CHAP. I.

THERE are no sweeter Thoughtes, then those of Death. Spirits being ray­sed to the knowledge of Diuine thinges, do euer occupy themselues in co­unting the tyme of their banishment in this strange Land, where we sigh vnder the burden of our Euils. Sla­ues liue not, but of the hope to see themsel­ues at liberty: their prisons and their irons are obiects, both of horrour and dread, which put their soules vpon the racke. The Sun shines not for them at all, and all the sundry pleasures agreable to their senses changing their nature, serue but to afflict them. So as in their captiuity, they breath [Page 2] the ayre of a dying lyfe, whose moments last for ages. We are those slaues so enchai­ned within the prison of our bodies, as exi­led from the paradise of our delights, where the first innocency of our parents, had esta­blished vs a Mansion: so true it is, their dis­obedience hath changed our bodies into pri­sons, and the delightes of our Soules into thraldome. What feelings then, may we haue in this seruile condition, whereunto we are brought, but those of an extreme dolour, and bitter sorrow, to see our selues depriued of the Soueraygne God, where Soules do find the accomplishment of their rest? The harts being holily enamoured, speake so sweet a language both of sighes & sobbs, in the absence of that they loue, as if the Angels were touched with enuy, they would desire to learne it, to make therof a new Canticle of glory in their Eternity.

Of all the dolours that may tyrannize a soule, such as know what it is to loue, find not a more intollerable, then that of the absence of the Subiect with they loue perfectly indeed. And if it be true, that af­fections draw their force from their merit, what should our loue be towards this Saui­our, whose perfection so wholy adorable, cannot brooke comparison but with thēsel­ues. [Page 3] And how be it this great God be infinit­ly louely, yet would he needs be borrowing a hart of nature, to resent the draughts of our loue, & to dye on the Crosse of their woun­dings. What excesse of goodnes? How may they resist the sweet strokes of his mercy? He espouses our Condition, for to suffer all the miseryes therof; (sinne and ignorance on­ly remayning without power agaynst his person) in so much as dying, he changed the countenance of death, and makes it so be­autifull, as generous harts at this tyme, sigh not, but in expectation of their last sigh, since euen the selfsame moments that lead vs to the Tombe, conduct vs also to immor­tality.

The paynes which my Sauiour hath suf­fered on Mount Caluary, haue beene fruit­full to bring forth diuers punishments, in fauour of the infinite number of Martyrs, who loued not life, but to ressent it's death. His Nayles haue forged them others of that sort. His Thornes haue thence produced new Thornes; and the forme of his Crosse hath made them to inuent some others of the lyke; and the turning vpside downe of his, hath serued S. Peter for a Couch to dye in. For ioy rather, then of payne, I would say, that all the deadly instruments of the passion [Page 4] of my Redeemer haue beene the prepara­tiues of the Triumph, that a million of sou­les haue carryed away in their Martyrdom. The Scourges haue been for S. Bartholomew, the Nayles for S. Andrew, the Sword for S. Paul, the wounds for S. Francis, and the Crosse serues on earth, for a new subiect of Enuy, for the whole world togeather, since that euery one can pretend no better then to this glory to sacrifice his life, vpon the same Aultar, where the Authour of life hath beene immolated.

