Clotho,” Megapetus the tyrant in Lucian exclaims, now ready to depart, “let me live a while longer. [2359]I will give thee a thousand talents of gold, and two boles besides, which I took from Cleocritus, worth a hundred talents apiece.”  “Woe’s me,” [2360] saith another, “what goodly manors shall I leave! what fertile fields! what a fine house! what pretty children! how many servants! who shall gather my grapes, my corn?  Must I now die so well settled?  Leave all, so richly and well provided?  Woe’s me, what shall I do?” [2361]_Animula vagula, blandula, qua nunc abibis in loca_?

To these tortures of fear and sorrow, may well be annexed curiosity, that irksome, that tyrannising care, nimia solicitudo, [2362]"superfluous industry about unprofitable things, and their qualities,” as Thomas defines it:  an itching humour or a kind of longing to see that which is not to be seen, to do that which ought not to be done, to know that [2363]secret which should not be known, to eat of the forbidden fruit.  We commonly molest and tire ourselves about things unfit and unnecessary, as Martha troubled herself to little purpose.  Be it in religion, humanity, magic, philosophy, policy, any action or study, ’tis a needless trouble, a mere torment.  For what else is school divinity, how many doth it puzzle? what fruitless questions about the Trinity, resurrection, election, predestination, reprobation, hell-fire, &c., how many shall be saved, damned?  What else is all superstition, but an endless observation of idle ceremonies, traditions?  What is most of our philosophy but a labyrinth of opinions, idle questions, propositions, metaphysical terms?  Socrates, therefore, held all philosophers, cavillers, and mad men, circa subtilia Cavillatores pro insanis habuit, palam eos arguens, saith [2364]Eusebius, because they commonly sought after such things quae nec percipi a nobis neque comprehendi posset, or put case they did understand, yet they were altogether unprofitable.  For what matter is it for us to know how high the Pleiades are, how far distant Perseus and Cassiopeia from us, how deep the sea, &c., we are neither wiser, as he follows it, nor modester, nor better, nor richer, nor stronger for the knowledge of it. Quod supra nos nihil ad, nos, I may say the same of those genethliacal studies, what is astrology but vain elections, predictions? all magic, but a troublesome error, a pernicious foppery? physic, but intricate rules and prescriptions? philology, but vain criticisms? logic, needless sophisms? metaphysics themselves, but intricate subtleties, and fruitless abstractions? alchemy, but a bundle of errors? to what end are such great tomes? why do we spend so many years in their studies?  Much better to know nothing at all, as those barbarous Indians are wholly ignorant, than as some of us, to be so sore vexed about unprofitable toys:  stultus labor est ineptiarum, to build a house without pins, make a rope of sand, to what end? cui bono?