that you would say this peregrination were a thing purposely designed to give foreigners the pleasure of our tragedies, and, for the most part, to such as rejoice and laugh at our miseries.  We go into Italy to learn to fence, and exercise the art at the expense of our lives before we have learned it; and yet, by the rule of discipline, we should put the theory before the practice.  We discover ourselves to be but learners: 

              “Primitae juvenum miserae, bellique futuri
               Dura rudimenta.”

["Wretched the elementary trials of youth, and hard the
rudiments of approaching war.”—­Virgil, AEneid, xi. 156.]

I know that fencing is an art very useful to its end (in a duel betwixt two princes, cousin-germans, in Spain, the elder, says Livy, by his skill and dexterity in arms, easily overcoming the greater and more awkward strength of the younger), and of which the knowledge, as I experimentally know, has inspired some with courage above their natural measure; but this is not properly valour, because it supports itself upon address, and is founded upon something besides itself.  The honour of combat consists in the jealousy of courage, and not of skill; and therefore I have known a friend of mine, famed as a great master in this exercise, in his quarrels make choice of such arms as might deprive him of this advantage and that wholly depended upon fortune and assurance, that they might not attribute his victory rather to his skill in fencing than his valour.  When I was young, gentlemen avoided the reputation of good fencers as injurious to them, and learned to fence with all imaginable privacy as a trade of subtlety, derogating from true and natural valour: 

              “Non schivar non parar, non ritirarsi,
               Voglion costor, ne qui destrezza ha parte;
               Non danno i colpi or finti, or pieni, or scarsi! 
               Toglie l’ira a il furor l’uso de l’arte. 
               Odi le spade orribilmente utarsi
               A mezzo il ferro; il pie d’orma non parte,
               Sempre a il pie fermo, a la man sempre in moto;
               Ne scende taglio in van, ne punta a voto.”

["They neither shrank, nor vantage sought of ground, They travers’d not, nor skipt from part to part, Their blows were neither false, nor feigned found:  In fight, their rage would let them use no art.  Their swords together clash with dreadful sound, Their feet stand fast, and neither stir nor start, They move their hands, steadfast their feet remain.  Nor blow nor foin they strook, or thrust in vain.”  —­Tasso, Gierus.  Lib., c. 12, st. 55, Fairfax’s translation.]

Butts, tilting, and barriers, the feint of warlike fights, were the exercises of our forefathers:  this other exercise is so much the less noble, as it only respects a private end; that teaches us to destroy one another against law and justice, and that