A Mistris

IS the fairest treasure, the a­varice of Love can covet; and the onely white, at which he shootes his arrowes, nor while his aime is noble, can he ever hit upon repentance. She is chaste, for the devill enters the Idoll and gives the Oracle, when wantonnesse pos­sesseth beauty, and wit maintaines it lawfull. She is as faire as Nature intended her, helpt perhaps to a more pleasing grace by the sweet­nesse of education, not by the slight of Art. She is young, for a woman past the delicacie of her spring, may well move by vertue to [Page] respect, never by beauty to affection. Shee is innocent even from the knowledge of si [...]ne, for vice is too strong to be wrastled with, and gives her frailty the foyle. She is not proude, though the amorous youth interpret her modestie to that sence; but in her vertue weares so much Majestie, lust dares not rebell, nor though mas­qued, under the pretence of love, capi­tulate with her. She entertaines not eve­ry parley offer'd, although the Arti­cles pretended to her advantage: advice and her owne feares restraine her, and wo­man never owed ruine to too much caution. She glories not in the plurality of servants, a multitude of adorers heaven can onely challeng; and it is impietie in her weake­nesse to desire superstition from many. She is deafe to the whispers of love, and even on the marriage houre can breake off, without the least suspition of scandall, to the former [Page] liberty of her carriage. She avoydes a too neere conversation with man, and like the Parthian overcomes by flight. Her lan­guage is not copious but apposit, and she had rather suffer the reproach of being dull com­pany, than have the title of Witty, with that of Bold and Wanton. In her carriage she is sober, and thinkes her youth expresseth life enough, without the giddy motion, fashi­on of late hath taken up. She danceth to the best applause but doates not on the vani­ty of it, nor licenceth an irregular meeting to vaunt the levity of her skill. She sings, but not perpetually, for she knowes, silence in woman is the most perswading oratory. She never arriv'd to so much familiarity with man as to know the demunitive of his name, and call him by it; and she can show a competent favour: without yeelding her hand to his gripe. Shee never under­stood the language of a kisse, but at salutati­on, [Page] nor dares the Courtier use so much of his practised impudence as to offer the rape of it from her; because chastity hath write it unlawfull, and her behaviour proclaimes it unwelcome. She is never sad, and yet not jiggish; her conscience is cleere from guilt, and that secures her from sorrow. She is not passionately in love with poetry, because it softens the heart too much to love: but she likes the harmony in the Composition; and the brave examples of vertue celebrated by it, she proposeth to her imitation. She is not vaine in the history of her gay kindred [...]r acquaintance; since vertue is often tenant [...]o a cottage, and familiarity with greatnesse (if worth be not transcendant above the ti­tle) is but a glorious servitude, fooles onely are willing to suffer. She is not ambitious to be prais'd, and yet vallues death beneath infa­my. [Page] And Ile conclude, (though the next sinod of Ladies condemne this character as an heresie broacht by a Precision) that onely she who hath as great a share in vertue as in beauty, deserves a noble love to serve her, and a free Poesie to speake her.

A Wife.

