Charles V. spoke five languages: the Flemish, the German, the Spanish, the French, and the Italian. He used to say, that to employ the vulgar languages according to the use for which they were most proper, he would speak Italian to the ladies, French to men, German to horses, and Spanish to God. He used also to say, the Portuguese appeared to be madmen, and were so; the Spaniards appeared to be wise, and were not so; the Italians appeared to be wise, and were so; the French appeared to be madmen, and were not such. That the Germans spoke like carmen, the English like simpletons, the Italians like lovers, the French like masters, and the Spaniards like kings. ❦ [Sidenote: Family MSS.] To the Right Honourable the Earl of Leycester, Extraordinary Embassador for his Majesty of Great Britain with the King of France. My Lord, I have received a great honour and favour from your Lordship, that you would think upon a servant so far off, which I can but acknowledge, being unable to requite. For news (which is the Embassador’s philosophie), I have so many employments of my vocation, and now so little means to enquire near at hand, as I am utterly ignorant of any thing worth writing; but that I hear your Lordship hath given his Majesty very good satisfaction in his business, and planted in him a great opinion of your abilities. I heartily wish your Lordship may likewise find a proportionable compensation for both at your return. No man, shall be more glad to see your Lordship in the right place of your merit than Your Lordship’s humble and faithful servant, BEN. RUDYARD. St. James’s Lodge, 20 June, 1637. ❦ [Sidenote: Man was made to mourn.] When chill November’s surly blast Made fields and forests bare, One evening as I wandered forth Along the banks of Ayr, I spied a man whose aged steps Seem’d weary worn with care, His face was furrow’d o’er with age, And hoary was his hair. Young stranger, whither wand’rest thou? Began the rev’rend sage; Does thirst of wealth thy step constrain, Or youthful pleasures rage? Or haply prest with cares and woes, Too soon thou hast begun To wander forth with me to mourn The miseries of man! The sun that overhangs yon moors Outspreading far and wide, Where hundreds labour to support A haughty Lordship’s pride; I’ve seen yon weary winter sun Twice forty years return, And every time has added proof That man was made to mourn! Oh man! while in thy early years, How prodigal of time, Misspending all thy precious hours, Thy glorious youthful prime; Alternate follies take the sway, Licentious passions burn, Which tenfold force gives nature’s law, That man was made to mourn!