(in regard I fear you are not yet able to concoct them) I shall adde this farther. Suppose that some god should promise you, that during this war, your fields should be untouch'd; your house and mony safe, and your self set on some mountains top, folded in one of Homers clouds: would you grieve still? I will not say it of you, but there are a sort of men, that would even rejoice, and greedily feed their eyes with the confused slaughter of dying men. What do you deny this, or seem to wonder at it? I tell you there is a kind of inbred malice in the disposition of mankind; which as the old Poet speakes
And as there are a sort of Apples, which to the tast are sweetly sowre: such are other mens perplexities when our selves are secure. Set me but a man on such a shore of the
