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The following address is found at the conclusion of the folio edition,

1651, from which the present is reprinted.


“Be pleased to know (Courteous Reader) that since the last Impression of this Book, the ingenuous Author of it is deceased, leaving a Copy of it exactly corrected, with several considerable Additions by his own hand ; this Copy he committed to my care and custody, with directions to have those Additions inserted in the next Edition ; which in order to his command, and the Publicke Good, is faithfully performed in this last Impression.''

H. C. (i. e. HENRY CRIPPS.)


'Tis a book so full of variety of reading, that gentlemen who have lost their time and are put to a push for invention, may furnish themselves with matter for common or scholastical discourse and writing."- Wood's Athene Oxoniensis, vol. i. p. 628. 2nd edit.

“ If you never saw Burton upon MELANCHOLY, printed 1676, I pray look into it, and read the ninth page of his preface, ‘Democritus to the Reader.' There is something there which touches the point we are upon; but I mention the author to you as the pleasantest, the most learned, and the most full of sterling sense."— Archbishop Herring's Letters, 12mo. 1777.

DR. JOHNSON speaks of it as the only book that ever took him out of bed two hours sooner than he wished to rise.

“THE ANATOMY OF MELANCHOLY is a book which has been universally read and admired. This work is for the most part, what the author himself styles it, 'a cento;' but it is a very ingenious one. His quotations, which abound in every page, are pertinent."Granger's Biographical History.

Mr. WARTON, in his edition of Milton, alluding to BURTON, says, “ The writer's variety of learning, his quotations from scarce and curious books, his pedantry, sparkling with rude wit and shapeless elegance, miscellaneous matter, intermixture of agreeable tales and illustrations, and, perhaps above all, the singularities of his feelings, clothed in an uncommon quaintness of style, have contributed to render it even to modern readers, a valuable repository of amusement and information."

“Let me say a word in praise of this admirable book, which could draw Johnson from his bed two hours before he was willing to rise. The quaintness of his style, sometimes rising into strains of wonderful dignity and eloquence,-the fertility of his invention, the extent of his learning, the multitude of his illustrations,--all contribute to render the -Anatomy of Melancholy one of the most entertaining books in the language. The independence of his character, I confess, offers an additional attraction to me."'-Coleridge.


TEN distinct Squares here seen apart, | 6. Beneath them kneeling on his knee, Are joyn'd in one by Cutter's art. A superstitious man you see : 1. Old Democritus under a tree,

He fasts, prays, on his idol fixt, Sits on a stone with book on knee;

Tormented hope and feare betwixt; About him hang there many features

For hell perhaps he takes more pain,

Then thou dost heaven itself to gain. Of cats, dogs, and such like creatures, Of which he makes anatomy,

Alas poor soule, I pitie thee, The seat of black choler to see.

What stars incline thee so to be? Over his head appears the skie,

7. But see the madman rage downright And Saturn Lord of melancholy.

With furious looks, a ghastly sight!

Naked in chains bound doth he lie 2. To the left a landscape of Jealousie,

And roars amain he knows not why! Presents itself unto thine eye.

Observe him ; for as in a glass, A kingfisher, a swan, an hern,

Thine angry portraiture it was. Two fighting-cocks you may discern,

His picture keep still in thy presence; Two roaring bulls each other hie,

"Twixt him and thee there's no difference. To assault concerning venery. Symboles are these; I say no more,

8. 9. Borage and hellebor fill two scenes, Conceive the rest by that's afore.

Soveraign plants to purge the veins

Of melancholy, and chear the heart 3. The next of solitariness,

Of those black fumes which make it A portraiture doth well express,

smart; By sleeping dog, cat; buck and do,

To clear the brain of misty fogs, Hares, conies in the desart go:

Which dull our senses, and soule clogs, Bats, owls the shady bowers over,

The best medicine that ere God made In melancholy darkness hover.

For this malady, if well assaid. Mark well: If't be not as't it should be,

10. Now last of all to fill a place, Blame the bad Cutter, and not me.

Presented is the Author's face; 4. Ith' under column there doth stand

And in that habit which he wears, Inamorato with folded hand;

His image to the world appears, Down hangs his head, terse and polite,

His minde no art can well express, Some dittie sure he doth indite.

That by his writings you may guess. His lute and books about him lie,

It was not pride, nor yet vain glory, As symptomes of his vanity.

