of us, there is no one who will not make it his business to give it them, and who will not rather betray his own glory than offend theirs; and will therein employ so much force only as is necessary to save their honour.  What share have they, then, in the engagement, where every one is on their side?  Methinks I see those paladins of ancient times presenting themselves to jousts and battle with enchanted arms and bodies.  Brisson,

     [Plutarch, On Satisfaction or Tranquillity of the Mind.  But in his
     essay, How a Man may Distinguish a Flatterer from a Friend, he calls
     him Chriso.]

running against Alexander, purposely missed his blow, and made a fault in his career; Alexander chid him for it, but he ought to have had him whipped.  Upon this consideration Carneades said, that “the sons of princes learned nothing right but to manage horses; by reason that, in all their other exercises, every one bends and yields to them; but a horse, that is neither a flatterer nor a courtier, throws the son of a king with no more ceremony than he would throw that of a porter.”

Homer was fain to consent that Venus, so sweet and delicate a goddess as she was, should be wounded at the battle of Troy, thereby to ascribe courage and boldness to her qualities that cannot possibly be in those who are exempt from danger.  The gods are made to be angry, to fear, to run away, to be jealous, to grieve, to be transported with passions, to honour them with the virtues that, amongst us, are built upon these imperfections.  Who does not participate in the hazard and difficulty, can claim no interest in the honour and pleasure that are the consequents of hazardous actions.  ’Tis pity a man should be so potent that all things must give way to him; fortune therein sets you too remote from society, and places you in too great a solitude.  This easiness and mean facility of making all things bow under you, is an enemy to all sorts of pleasure:  ’tis to slide, not to go; ’tis to sleep, and not to live.  Conceive man accompanied with omnipotence:  you overwhelm him; he must beg disturbance and opposition as an alms:  his being and his good are in indigence.  Evil to man is in its turn good, and good evil.  Neither is pain always to be shunned, nor pleasure always to be pursued.

Their good qualities are dead and lost; for they can only be perceived by comparison, and we put them out of this:  they have little knowledge of true praise, having their ears deafened with so continual and uniform an approbation.  Have they to do with the stupidest of all their subjects? they have no means to take any advantage of him; if he but say:  “’Tis because he is my king,” he thinks he has said enough to express that he therefore suffered himself to be overcome.  This quality stifles and consumes the other true and essential qualities:  they are sunk in the royalty, and leave them nothing to recommend themselves with but actions that directly concern