IS the sweetest part in the har­mony of our being. To the love of which, as the charmes of Nature inchant us, so the law of grace by speciall privi­ledge invites us. Without her, Man if pie­ty not restraine him; is the creator of sinne; or, if an innated cold render him not onely the businesse of the present age; the murde­rer of posterity. She is so religious that eve­ry day crownes her a martyr, and her zeale [Page] [Page 72] neither rebellious nor uncivill. Shee is so true a friend, her Husband may to her com­municate even his ambitions, and if successe Crowne not expectation, remaine neverthe­lesse uncontemn'd, Shee is colleague with him in the Empire of prosperity; and a safe re­tyring place when adversity exiles him from the World. Shee is so chaste, shee never under­stood the language lust speakes in, nor with a smile applaudes it, although there appeare wit in the Metaphore. Shee is faire onely to winne on his affections, nor would she be Mi­stris of the most eloquent beauty; if there were danger, that might perswade the passi­onate auditory, to the least irregular thought. Shee is noble by a long descent, but her memory is so evill a herald, Shee ne­ver boasts the story of her Ancestors. Shee is so moderately rich, that the defect of portion doth neither bring penury to his estate, nor the superfluity licence her to Riot. Shee is [Page 73] liberall, and yet owes not ruine to va­nity, but knowes Charity, to be the soule of goodnesse, and Uertue without reward often prone to bee her owne de­stroyer. Shee is much at home, and when shee visits 'tis for mutuall com­merce, not for intelligence. Shee can goe to Court, and returne no passionate doa­ter on bravery; and when shee hath seene the gay things muster up them­selves there, shee considers them as Cobwebs the Spider vanity hath spunne. Shee is so generall in her acquaintance, that shee is familiar with all whom fame speakes vertuous; but thinkes there can bee no friendship but with one; and there­fore hath neither shee friend nor private servant. Shee so squares her passion to her Husbands fortunes, that in the Countrey shee lives without a froward Melancholly, in [Page 74] the towne without a fantastique pride. She is [...]o temperate, she never read the moderne pollicie of glorious surfeits; since she finds Nature is no Epicure if art provoke her not by curiositie. Shee is inquisitive onely of new wayes to please him, and her wit sayles by no other compasse then that of his direction. Shee lookes upon him as Conjurers upon the Circle, be­yond which there is nothing but Death and Hell; and in him shee beleeves Pa­radice circumscrib'd. His vertues are her wonder and imitation; and his er­rors, her credulitie thinkes no more frailtie, then makes him descend to the title of Man. In a word, shee so lives that shee may dye; and leave no cloude upon her Memory, but have her character nobly mentioned: while the bad Wife is flattered into infamy, [Page 75] and buyes pleasure at too deare [...] rate, if shee onely payes for it Repentance.

A Friend

IS a man. For the free and o­pen discovery of thoughts to woman can not passe with­out an over licentious fami­liarity, or a justly occasion'd suspition; and friendship can neither stand with vice nor infamie. He is vertuous, for love begot in sin is a mishapen monster, and seldome out-lives his birth. He is noble, and inherits the vertues of all his progeni­tors; though happily unskilfull to blazon his paternall coate; So little should nobili­ty serve for story, but when it encourageth [Page 146] to action. He is so valiant, feare could ne­ver be listned to, when she whisper'd danger; and yet fights not, unlesse religion confirmes the quarrell lawfull. He submits his acti­ons to the government of vertue, not to the wilde decrees of popular opinion; and when his conscience is fully satisfied, he cares not how mistake and ignorance interpret him. He hath so much fortitude he can forgive an in­jurie; and when hee hath overthrowne his opposer, not insult upon his weaknesse. Hee is an absolute governor; no destroyer of his passions, which he imployes to the noble in­crease of vertue. He is wise, for who hopes to reape a harvest from the sands, may ex­pect the perfect offices of friendship from a foole. He hath by a liberall education beene softned to civility; for that rugged honesty some rude men professe, is an indigested Chaos; which may containe the seedes of goodnesse, but it wants forme and order.

[Page 147]He is no flutterer; but when he findes his friend any way imperfect, he freely but gent­ly informes him; nor yet shall some few er­rors cancell the bond of friendship; because he remembers no endeavours can raise [...]an above his frailety. He is as slow to enter in­to that title, as he is to forsake it; a mon­strous vice must disobliege, because an ex­traordinary vertue did first unite; and when he parts, he doth it without a duell. He is neither effeminate, nor a common courtier; the first is so passionate a doater upon him­selfe, hee cannot spare love enough: to bee justly named friendship: the latter hath his love so diffusive among the beauties, that man is not considerable. He is not accu­stomed to any sordid way of gaine, for who is any way mechanicke, will sell his friend upon more profitable termes. He is bounti­full, and thinkes no treasure of fortune e­quall to the preservation of him he loves; [Page 148] yet not so lavish, as to buy friendship, and perhaps afterward finde himselfe overseene in the purchase. He is not exceptio [...]s, for jea­lousie proceedes from weakenesse, and his vertues quit him from suspitions. He free­ly gives advice, but so little peremptory is his opinion that he ingenuously submits it to an abler judgement. He is open in expressi­on of his thoughts and easeth his melancho­ly by inlarging it; and no Sanctuary preserves so safely, as he his friend afflicted. He makes use of no engines of his friendship to extort a secret; but if committed to his charge, his heart receives it, and that and it come both [...]o light together. In life he is the most ami­able object to the soule, in death the most de­plorable.