O how the amourous plaintes of that great Apostle make all to resound with a sweet melody! Me thinkes the sweet accēts of his cryes do euē rauish my Spirit through mine eares. The tyme of my lyfe is too long (sayd he in the strength of his Passion) I am troubled to reckon vp the moments of it's durance. When shall it be, that I shall liue forth of my selfe, to go to liue in him, whom I loue much better then my selfe? Quite contrary to those guilty Soules, who stand discoursing of death as of a losse, where he desires it for recompence: So as the Sun had neuer a fayre day for him, and Nature so beautifull in its diuersities, and so fruitfull to bring forth so many wonders, was bar­ren for his contentment; in so much as the [Page 5] obiects of his pleasures was quite without the world: and yet through a Miracle wor­thy of him, he liued, and dyed of Loue at once. O sweet Life! But yet more happy death! The Swan after she hath measured diuers tymes, the humide spaces of the ban­ckes, euen tyred out with lyuing, calles for death vnto her succour, with accents of melody, so sweet and so pittifull withall, as that it cannot choose but then, euen yield to the assaults of Compassion. This bird be­ing richly dressed vp with innocency, pro­claymes the truth of her Death to Forrests, to Champaygnes, and to Rockes by the sad accents of her tunefull notes, whose har­mony doth rauish all those, that haue sen­se of feeling in them, and giues them a de­sire to dy with her. This Diuine Apostle, dying on the shore of his teares, represents to vs this bird. For being now weary to liue so long tyme absented from his lyfe, he sends vp his amourous sighs to Heauen­wards, & with a voyce full of allurements, cryes out, how he desires to abandon his body, for to go, to behould the God of his Soule. The harmony of his cryes, so pow­erfully attracts the harts vnto him, as all those who are able to heare but the Eccho of it, and to perceyue i'ts sweetnesse, doe [Page 6] borrow wings of al sides to fly out of them­selues, while the Earth is in contempt with them. You Soules of the world, I inuite you heere to hearken to this Consort of Musike, where the Angells hold their part; but you must purify your senses, if you wilbe rauished with Pleasure, and Ioy.

What Pleasure it is to thinke of Death. CHAP. II.

A TRAVAILLER strayed from his way, and puzled in the full of the night, within a thicke forrest, finds himselfe on a sud­den brought into streights, through a thou­sand assaults of feare, wherwith his Soule is strooken. He casts his eyes on euery side, but sees nothing but shadowes of horrour which presage the sun-set of his life. The noyse of the impetuous winds that puts a garboyle into the boughes, beate so rough­ly on his eares, as he breathes but in a dead­ly feare, more intollerable well nigh then death. His imagination being troubled, lets him see in dreame, in the midst of the dark­nes, as many precipices, as the steppes he makes on his way. In so much as he belie­ues [Page 7] euery momēt he is buryed quick in some pit or other, with the whole burden of his e­uils. The feare of being deuoured by the sa­uage beasts, makes him to apprehend a new punishment, whose dolour redoubles euer­more, through the sensible apparence of some euident danger. The heauens & earth being hid alike from his eyes within obscu­rity, for remedy represent to him despaire, & in effect, his Iudgement being now stupid with terror, hath not the liberty of discourse but to conclude vpon his losse, al things the while cōtributing to his most disaduantage. Himselfe sees not himselfe awhit, as if al­ready he were quite besides himselfe; & the little sense he hath left him, serues him but to suffer euils, which in their excesse do rob him of his speach.

Thus brought to this extremity, where death is more present with him then life, since he wholy dyes and liues but to halfes; he lifts now at last his eyes to Heauen­wards, where he discryes a ray of light to disclose through the birth of the Aurora, which serues him as a Beakon or Watch to­wer to remit him into the path of his way which he had lost. The day by little & little makes the shadowes of death, with enui­rone him, to vanish out of sight, & with the [Page 9] hope of lyuing, affoards him the contentmēt to behold the precipices which he hath es­caped: in so much as he arriues to the places of his desires with a great deale more plea­sure then he felt paine.

Let vs now say, We are these Trauay­lours, wandering in the thicke Forrest of this world, during the darknes of Synne, which enwraps vs one euery side. The winds of temptations bluster without cease in our eares; euery stepp we seeme to make forwards, leads vs into the Tombe, since we dye euery houre; and the abysses are al­wayes open to swallow vs vp, as culpa­ble of a thousand sortes of crimes. Being brought to this estate, the Heauen hides it selfe from our eyes, as not able to pretend awhit for it's glory: So as being oppressed with diuers disasters, we breath the ayre of a lyfe, full of annoyes, and of vnsufferable afflictions.