(Though others do it commonly) If this do not enough disclose,

Made him do this : if you must know, To paint him, take thyself by th' nose.

The Printer would needs have it so. 5. Hypochondriacus leans on his arm, Then do not frown or scoffe at it, Winde in his side doth him much harm, Deride not, or detract a whit, And troubles him full sore, God knows, For surely as thou dost by him, Much pain he hath and many woes. He will do the same again. About him pots and glasses lie,

Then look upon't, behold and see, Newly brought from's Apothecary. As thou lik’st it, so it likes thee. This Saturn's aspects signifie,

And I for it will stand in view, You see them portraid in the skie. Thine to command, Reader, adiew.


WHEN I go musing all alone,
Thinking of divers things foreknown,
When I build castles in the ayr,
Void of sorrow and void of feare,
Pleasing myself with phantasms sweet,
Methinks the time runs very fleet.

All my joyes to this are folly,

Naught so sweet as melancholy. When I lie waking all alone, Recounting what I have ill done, My thoughts on me then tyrannize, Feare and sorrow me surprise. Whether I tarry still or go, Methinks the time moves very slow.

All my griefs to this are jolly,

Naught so sad as melancholy. When to myself I act and smile, With pleasing thoughts the time beguile, By a brook side or wood so green, Unheard, unsought for, or unseen, A thousand pleasures do me bless, And crown my soule with happiness.

All my joyes besides are folly,

None so sweet as melancholy. When I lie, sit, or walk alone, I sigh, I grieve, making great mone, In a dark grove, or irksome den, With discontents and Furies then, A thousand miseries at once Mine heavy heart and soule ensconce.

All my griefs to this are jolly,

None so sour as melancholy. Me thinks I hear, me thinks I see, Sweet musick, wondrous melodie, Towns, palaces, and cities fine; Here now, then there; the world is mine. Rare beauties, gallant ladies shine, What e'er is lovely or divine.

All other joyes to this are folly,

None so sweet as melancholy. Methinks I hear, methinks I see Ghosts, goblins, fiends; my phantasie Presents a thousand ugly shapes, Headless bears, black men, and apes, Doleful outcries, and fearful sights, My sad and dismall soule affrights.

All my griefs to this are jolly,
None so damn'd as melancholy.

| Me thinks I court, me thinks I kiss,
Me thinks I now embrace my mistriss.
O blessed dayes, O sweet content,
In Paradise my time is spent.
Such thoughts may still my fancy move,
So may I ever be in love.

All my joyes to this are folly,

Naught so sweet as melancholy. When I recount loves many frights, My sighs and tears, my waking nights, My jealous fits; O mine hard fate I now repent, but tis too late. No torment is so bad as love, So bitter to my soule can prove.

All my griefs to this are jolly,

Naught so harsh as melancholy. Friends and companions get you gone, "Tis my desire to be alone; Ne'er well but when my thoughts and I Do domineer in privacie. No gemm, no treasure like to this, 'Tis my delight, my crown, my bliss.

All my joyes to this are folly,

Naught so sweet as melancholy. 'Tis my sole plague to be alone, I am a beast, a monster grown, I will no light nor company, I finde it now my misery Tne scean is turn'd, my joyes are gone, Feare, discontent, and sorrows come.

All my griefs to this are jolly,

Naught so fierce as melancholy. I'll not change life with any King, I ravisht am: can the world bring More joy, then still to laugh and smile, In pleasant toyes time to beguile? Do not, O do not trouble me, So sweet content I feel and see.

All my joyes to this are folly,

None so divine as melancholy. I'll change my state with any wretch Thou canst from gaole or dunghill fetch : My pain's past cure, another hell,

I may not in this torment dwell, | Now desperate I hate my life, Lend me a halter or a knife;

All my griefs to this are jolly,
Naught so damn'd as melancholy.


