the several degrees of an affront, in order to revenge it by the death of an adversary.
But suppose this principle of honour, which some men so much boast of, did really produce more virtues than it ever pretended to do; yet, since the very being of that honour depended upon the breath, the opinion, or the fancy of the people, the virtues derived from it could be of no long or certain duration. For example: suppose a man, from a principle of honour, should resolve to be just, or chaste, or temperate, and yet the censuring world should take a humour of refusing him those characters, he would then think the obligation at an end. Or, on the other side, if he thought he could gain honour by the falsest and vilest action (which is a case that very often happens) he would then make no scruple to perform it. And God knows, it would be an unhappy state, to have the religion, the liberty, or the property of a people lodged in such hands: which however hath been too often the case.
What I have said upon this principle of honour may perhaps be thought of small concernment to most of you, who are my hearers: however, a caution was not altogether unnecessary; since there is nothing by which not only the vulgar, but the honest tradesman, hath been so much deceived, as this infamous pretence to honour in too many of their betters.
Having thus shown you the weakness and uncertainty of those principles, which some men set up in the place of conscience to direct them in their actions; I shall now endeavour to prove to you, that there is no solid, firm foundation of virtue, but in a conscience directed by the principles of religion.
There