The light of Eternity, which shines to vs in the port of the Sepulcher, is this good­ly Aurora, whose day disperses the shadowes of our night for euer. What contentment to arriue at this port amidst so many stornes? What happinesse to enioy the brightnes of a Sun, which is not subiect to Eclypses, af­ter so many tedious nights? We are all Pil­grimes, [Page 9] who continually trauayle, from this world into the other. The darknes of sinne is the shadow of our bodies, since they accompany vs without cease. What incom­parable felicity, to go forth of our selues, to find out that day which should illumine vs eternally? What may we desire in Slauery, but Liberty? In darknes, but light? and in Trauayle, but Rest? This earth is a prison, let vs neuer thinke then, but to recouer our liberty. This vnlucky dwelling is a place of obscurity, let vs gape after the light. This fatall Mansion, is fertile onely but with thornes and troubles, let vs get forth of it's bounds, to fynd the true tranquillity: and according as we shall approach to the good of death, so shall we distance our selues frō the euils of lyfe.

O sweet death where our miseries termine themselues▪ O cruell life, where our disa­sters take their begining! O welcome death where our annoyes do find their sepulcher! O dread life where our dolours find their cradle! The most afflicted draw al their cō ­solation from the hope of death. Are we not of this number, as subiect to all the disgraces of Lot, and to the cruell lawes of Fortune? With what sweeter hope may we mitigate our paynes, then with that of a speedy brea­king [Page 10] the chaynes of our captiuity? If we dyed not euery houre, there would be no contentment to liue. For what likelyhood is there that a trauailour should take any pleasure to stop in the midst of his way, du­ring the tyme of a storme? Now the world is neuer without tempests: What remedy were it to make a stop at a flash of lighte­ning, or a cracke of Thunder, in the midst of the way of our life?

Being pressed with a storme, and encom­passed with Rockes, shall we not be sēding our desires before hand to the port, with this griefe, for not hauing wings to fly more swiftly thither? So as if the ship of our life, cannot land but at the shore of the sepulcher, is it not at this port whither we are to aspire euery moment, to put vs in the Lee from Shipwrackes, whereof so many wise Pilots haue runne hazard? I haue no feare but of old age, said Zenon, For of all euils, that of life is the most intollerable. In effect, if we thinke on the diuers torments, that pull a­way our life, by little and little from vs, we should be of Socrates his opinion, who of all the momēts of our life, prizeth none but the last. O happy moment▪ & irkesome to those that go before! I am troubled (said Dauid) in the house of men: when shall I arriue into that of [Page 11] my Lord? He was alwaies going thither, but the way seemed so long and tedious to him, as he sighed continually after the end of his iourney.

All things tend to their Center; the Stones being raysed from the earth, do borrow wings to their weighty nature, to descend downe beneath, where they alwayes haue their looke. The Riuers, though insensi­ble are touched with this amourous curio­sity to reuisite continually their Mother. And the Piramidall flames of fire do witnes they burne, but with desire of ioyning thē ­selues with their first beginning. And how­beit their endeauours are vnprofitable, yet haue they neuer other scope. The Heauen is our Center; with what more violent passi­ons may we be quickned then with that of being rauisht from our selues, to ioyne as A­tomes to their vnity, & as rayes to the body of their light? Those Torches of the night whose number is infinite, and beauty incō ­parable, not so gallātly shew vs their twin­ckling baytes, but to enthrall vs with their wonders. They shine not to vs, but to shew vs the way of their Azure vaults, as being the only place of our repose. And it seemes the galloping course of the Sunne, goes not so turning the great globe of the Heauens▪ [Page 12] but to shew the way from aloft vnto the In­habitants of the Earth.

