may be ascribed unto that profit and amendment whereof we treat, or rather to some other habitude, having now gathered more strength and firm constancy not subject by means of reasons and good instruction to shaking, I leave that to your own consideration and mine together.
But now forasmuch as this total impassibility (if I may so speak) of the mind, to wit, a state so perfect that it is void of all affections, is a great and divine thing; and seeing that this profit and proceeding whereof we write consisteth in a kind of remission and mildness of the said passions, we ought both to consider each of them apart and also compare them one with another, thereby to examine and judge the difference: confer we shall every passion by itself, by observing whether our lusts and desires be more calm and less violent than in former time, by marking likewise our fits of fear and anger, whether they be now abated in comparison of those before, or whether when they be up and inflamed, we can quickly with the help of reason remove or quench that which was wont to set them on work or afire: compare we shall them together, in case we examine ourselves whether we have now a greater portion of grace and shame in us than of fear; whether we find in ourselves emulation and not envy; whether we covet honour rather than worldly goods; and in one word, whether after the manner of musicians we offend rather in the extremity and excess of harmony called Dorian, which is grave, solemn, and devout, than the Lydian, which is light and galliard-like, that is to say, inclining rather in the whole manner of our life to hardness and severity than to effeminate softness; whether in the enterprise of any actions we shew timidity and slackness, rather than temerity and rashness, and last of all, whether we offend rather in admiring too
