Those who preach to princes so circumspect and vigilant a jealousy and distrust, under colour of security, preach to them ruin and dishonour:  nothing noble can be performed without danger.  I know a person, naturally of a very great daring and enterprising courage, whose good fortune is continually marred by such persuasions, that he keep himself close surrounded by his friends, that he must not hearken to any reconciliation with his ancient enemies, that he must stand aloof, and not trust his person in hands stronger than his own, what promises or offers soever they may make him, or what advantages soever he may see before him.  And I know another, who has unexpectedly advanced his fortunes by following a clear contrary advice.

Courage, the reputation and glory of which men seek with so greedy an appetite, presents itself, when need requires, as magnificently in cuerpo, as in full armour; in a closet, as in a camp; with arms pendant, as with arms raised.

This over-circumspect and wary prudence is a mortal enemy to all high and generous exploits.  Scipio, to sound Syphax’s intention, leaving his army, abandoning Spain, not yet secure nor well settled in his new conquest, could pass over into Africa in two small ships, to commit himself, in an enemy’s country, to the power of a barbarian king, to a faith untried and unknown, without obligation, without hostage, under the sole security of the grandeur of his own courage, his good fortune, and the promise of his high hopes.—­[ Livy, xxviii. 17.]

          “Habita fides ipsam plerumque fidem obligat.”

          ["Trust often obliges fidelity.”—­Livy, xxii. 22.]

In a life of ambition and glory, it is necessary to hold a stiff rein upon suspicion:  fear and distrust invite and draw on offence.  The most mistrustful of our kings—­[ Louis XI.]—­established his affairs principally by voluntarily committing his life and liberty into his enemies’ hands, by that action manifesting that he had absolute confidence in them, to the end they might repose as great an assurance in him.  Caesar only opposed the authority of his countenance and the haughty sharpness of his rebukes to his mutinous legions in arms against him: 

                              “Stetit aggere fulti
               Cespitis, intrepidus vultu:  meruitque timeri,
               Nil metuens.”

     ["He stood on a mound, his countenance intrepid, and merited to be
     feared, he fearing nothing.”—­Lucan, v. 316.]

But it is true, withal, that this undaunted assurance is not to be represented in its simple and entire form, but by such whom the apprehension of death, and the worst that can happen, does not terrify and affright; for to represent a pretended resolution with a pale and doubtful countenance and trembling limbs, for the service of an important reconciliation, will effect nothing to purpose.  ’Tis an excellent way to gain the heart and will of another, to submit