If some one had the gift of prophecy, & that it were foretold vs, in a certaine tyme set downe, that we were to possesse an ample fortune, be it of goods or greatnesse, all transitory a like; were it not credible, the day of this attendance would be to vs of a long put-off? How many sighes, as wit­nesses of our languours, should we be sen­ding forth, before this felicity so promised? The greatest dolour we could possibly suf­fer, would be but of impatience; for through force of passionately desiring this good, all sorts of euils would be insensible to vs. The Sunne that posts so swift would then go sluggishly, and its diligence could not stay vs a whit, from accusing it of slouth, as often as we gazed vpon Heauen.

Let vs now consider, the mystery of this Proposition, and say, that our Sauiour and the King of Prophets hath giuen vs this assurance from his mouth, that the last in­stant of our lyfe shalbe the first of our im­mortality; and so on the day of our death, should we possesse an infinite number of felicityes, be they in immortall goods, be they in the greatnesses of nature it selfe. From what sweet disquietnesses, might we [Page 13] seeme to be exempt in the expectation of this happines? The holy Soules who breath in this world the ayre of grace, liue not, but of the ioy they haue of continually dying. With how many sighes of loue, and lan­guour, smite they Heauen at all houres? All the fayre dayes the Sun affoards them to their eyes▪ seeme to be so sad & lowring, as hardly do they marke the differēce between the light and darknes, because they loue but the eternall dayes, which are to shine to the birth of their felicity. And this is the day of death, where ceasing to be men, we begin to be as Angels.

S. Frauncis wounded on all sides with a thousand darts of loue, sighes in the pre­sence of his Mayster, for griefe that he can­not dye of his wounds. He contemplates the wounds of his Redeemer, and his loo­kes haue this Diuine vertue with them, as [...]o make his soule to ressent the smart. And through the force of his sweet torments, the amorous passion wherewith he is taken ma­kes him to ressent the dolours of his May­ster, in so much as the markes thereof them­selues are imprinted in his stigmatized Body [...]hen it is, that soowning with ioy, extasied with pleasure, and rauished with a thousand [...]orts of felicityes wholy Diuine, he seque­sters [Page 14] himselfe from the earth, to approach vnto Heauen. He feeles himselfe to dye of loue, without being able notwithstanding to loose his lyfe: for though his wounds be mortall, since all termine at the hart, yet their cause is immortall. So as dying in his lyfe, and liuing in his death, he dyes, he ly­ues, without dying, and without lyuing. Of dying, what apparence, since he is sunke in the spring of lyfe? Of lyuing who would belieue it? Let vs then say, that if he dye, it is of a Death a thousand tymes more sweet then lyfe; and if he liue, it is of a lyfe of extasy, which feeles nothing of the hu­mane.

This sweet Saint, seeing himselfe vnder the wound of the bloud of his Maister, be­lieued verily he should make shipwracke, through force of desiring the same, in so goodly a sea, whose tempests were so much the more gratefull to him, as loue serued it selfe of his sighes, to driue away the storme. And in truth, how could he loose himselfe in the presence of his Sauiour, whose Crosse serues him, as well for a watch-tower, as for a Hauen in the midst of the torments, which his wounds haue caused to grow in him? He would feygne haue found some rocke, within this sea of loue; but the Pi­lot [Page 15] who steeres the ship of his life, is a Port of assurance for all the world; since he cō ­mands the winds and tempests.

What pleasure needs must this great Saint take, to see himselfe thus smitten with the selfe same woūds of his Maister? The Crosse fayles him; howsoeuer yet he hath it in the hart. The Crowne of Thornes he misseth; but what say I? he weares it in his Soule. But then at least, he seemes not to be de­priued, but of Nayles and Gaule? I de­ceiue my selfe. For as for the nayles he ca­ryes the markes thereof, as well in hands, feet, as side; and for gaule, the tongue ta­kes very greedily the sweet bitternes therof. O great Saint thrice happy! Tel vs the plea­sure which is to dye, since you dy so sweet­ly in the extasies of your felicities? How irksome needs must life be to you, and the earth be in contempt with you, in this trās­portation of ioy, wherunto you are ray­sed?

