withal discovering some companies of foot which had been sent about by Epaminondus, to charge their battle in the rear, they brake upon them, routed them, and hewed them all in pieces. In the mean season, the battle of the Athenians had not only to do with the Argives, but was hardly pressed by the Theban horsemen, in such wise that it began to open, and was ready to turn back, when the Elean squadron of horse came up to the relief of it, and restored all on that part. With far greater violence did the Lacedæmonians and Thebans meet, these contending for dominion, the other for the maintenance of their ancient honour; so that equal courage, and equal loss on both sides, made the hope and appearance of victory to either equally doubtful: unless perhaps the Lacedæmonians being very firm abiders, might seem the more likely to prevail, as having borne the first brunt and fury of the onset, which was not hitherto remitted; and being framed by discipline, as it were by nature, to excel in patience, whereof the Thebans by practice of a few years, cannot be thought to have gotten a habit so sure and general. But Epaminondas perceiving the obstinate stiffness of the enemies to be such, as neither the bad success of their own horse, nor all the force of the Boeotian army, could abate so far, as to make them give one foot of ground; taking a choice company of the most able men, whom he cast into the form of a wedge or diamond, by the advantage of that figure against a squadron, and by his own exceeding virtue, accompanied with the great strength and resolution of them which followed him, did open their ranks, and cleave the whole battle in despight of all resistance. Thus was the honour of that day won by the Thebans, who may justly be said to have carried the victory, seeing that they remained masters of the ground whereon the battle was fought, having driven the enemy to lodge farther off. For that which was alleged by the Athenians, as a token that the victory was partly theirs, the slaughter of those mercenaries upon whom they lighted by chance in their own flight, finding them behind their army, and the retaining of their dead bodies; it

was a ceremony regardable only among the Greeks, and served merely for ostentation, shewing that by the fight they had obtained somewhat, which the enemy could not get from them otherwise than by request. But the Thebans arrived at the general immediate end of the battle; none daring to abide them in the field: whereof a manifest confession is expressed from them, who forsook the place which they had chosen or accepted, as indifferent for trial of their ability and prowess. This was the last work of the incomparable virtue of Epaminondas, who being in the head of that warlike troop of men, which broke the Lacedæmonians squadron, and forced it to give back in disarray, was furiously charged on the sudden by a desperate company of the Spartans, who all at once threw their darts at him alone; whereby receiving many wounds, he nevertheless with a singular courage maintained the fight, using against the enemies many of their darts, which he drew out of his own body, till at length by a Spartan called Anticrates, he received so violent a stroke with a dart, that the wood of it brake, leaving the iron, and piece of the truncheon in his breast. Hereupon he sunk down, and was soon conveyed out of the fight by his friends; having by his fall somewhat animated the Spartans, who fain would have got his body, but much more inflamed with revengeful indignation the Thebans, who raging at his heavy mischance, did with great slaughter compel their disordered enemies to leave the field; though long they followed not the chace, being wearied more with the sadness of the disaster, than with all the travel of the day. Epaminondas being brought into his tent, was told by the physicians, that when the head of the dart should be drawn out of his body, he must needs die. Hearing this, he called for his shield, which to have lost was held a great dishononr: It was brought to him. He bade them tell him what part had the victory; anwer was made, that the Boeotians had won the field. Then said he, It is a fair time for me to die; and withal sent for Iolidas and Diophontes, two principal men of war, that were both slain which being told him, he advised the

Thebans to make peace, whilst with advantage they might, for that they had none left that was able to discharge the office of a general. Herewithal he willed, that the head of the weapon should be drawn out of his body, comforting his friends that lamented his death, and want of issue, by telling them, that the victories of Leuctra and Mantinea were two fair daughters, in whom his memory should live.

