As for the stature and imposing appearance that some admire so much, it is true, to say the best of them, that large men are handsome and tall, I grant it: “they hide their heads among the clouds.” But “pretty are the little”: little men are pretty.

But if a man is pretty, Cotta, he is a little man.

Sickness and disease trouble many people, but without cause: perhaps they are for the good of their souls. “It was part of fate.” The flesh rebels against the spirit; what hurts one must help the other. Sickness is the mother of humility: it reminds us of our mortality, and when we are racing headlong through worldly pomp and merriment, it pulls us by the ear and makes us know ourselves.

Pliny calls it the sum of philosophy, if only we could do when healthy what we promise when sick. “When we are ill, we are at our best.” For what sick man, as Secundus asks Rufus, was ever lustful, greedy, or ambitious? He envies no one, admires no one, flatters no one, despises no one, and does not listen for lies and gossip, and so on.

Without such gentle reminders, people would exercise no restraint: they would be worse than tigers, wolves, and lions. Who could keep them in check? Princes, masters, parents, magistrates, judges, friends, enemies, fair means or foul cannot restrain us; but a little sickness, as Chrysostom observes, will correct and reform us. With good judgment, therefore, Giovanni Pontano had this short sentence engraved on his tomb in Naples: labour, sorrow, grief, sickness, want and woe; serving proud masters, bearing that yoke of superstition, and burying your dearest friends, and so on, are the seasonings of our life.

If your disease is prolonged and painful, it surely will not last forever. “A light affliction, which lasts only a moment, brings us a far more excellent and eternal weight of glory” (2 Corinthians 4:17). Bear it patiently. Women endure great pain in childbirth, yet will not abstain; and those unable to bear children wish for that pain. Be courageous: as much valour can be shown in your bed as in an army or a sea battle. “It will either be conquered or conquer”: you will be free of it at last.

Meanwhile, let it take its course: your mind is in no way disabled. Willibald Pirckheimer, councillor to Charles V, governed all Germany while spending most of his days in bed with gout. The more violent your torment, the shorter it will last; and though it is severe and terrible for the moment, comfort yourself as martyrs do, with honour and immortality.

The famous philosopher Epicurus, suffering as wretched a pain from stones and colic as a man could endure, comforted himself with a thought of immortality: his soul’s joy in his remarkable discoveries drove back the pain of his bodily torments.

Low birth is a great disgrace in some people’s eyes, especially if they are wealthy, hold office, and rise in public life. Then, as he observes, if their birth does not match their position and that of their colleagues, they are deeply embarrassed and ashamed of themselves. Some scorn their own father and mother, disown brothers and sisters along with their other relatives and friends, and will not let them come near while they are displaying their grandeur. They think such beggarly beginnings disgrace their greatness.

Simon in Lucian, after acquiring a little wealth, changed his name from Simon to Simonides because so many of his relatives were beggars, and burned down the house where he was born so that no one could point it out. Others buy titles and coats of arms and force their way into ancient families by every means: falsifying pedigrees, appropriating armorial shields, all because they do not want to appear low-born.

The reason is that a company of people who are all outward show so admire this gentility and give it such honour. Among Germans, Frenchmen, and Venetians, the gentry scorn the common people and will not allow them to marry into their families. They keep them down and use them like so many asses to carry burdens.

In everyday talk and quarrels, the most insulting and abusive name we can attach to a man, or the first we give him, is “low-born rogue,” “beggarly rascal,” and the like. Yet in my judgment this should trouble people least of all their grievances. Of all vanities and follies, boasting of gentle birth is the greatest. What do they brag so much about, claiming such superiority as if they were demigods? Birth?

Has confidence in your ancestry made you so bold?

It is a nonentity, a mere flash, a ceremony, a trifle, a thing of nothing. Consider the beginnings, present condition, progress, and end of the gentry, and then tell me what it is. Oppression, fraud, swindling, usury, knavery, pimping, murder, and tyranny are the beginnings of many ancient families. One man has been a bloodsucker, a murderer of his own kin, the death of many a helpless soul in unjust quarrels and rebellions; he has made many an orphan and poor widow, and for that he is made a lord or an earl, and his descendants gentlemen forever after. Another has been a bawd, a pimp to some great man, a parasite, a slave; he has prostituted himself, his wife, or his daughter to some lustful prince, and for that he is raised to high rank.

Tiberius advanced many to honours in his time because they were notorious whoremongers and heavy drinkers. Many enter this parchment roll, as one writer calls it, through flattery or swindling. Search your ancient families, and out of a multitude you will scarcely find any, as Aeneas Sylvius observes, “who do not have a criminal origin”: whose beginnings were not wicked.