S. Stephen hath beheld the Heauens ope­ned; and you his hart, who hath created them. S. Paul hath seene so admirable things as might not be tould; and you felt such de­licious as cannot be expressed. S. Peter hath beene dazeled through a beame of glory; & you by one of loue, whose light hauing [Page 16] pierced your darksome body, hath made it transparent to the eyes of all the world: so communicating it's diuine qualityes there­into, as the markes therof remayne eternal. S. Iohn hath slept vpon the bosome of his Maister; and by a sweet transport your hart got through, and sought, within the bo­some of his hart, your most assured repo­se. This same disciple hath beene a witnesse of his torments; and you participant of his paynes, with this glory yet moreouer, of bearing as well the wounds in the Soule as the markes on the body. So as your fauours are so deare, as none dare enuy them for fear of presumption, though otherwise they be most worthy of enuy.

I wonder the thoughts of Death should be displeasing, since we dye with pleasure in the life we lead. There are none so blind in the knowledge of themselues, that know not how they dy euery houre; were it not iust then, that we should thinke vpon that which we are continually a doing? And wherefore shall we not take pleasure at this thought, if it be the most profitable & sweet that we are able to conceiue? It is impos­sible to thinke of death, but we must needs be thinking of Eternall life which succeds the same: or rather say we, It is impossible [Page 17] to thinke of the Soueraigne God, and not to thinke of the imaginary euill of death. And where shall we be finding of thoughts both sweeter and deerer, then those of our Soueraigne Good? So as if, for the raysing of our spirits thither, we are to passe into the imaginations and idea's of death; the light of the Sunne which shal serue vs for obiect, shall disperse all those vayne shaddowes, which subsist not but through a false opiniō.

The starre of the day, neuer shewes more bewtifull thē when it hath escaped, through flight, from a shole of clouds which do hide its light. Those obscure clouds, so strongly relieue the flash of its light, as thence it ap­peares to be radiant in excesse. The like may we say of our Reason, being as the Sunne of our life, that from the tyme it escapes from all these vayne shadowes of feare and dread, which do veyle its brightnes; it appeares so shining, as it serues for a torch to passe very confidently withall, from this life to the o­ther. The Will loues but the Good; it is the Needle that is alwayes a pointing at this Pole. It is the Iron, which incessantly fol­lowes this Adamant, as its only obiect: In such sort, as we are not capable of loue, but to purchase the good which is presented vn­to vs, be it false, imaginary, or true. And [Page 18] therin is iudgement giuen vs to know the difference, that is from the one, and the o­thers.

Now, that life is a false good, there may no doubt be made, since it hath no other foundation in it, then misfortunes & my­series. That it is an imaginary good, we are enforced to belieue, whiles its pleasures are but of fancyes and dreames. But that death is a true good, we are to hould for certaine, since it is the end of the terme of our exile, of our captiuity, of our sufferances. For we cannot enter into glory but by the gate of the tombe, where being reduced to our no­thing, we returne to our first beginning. Sweet then are the thoughtes, which make the life fastidious and death pleasing; & yet more sweet the desires, that termine all our hopes in Heauen. Such as know not the Art of dying well & diliciously, are vnwor­thy to liue. Impatience in the expectation of death, is more sensible to a holy Soule, then the greatest pleasures to a man of the world. We cannot loue life, but in cherish­ing the fatall accidents, that are inseparable from it, which made Terence to say, That he lo­ued not any thing, of all that which was in him, but the hope of a speedy dying.

In effect, there is no greater consolarion [Page 19] in life, then that of death. For were it im­mortall, with all the encombrances that cleaue vnto it, of all the conditours that are found in nature, that same of man would prooue to be the most vnfortunate. The af­flicted loue not, but by the sweet expecta­tion of death, and the others of the hope of a second life, with reason imagining with themselues, that if on earth they be touched with some pleasure, they shalbe one day ac­complished in Heauen with al desirable de­lights. And through the good of our death it is, that we possesse the soueraigne good of eternall life. It is the entry of our felicity, & the passage from the false and imaginary, to the true and alwayes permanent. He is yet vnborne, whose hart being glutted with al sorts of contentments, hath neuer gaped af­ter new pleasures.