VADE liber, qualis, non ausim dicere, fælix,

Te nisi fælicem fecerit alma dies.
Vade tamen quocunque lubet, quascunque per oras,

Et Genium Domini fac imitere tui.
I blandas inter Charites, mystamque saluta

Musarum quemvis, si tibi lector erit.
Rura colas, urbem, subeasve palatia regum,

Submisse, placide, te sine dente geras..Nobilis, aut si quis te forte inspexerit heros,

Da te morigerum, perlegat usque lubet. Est quod Nobilitas, est quod desideret heros,

Gratior hæc forsan charta placere potest.
Si quis morosus Cato, tetricusque Senator

Hunc etiam librum forte videre velit,
Sive magistratus, tum te reverenter habeto;

Sed nullus; muscas non capiunt aquilæ.
Non vacat his tempus fugitivum impendere nugis,

Nec tales cupio; par mihi lector erit.
Si matrona gravis casu diverterit istuc,

Illustris domina, aut te Comitissa legat :
Est quod displiceat, placeat quod forsitan illis,

Ingerere his noli te modo, pande tamen.
At si virgo tuas dignabitur inclyta chartas

Tangere, sive schedis hæreat illa tuis : Da modo te facilem, et quædam folia esse memento

Conveniant oculis quæ magis apta suis.
Si generosa ancilla tuos aut alma puella

Visura est ludos, annue, pande lubens.
Dic, Utinam nunc ipse meus* (nam diligit istas)

In præsens esset conspiciendus herus.
Ignotus notusve mihi de gente togatâ

Sive aget in ludis, pulpita sive colet,
Sive in Lycæo, et nugas evolverit istas,

Si quasdam mendas viderit inspiciens,
Da veniam auctori, dices; nam plurima vellet

Expungi, quæ jam displicuisse sciat.
Sive Melancholicus quisquam, seu blandus Amator,

Aulicus aut Civis, seu bene comptus Eques
Huc appellat, age et tuto te crede legenti,

Multa istic forsan non male nata leget.
Quod fugiat, caveat, quodque amplexabitur, ista

Pagina fortassis promere multa potest.

* Hæc comice dicta, cave ne male capias.

At si quis Medicus coram te sistet, amice

Fac circumspecte, et te sine labe geras : Inveniet namque ipse meis quoque plurima scriptis,

Non leve subsidium quæ sibi forsan erunt.
Si quis Causidicus chartas impingat in istas,

Nil mihi vobiscum, pessima turba vale :
Sit nisi vir bonus, et juris sine fraude peritus ;

Tum legat, et forsan doctior inde siet.
Si quis cordatus, facilis, lectorque benignus

Huc oculos vertat, quæ velit ipse legat;
Candidus ignoscet, metuas nil, pande libenter,

Offensus mendis non erit ille tuis,
Laudabit nonnulla. Venit si Rhetor ineptus,

Limata et tersa, et qui bene cocta petit,
Claude citus librum ; nulla hîc nisi ferrea verba,

Offendent stomachum quæ minus apta suum.
At si quis non eximius de plebe poëta,

Annue ; namque istic plurima ficta leget.
Nos sumus e numero, nullus mihi spirat Apollo,

Grandiloquus Vates quilibet esse nequit.
Si Criticus Lector, tumidus Censorque molestus,

Zoilus et Momus, si rabiosa cohors :
Ringe, freme, et noli tum pandere, turba malignis

Si occurrat sannis invidiosa suis :
Fac fugias; si nulla tibi sit copia eundi,

Contemnes tacite scommata quæque feres.
Frendeat, allatret, vacuas gannitibus auras

Impleat, haud cures; his placuisse nefas. Verum age si forsan, divertat purior hospes,

Cuique sales, ludi, displiceantque joci,
Objiciatque tibi sordes, lascivaque: dices,

Lasciva est Domino et Musa jocosa tuo,
Nec lasciva tamen, si pensitet omne; sed esto;

Sit lasciva licet pagina, vita proba est.
Barbarus, indoctusque rudis spectator in istam

Si messem intrudat, fuste fugabis eum :
Fungum pelle procul (jubeo); nam quid mihi fungo?

Conveniunt stomacho non minus ista suo.
Sed nec pelle tamen; læto omnes accipe vultu,

Quos, quas, vel quales, inde vel unde viros.
Gratus erit quicunque venit, gratissimus hospes

Quisquis erit, facilis difficilisque mihi.
Nam si culpârit, quædam culpâsse juvabit.

Culpando faciet me meliora sequi
Sed si laudârit, neque laudibus efferar ullis,

Sit satis hisce malis opposuisse bonum.
Hæc sunt quæ nostro placuit mandare libello,

Et quæ dimittens discere jussit Herus.

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