Cicero says—­[Tusc., i. 31.]—­“that to study philosophy is nothing but to prepare one’s self to die.”  The reason of which is, because study and contemplation do in some sort withdraw from us our soul, and employ it separately from the body, which is a kind of apprenticeship and a resemblance of death; or, else, because all the wisdom and reasoning in the world do in the end conclude in this point, to teach us not to fear to die.  And to say the truth, either our reason mocks us, or it ought to have no other aim but our contentment only, nor to endeavour anything but, in sum, to make us live well, and, as the Holy Scripture says, at our ease.  All the opinions of the world agree in this, that pleasure is our end, though we make use of divers means to attain it:  they would, otherwise, be rejected at the first motion; for who would give ear to him that should propose affliction and misery for his end?  The controversies and disputes of the philosophical sects upon this point are merely verbal: 

“Transcurramus solertissimas nugas”

     ["Let us skip over those subtle trifles.”—­Seneca, Ep., 117.]

—­there is more in them of opposition and obstinacy than is consistent with so sacred a profession; but whatsoever personage a man takes upon himself to perform, he ever mixes his own part with it.

Let the philosophers say what they will, the thing at which we all aim, even in virtue is pleasure.  It amuses me to rattle in ears this word, which they so nauseate to and if it signify some supreme pleasure and contentment, it is more due to the assistance of virtue than to any other assistance whatever.  This pleasure, for being more gay, more sinewy, more robust and more manly, is only the more seriously voluptuous, and we ought give it the name of pleasure, as that which is more favourable, gentle, and natural, and not that from which we have denominated it.  The other and meaner pleasure, if it could deserve this fair name, it ought to be by way of competition, and not of privilege.  I find it less exempt from traverses and inconveniences than virtue itself; and, besides that the enjoyment is more momentary, fluid, and frail, it has its watchings, fasts, and labours, its sweat and its blood; and, moreover, has particular to itself so many several sorts of sharp and wounding passions, and so dull a satiety attending it, as equal it to the severest penance.  And we mistake if we think that these incommodities serve it for a spur and a seasoning to its sweetness (as in nature one contrary is quickened by another), or say, when we come to virtue, that like consequences and difficulties overwhelm and render it austere and inaccessible; whereas, much more aptly than in voluptuousness, they ennoble, sharpen, and heighten the perfect and divine pleasure they procure us.  He renders himself unworthy of it who will counterpoise its cost with its fruit, and neither understands the blessing nor how to use it.  Those who preach to us that the