of the soul, to wit, whereby we have sense only common with beasts, and whereby we are nourished as plants. But whereas, this being surd and deaf, and altogether incapable of reason, doth after a sort proceed and spring from the flesh, and always cleave unto the body: the other sensual part which is so subject unto passions, although it be in itself destitute of reason, as a thing proper unto it: yet nevertheless apt and fit it is to hear and obey the understanding and discoursing part of the mind; insomuch as it will turn unto it, suffer itself to be ranged and ordered according to the rules and precepts thereof; unless it be utterly spoiled and corrupted, either by blind and foolish pleasure, or else by a loose and intemperate course of life. As for them that make a wonder at this, and do not conceive how that part being in some sort brutish and unreasonable, may yet be obedient unto reason, they seem unto me as if they did not well comprehend the might and power of reason: namely, how great it is, and forcible, or how far forth it may pierce and pass in command, guidance, and direction; not by way of rough, churlish, violent, and irregular courses, but by fair and formal means, which are able to do more by gentle inducements and persuasions than all the necessary constraints and enforcements in the world. That this is so, it appeareth by the breath, spirits, sinews, bones, and other parts of the body, which be altogether void of reason: howbeit, so soon as there ariseth any motion of the will, which shaketh (as it were) the reins of reason never so little, all of them keep their order, they agree together, and yield obedience. As for example, if the mind and will be disposed to run, the feet are quickly stretched out and ready for a course; the hands likewise settle to their business, if there be a motion of the mind either to throw, or take hold of anything. And verily, the poet Homer most excellently expresseth the sympathy and conformity of this brutish part of the soul unto reason in these verses:
Thus wept the chaste Penelope,
And drench'd her lovely face
With dreary tears, which from her eyes
Ran trickling down apace
For tender heart, bewailing sore
The loss of husband dear,
Ulysses hight, who was in place
Set by her side full near.
And he himself in soul, no less,
Did pity for to see
His best beloved thus to weep;
