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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 maladie, shall I say my Mistris melancholy, my Ægeria, or my malus genius, & for that cause as he that is stung with a scorpion, I would expel clavum clavo, comfort one sorrow with another, idlenes with idlenes, ut ex viperâ Theriacum, make an Antidote out of that which was the prime cause of my disease.
Or as he did, of whom Felix Plater speaks, that thought he had some of Aristophanes frogs in his belly, still crying Brecc’ ckex, coax, coax, oop, oop, and for that cause studied physick seven years, and travelled over most part of Europe to ease himself: To do my self good I turned over such physicians as our libraries would afford, or my private friends impart, and have taken this pains.
And why not? Cardan professeth he writ his book De consolatione after his sons death, to comfort himself, so did Tully write of the same subject with like intent after his daughters departure, if it be his at least, or some impostors put out in his name, which Lipsius probably suspects.
Concerning my self, I can peradventure affirm with Marius in Salust, that which others hear or reade of, I felt, and practised my self, they get their knowledge by books, I mine by melancholizing, Experto crede Roberto.
Something I can speak out of experience, ærumnabilis experientia me docuit, and with her in the Poet, Haud ignara mali miseris succurrere disco. I would help others out of a fellow-feeling, and as that vertuous Lady did of old, being a leper her self, 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 actum agere, an unnecessary work, cramben bis coctam apponere, the same again and again in other words. To what purpose? Nothing is omitted that may well be said, so thought Lucian in the like theam. How many excellent Physitians have written just Volumes and elaborate tracts of this subject? no news here, that which I have is stoln from others, Dicitq; mihi mea pagina fur es.
If that severe doom of Synesius be true, It is a greater offence to steal dead mens labours, than their clothes, what shall become of most Writers? I hold up my hand at the bar amongst others, and am guilty of felonie in this kinde, habes confitentem reum, I am content to be pressed with the rest.
Tis most true, tenet insanabile multos scribendi cacoëthes, and there is no end of writing of books, as the Wise-man found of old, in this scribling age, especially wherein the number of books is without number, (as a worthy man saith) presses be oppressed, and out of an itching humor, that every man hath to shew himself, desirous of fame and honor (scribimus indocti doctiq;———) he will write no matter what, and scrape together it boots not whence.
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, and get themselves a name, saith Scaliger, though it be to the down-fall and ruine of many others.
To be counted writers, scriptores ut salutentur, to be thought and held Polumathes and Polyhistors, apud imperitum vulgus ob ventosæ nomen artis, to get a paper-kingdom: nulla spe quæstus sed amplâ famæ, in this precipitate, ambitious age, nunc ut est sæculum, inter immaturam eruditionem, ambitiosum & præceps (tis Scaligers 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, humane authors, rake over all Indexes & Pamphlets for notes, as our merchants do strange havens for traffick, write great Tomes, Cum non sint re vera doctiores, sed loquaciores, when as they are not therby better scholars, but greater praters. They commonly pretend publike good, but as Gesner observes, tis pride and vanity that eggs them on, no news or ought worthy of note, but the same in other terms. Ne feriarentur fortasse typographi, vel ideo scribendum est aliquid ut se vixisse testentur.
As Apothecaries we make new mixtures every day, pour out of one vessell into another; and as those old Romans rob'd all the cities of the world, to set out their bad sited Rome, we skim off the cream of other mens wits, pick the choice flowers of their till'd gardens to set out our own sterill plots. Castrant alios ut libros suos per se graciles alieno adipe suffarciant (so Jovius inveighs) They lard their lean books with the fat of others works. Ineruditi fures, &c.
A fault that every Writer findes, as I do now, and yet faulty themselves, Trium literarum homines, all theeves; they pilfer out of old Writers to stuffe up their new Comments, scrape Ennius dung-hils, and out of Democritus pit, as I have done.
By which means it comes to passe, that not only libraries and shops are full of our putid papers, but every close-stool and jakes, Scribunt carmina quæ legunt cacantes; they serve to put under pies, to lap spice in, and keep rost-meat from burning.