seat of this atra bilis, or melancholy, whence it proceeds, and how it was engendered in men's bodies, to the intent he might better cure it in himself, and by his writings and observation [51]teach others how to prevent and avoid it. Which good intent of his, Hippocrates highly commended: Democritus Junior is therefore bold to imitate, and because he left it imperfect, and it is now lost, quasi succenturiator Democriti, to revive again, prosecute, and finish in this treatise.
You have had a reason of the name. If the title and inscription offend your gravity, were it a sufficient justification to accuse others, I
could produce many sober treatises, even sermons themselves, which in their fronts carry more fantastical names. Howsoever, it is a kind of policy in these days, to prefix a fantastical title to a book which is to be sold; for, as larks come down to a day-net, many vain readers will tarry and stand gazing like silly passengers at an antic picture in a painter's shop, that will not look at a judicious piece. And, indeed, as [52]Scaliger observes, nothing more invites a reader than an argument unlooked for, unthought of, and sells better than a scurrile pamphlet, tum maxime cum novitas excitat [53]palatum. Many men, saith Gellius, are very conceited in their inscriptions, and able (as [54]Pliny quotes out of Seneca) to make him loiter by the way that went in haste to fetch a midwife for his daughter, now ready to lie down. For my part, I have honourable [55]precedents for this which I have done: I will cite one for all, Anthony Zara, Pap. Epis., his Anatomy of Wit, in four sections, members, subsections, &c., to be read in our libraries.
If any man except against the matter or manner of treating of this my subject, and will demand a reason of it, I can allege more than one; I write of melancholy, by being busy to avoid melancholy. There is no greater cause of melancholy than idleness, no better cure than business, as [56] Rhasis holds: and howbeit, stultus labor est ineptiarum, to be busy in toys is to small purpose, yet hear that divine Seneca, aliud agere quam nihil, better do to no end, than nothing. I wrote therefore, and busied myself in this playing labour, oliosaque diligentia ut vitarem torporum feriandi with Vectius in Macrobius, atque otium in utile verterem negatium.
[57]Simul et jucunda et idonea dicere vita, Lectorem delectando simul atque monendo. Poets would profit or delight mankind,
And with the pleasing have th' instructive joined.
Profit and pleasure, then, to mix with art,
T' inform the judgment, nor offend the heart,
13
Shall gain all votes.
To this end I write, like them, saith Lucian, that recite to trees, and declaim to pillars for want of auditors: as [58]Paulus Aegineta ingenuously confesseth, not that anything was unknown or omitted, but to exercise myself, which course if some took, I think
it would be good for their bodies, and much better for their souls; or peradventure as others do, for fame, to show myself (Scire tuum nihil est, nisi te scire hoc sciat alter). I might be of Thucydides' opinion, [59]to know a thing and not to express it, is all one as if he knew it not. When I first took this task in hand, et quod ait [60]ille, impellents genio negotium suscepi, this I aimed at; [61] vel ut lenirem animum scribendo, to ease my mind by writing; for I had gravidum cor, foetum caput, a kind of imposthume in my
head, which I was very desirous to be unladen of, and could imagine no fitter evacuation than this. Besides, I might not well refrain,
for ubi dolor, ibi digitus, one must needs scratch where it itches. I was not a little offended with this malady, shall I say my mistress Melancholy, my Aegeria, or my malus genius? and for that cause, as he that is stung with a scorpion, I would expel clavum clavo, [62] comfort one sorrow with another, idleness with idleness, ut ex vipera Theriacum, make an antidote out of that which was the prime cause of my disease. Or as he did, of whom [63]Felix Plater speaks, that thought he had some of Aristophanes' frogs in his belly,
still crying Breec, okex, coax, coax, oop, oop, and for that cause studied physic seven years, and travelled over most part of Europe to ease himself. To do myself good I turned over such physicians as our libraries would afford, or my [64]private friends impart, and have taken this pains. And why not? Cardan professeth he wrote his book, De Consolatione after his son's death, to comfort himself; so did Tully write of the same subject with like intent after his daughter's departure, if it be his at least, or some impostor's put out in his name, which Lipsius probably suspects. Concerning myself, I can peradventure affirm with Marius in Sallust, [65]that which oth-ers hear or read of, I felt and practised myself; they get their knowledge by books, I mine by melancholising. Experto crede Roberto. Something I can speak out of experience, aerumnabilis experientia me docuit; and with her in the poet, [66]Haud ignara mali miseris succurrere disco; I would help others out of a fellow-feeling; and, as that virtuous lady did of old, [67]being a leper herself, bestow
all her portion to build an hospital for lepers, I will spend my time and knowledge, which are my greatest fortunes, for the common good of all.
Yea, but you will infer that this is [68]actum agere, an unnecessary work, cramben bis coctam apponnere, the same again and again in other words. To what purpose? [69]Nothing is omitted that may well be said, so thought Lucian in the like theme. How many excellent physicians have written just volumes and elaborate tracts of this subject? No news here; that which I have is stolen, from others, [70]Dicitque mihi mea pagina fur es. If that severe doom of [71]Synesius be true, it is a greater offence to steal dead men's labours, than their clothes, what shall become of most writers? I hold up my hand at the bar among others, and am guilty of felony in this kind, habes confitentem reum, I am content to be pressed with the rest. 'Tis most true, tenet insanabile multos scribendi cacoethes, and [72]there is no end of writing of books, as the wiseman found of old, in this [73]scribbling age, especially wherein [74]the num-ber of books is without number, (as a worthy man saith,) presses be oppressed, and out of an itching humour that every man hath to show himself, [75]desirous of fame and honour (scribimus indocti doctique----) he will write no matter what, and scrape together
it boots not whence. [76]Bewitched with this desire of fame, etiam mediis in morbis, to the disparagement of their health, and scarce able to hold a pen, they must say something, [77]and get themselves a name, saith Scaliger, though it be to the downfall and ruin
of many others. To be counted writers, scriptores ut salutentur, to be thought and held polymaths and polyhistors, apud imperitum vulgus ob ventosae nomen artis, to get a paper-kingdom: nulla spe quaestus sed ampla famae, in this precipitate, ambitious age, nunc ut est saeculum, inter immaturam eruditionem, ambitiosum et praeceps ('tis [78]Scaliger's censure); and they that are scarce auditors, vix auditores, must be masters and teachers, before they be capable and fit hearers. They will rush into all learning, togatam armatam, divine, human authors, rake over all indexes and pamphlets for notes, as our merchants do strange havens for traffic, write great tomes, Cum non sint re vera doctiores, sed loquaciores, whereas they are not thereby better scholars, but greater praters. They commonly pretend public good, but as [79]Gesner observes, 'tis pride and vanity that eggs them on; no news or aught worthy of note,
but the same in other terms. Ne feriarentur fortasse typographi vel ideo scribendum est aliquid ut se vixisse testentur. As apothecar-ies we make new mixtures everyday, pour out of one vessel into another; and as those old Romans robbed all the cities of the world, to set out their bad-sited Rome, we skim off the cream of other men's wits, pick the choice flowers of their tilled gardens to set out our own sterile plots. Castrant alios ut libros suos per se graciles alieno adipe suffarciant (so [80]Jovius inveighs.) They lard their lean books with the fat of others' works. Ineruditi fures, &c. A fault that every writer finds, as I do now, and yet faulty themselves, [81] Trium literarum homines, all thieves;