nights, his meals, are short and interrupted; all which he bears well,
because he knows himself made for a public servant of peace and justice.
He sits quietly at the stern, and commands one to the topsail, another
to the main, a third to the plummet, a fourth to the anchor, as he sees
the needs of their course and weather requires; and doth no less by his
tongue than all the mariners with their hands. On the bench he is
another from himself at home; now all private respects of blood,
alliance, amity are forgotten; and if his own son come under trial he
knows him not. Pity, which in all others is wont to be the best praise
of humanity and the fruit of Christian love, is by him thrown over the
bar for corruption. As for Favour, the false advocate of the gracious,
he allows him not to appear in the court; there only causes are heard
speak, not persons. Eloquence is then only not dis-couraged when she
serves for a client of truth. Mere narrations are allowed in this
oratory, not proems, not excursions, not glosses. Truth must strip
herself and come in naked to his bar, without false bodies or colours,
without disguises. A bribe in his closet, or a letter on the bench, or
the whispering and winks of a great neighbour, are answered with an
angry and courageous repulse. Displeasure, Revenge, Recompense stand on
both sides the bench, but he scorns to turn his eye towards them,
looking only right forward at Equity, which stands full before him. His
sentence is ever deliberate and guided with ripe wisdom, yet his hand is
slower than his tongue; but when he is urged by occasion either to doom
or execution, he shows how much he hateth merciful injustice. Neither
can his resolution or act be reversed with partial importunity. His
forehead is rugged and severe, able to discountenance villainy, yet his
words are more awful than his brow, and his hand than his words. I know
not whether he be more feared or loved, both affections are so sweetly
contempered in all hearts. The good fear him lovingly, the middle sort
love him fearfully, and only the wicked man fears him slavishly without