A Holy Man

IS onely▪ Happie. For infelici­ty and sinne were borne twinnes; Or rather like some prodigie with two bo­dies, both draw and expire the same breath. Catholique faith is the foundation on which he erects Re­ligion; knowing it a ruinous madnesse to build in the ayre of a private spirit, or on the sands of any new schisme. His impietie is not so b [...]ld to bring divinity downe to the mistake of reason, or to deny those misteries his appre­hension reacheth not. His obedience moves still by direction of the Magistrate: And should [Page 170] conscience informe him that the command is unjust; he judgeth it neverthelesse high trea­so [...] by rebellion to make good his t [...]ets; o [...] it were the basest cowardize, by dissimulation of religion, to preserve temporall respects. Hee knowes humane pollicie but a crooked rule of action: and therefore by a distrust of his owne knowledge attaines it: Confounding with su­pernaturall illumination, the opinionated judg­ment of the wise. In prosperity he gratefully admires the bounty of the Almighty giver, and useth, not abuseth plenty: But in adversity hee remaines unshaken, and like some eminent mountaine hath his head above the clouds. For his happinesse is not meteor-like exhaled from the vapors of this world; but shines a fixt starre, which when by misfortune it appeares to fall, onely casts away the slimie matter. Poverty he neither feares nor covets, but cheerefully entertaines; imagining it the fire which tries vertue: Nor how tyrannically [Page 171] soever it usurpe on him, doth he pay to it a sigh or wrinckle: for he who suffers want without reluctancie, may be poore not misera­ble. He sees the covetous prosper by usury, yet waxeth not leane with envie: and when the posteritie of the impious flourish, he questi­ones not the divine justice; for temporall re­wards distinguish not ever the merits of men: and who hath beene of councel with the Aeter­nall? Fame he weighes not, but esteemes a smoake, yet such as carries with it the sweetest odour, and riseth usually from the Sacrifice of our best actions. Pride he disdaines, when he findes it swelling in himselfe; but easily for­giveth it in another: Nor can any mans error in life, make him sinne in censure, since sel­dome the folly we condemne is so culpable as the severity of our judgement. He doth not malice the over-spreading growth of his aequ [...]lls: but pitties, not despiseth the fall of any man: Esteeming yet no storme of fortune [Page 172] dangerous, but what is rais'd through our owne demerit. When he lookes on others vices, he values not himselfe vertuous by compari­son, but examines his owne defects, and findes matter enough at home for reprehension: In conversation his carriage is neither plausible to flattery, nor reserv'd to rigor: but so de­meanes himselfe as created for societie. In so­litude he remembers his better part is Ange­licall; and therefore his minde practiseth the best discourse without assistance of inferiour Organs. Lust i [...] the Basiliske he flyes, a Ser­pent of the most destroying venome: for it blasts al plants with the breath, & carries the most murdering Artillery in the eye: He is ever merry but still modest. Not dissolved in­to undecent laughter, or tickled with wit scur­rilous or injurious. He cunningly searcheth into the vertues of others, and liberally com­mends them: but buries the vices of the im­perfect [Page 173] in a charitable silence, whose manners he reformes not by invectives but example: In prayer he is frequent not apparent: yet as he labours not the opinion, so he foares not the scandall of being thought good. He every day travailes his meditations up to heaven, and never findes himself wearied with the journey: but when the necessities of nature returne him downe to earth, he esteemes it a place, hee is condemned to. Devotion is his Mistresse en which he is passionately enamord: for that he hath found the most Soveraigne antidote a­ganst sinne, and the onely balsome powerfull to cure those wounds hee hath receav'd through frailety. To live he knowes a bene­fit, and the contempt of it ingratitude, and therefore loves, but not doates on life. Death how deformed soever an aspect it weares, he is not frighted with: since it not annihilates, but uncloudes the soule. He therefore stands [Page 174] every moment prepared to dye [...] and though he freely yeelds up himselfe, when age or sickenesse sommon him; yet he with more alacritie puts off his earth, when the profession of faith crownes him a martyr.