So died Epaminondas, the worthiest man that ever was bred in that nation of Greece, and hardly to be matched in any age or country: for he equalled all others in the several virtues, which in each of them were singular. His justice and sincerity, his temperance, wisdom, and high magnanimity, were no way inferior to his military virtue; in every part whereof he so excelled, that he could not but properly be called a wary, a valiant, a politic, a bountiful, or an industrious, and a provident Captain. Neither was his private conversation unanswerable to those high parts, which gave him praise abroad. For he was grave, and yet very affable and courteous; resolute in public business; but in his own particular easy, and of much mildness: a lover of his people, bearing with men's infirmities; witty and pleasant in speech, far from insolence. Master of his own affections, and furnished with all qualities that might win and keep love. To these graces were added great ability of body, and much eloquence, and very deep knowledge in all parts of philosophy and learning, wherewith his mind being enlightened, rested not in the sweetness of contemplation, but brake forth into such effects, as gave unto Thebes, which had evermore been an underling, a dreadful reputation among all people adjoining, and the highest command in Greece.

CONCLUSION.

By this which we have already set down, is seen the beginning and end of the three first monarchies of the world; whereof the founders and erectors thought, that they could never have ended. That of Rome,

which made the fourth, was also at this time almost at the highest. We have left it flourishing in the middle of the field; having rooted up, or cut down, all that kept it from the eyes and admiration of the world. But after some continuance, it shall begin to lose the beauty it had; the storms of ambition shall beat her great boughs and branches one against another; her leaves shall fall off, her limbs wither, and a rabble of barbarous nations enter the field, and cut her down.

Now these great kings, and conquering nations, have been the subject of those ancient Histories which have been preserved, and yet remain among us; and withal of so many tragical poets, as in the persons of powerful princes and other mighty men have complained against infidelity, time, destiny, and most of all against the variable success of worldly things, and instability of fortune. To these undertakings, these great Lords of the World have beeen stirred up, rather by the desire of fame, which plougheth up the air, and soweth in the wind; than by the affection of bearing rule, which draweth after it so much vexation, and so many cares. And that this is true, the good advice of Cineas to Pyrrhus proves. And certainly, as Fame hath often been dangerous to the living, so it is to the dead of no use at all; because separate from knowledge. Which, were it otherwise, and the extreme ill bargain of buying this lasting discourse, understood by them which are dissolved; they themselves would then rather have wished, to have stolen out of the world without noise, than to be put in mind, that they have purchased the report of their actions in the world, by rapine, oppression, and cruelty; by giving in spoil the innocent and labouring soul to the idle and insolent; and by having emptied the cities of the world of their ancient inhabitants, and filled them again with so many and so variable sorts of sorrows.

Since the fall of the Roman Empire, omitting that of the Germans, which had neither greatness nor continuance, there hath been no state fearful in the East, but that of the Turk: nor in the West any Prince that hath spread his wings far over his nest, but the

Spaniard; who since the time that Ferdinand expelled the Moors out of Grenada, have made many attempts to make themselves masters of all Europe. And it is true, that by the treasures of both Indies, and by the many kingdoms which they possess in Europe, they are at this day the most powerful. But as the Turk is now counterpoised by the Persian, so instead of so many millions as have been spent by the English, French, and Netherlands in a defensive war, and in diversions against them, it is easy to demonstrate, that with the charge of two hundred thousand pound continued but for two years, or three at the most, they may not only be persuaded to live in peace, but all their swelling and overflowing streams may be brought back into their natural channels and old banks. These two nations, I say, are at this day the most eminent, and to be regarded; the one seeking to root out the Christian Religion altogether, the other the truth and sincere profession thereof; the one to join all Europe to Asia, the other the rest of all Europe to Spain.

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For the rest, if we seek a reason of the succession and continuance of this boundless ambition in mortal men, we may add to that which hath been already said; That the kings and princes of the world have always laid before them the actions, but not the ends of those great ones which preceded them. They are always transported with the glory of the one, but they never mind the misery of the other, till they find the rience in themselves. They neglect the advice of God, while they enjoy life, or hope of it; but they follow the counsel of death upon the first approach. It is he that puts into man all the wisdom of the world, without speaking a word; which God, with all the words of his law, promises, or threats, doth not infuse. Death, which hateth and destroyeth man, is believed; God, which hath made him, and loves him, is always deferred. "I have considered," saith Solomon, "all the works that are under the sun, and behold, all is vanity and vexation of spirit:" but who believes it till death tells it us? It was death, which opening the conscience of Charles the Fifth, made him enjoin his son Philip to