been, according as fortune has been able to bring me in place where they have been explained; but I have utterly forgotten it; and if I am a man of some reading, I am a man of no retention; so that I can promise no certainty, more than to make known to what point the knowledge I now have has risen.  Therefore, let none lay stress upon the matter I write, but upon my method in writing it.  Let them observe, in what I borrow, if I have known how to choose what is proper to raise or help the invention, which is always my own.  For I make others say for me, not before but after me, what, either for want of language or want of sense, I cannot myself so well express.  I do not number my borrowings, I weigh them; and had I designed to raise their value by number, I had made them twice as many; they are all, or within a very few, so famed and ancient authors, that they seem, methinks, themselves sufficiently to tell who they are, without giving me the trouble.  In reasons, comparisons, and arguments, if I transplant any into my own soil, and confound them amongst my own, I purposely conceal the author, to awe the temerity of those precipitate censors who fall upon all sorts of writings, particularly the late ones, of men yet living; and in the vulgar tongue which puts every one into a capacity of criticising and which seem to convict the conception and design as vulgar also.  I will have them give Plutarch a fillip on my nose, and rail against Seneca when they think they rail at me.  I must shelter my own weakness under these great reputations.  I shall love any one that can unplume me, that is, by clearness of understanding and judgment, and by the sole distinction of the force and beauty of the discourse.  For I who, for want of memory, am at every turn at a loss to, pick them out of their national livery, am yet wise enough to know, by the measure of my own abilities, that my soil is incapable of producing any of those rich flowers that I there find growing; and that all the fruits of my own growth are not worth any one of them.  For this, indeed, I hold myself responsible; if I get in my own way; if there be any vanity and defect in my writings which I do not of myself perceive nor can discern, when pointed out to me by another; for many faults escape our eye, but the infirmity of judgment consists in not being able to discern them, when by another laid open to us.  Knowledge and truth may be in us without judgment, and judgment also without them; but the confession of ignorance is one of the finest and surest testimonies of judgment that I know.  I have no other officer to put my writings in rank and file, but only fortune.  As things come into my head, I heap them one upon another; sometimes they advance in whole bodies, sometimes in single file.  I would that every one should see my natural and ordinary pace, irregular as it is; I suffer myself to jog on at my own rate.  Neither are these subjects which a man is not permitted to be ignorant in, or casually and at a venture, to discourse of.  I could wish to have a more perfect knowledge of things, but I will not buy it so dear as it costs.  My design is to pass over easily, and not laboriously, the remainder of my life; there is nothing that I will cudgel my brains about; no, not even knowledge, of what value soever.