There is not a Soule in the world, how happy soeuer it thinke it selfe, that points not its pretensions beyond that same which it possesseth. We hold it good to be rich, our desires are alwayes in chase of Good. We are raysed to the top of the greatest digni­ties; we build new Thrones in our imagina­tion, not finding on earth scope inough to satisfy our Ambition withall. In so much as mā hath alwaies vnrest in the repose, which [Page 20] he hath once proposed to himselfe; which makes vs sensibly to perceiue, that the obiect of our desires, is forth of nature; and that if we sigh in the midst of our felicityes, it can be but of the hope we haue to possesse some greater then they. We haue lyued long inough then, in Tantalus his Hel, where we are continually a thirst, without being euer able to drinke. We must be vsing of some violence with our selues, and go couragiou­sly before death, since it is that which with­houldes this second life from vs, wherein abides the accomplishment of our happines.

To dye, is but to cast into the wynd the last sigh of our miseries. To dye, is but to make a partition of our selues, commending the body to the Earth, & the Soule vnto Hea­uen. To dye, is but to bid a last adieu to the world, preferring the company of Angels before that of men. To dye, is to be no more vnhappy. To dye, is to despoyle vs of our in­firmities, and to reuest vs with a nature ex­empt from sufferances. O sweet death, since it leades vs to the spring of life! O sweet death, since it giues vs the Eternity of glory in exchange of a moment of dolour! O sweet death, since it makes vs to reuiue for euer, in a felicity immortall!

O yee Soules of the world, thinke then [Page 21] alwayes of death, if you will tast with plea­sure, the sweetnes of life. For it shalbe euen in this last moment, where you shal receiue the Crowne of all the others; you may sigh long inough in your chaynes, you are neuer like to be delyuered thence, if death come not to breake the gates of your prison. Go before it then, and carry in your counte­nance the desire of meeting it, rather then a feare to be touched with it. We should suf­fer with a good cheere, that same which we must of necessity endure. What say I endure? Were it a payne, to approach to the end of ones euils? Were it a payne to become for e­uer exempt from their sufferances? Let vs rather say, a Contentment, since thereby do we get forth of sadnes, to enter into ioy. Let vs call it a Happines, since so we do a­bandone the dwelling of misfortunes, to liue eternally in that of the felicities of Hea­uen.

That there is no contentment in the world, but to thinke of Death. CHAP. III.

DEATH hath it's delights, as well as Lyfe. Iob was neuer more happy, nor more content then at such tyme, as he saw himselfe vpon the Throne of his dunghill, oppressed vnder the burden of his miseries. He dyed so deliciously in the depth of his dolours, as he would haue suf­fered alwayes, and haue dyed incessantly in that manner. His wounds serued him as a mirrour to his loue. For in looking there­into, he became amourous of himselfe; but yet loued he not himselfe, but to dye con­tinually: so pleasing was death vnto him, therby to obey him who had imposed that law vpon him. Loue changes the nature of things. From the tyme that a Soule is chast­ly taken with this passion, it neuer suffers for the subiect which it loues. The paynes and torments therof are changing the name & quality within the hart. They are Roses rather then Thornes. For if it sigh, it is of ioy [Page 23] and not of payne: if it be necessary to dy, to conserue this louely cause of its life, it is no death to it, but a meere rap [...] of contentment which seuers it from it selfe, in fauour of another selfe, which its loues more then it selfe: In such wise, as it begins to liue con­tent, from the point it begins to dye in; or rather to take its flight, towards the obiect it hath proposed to it selfe, of the full per­fection of its loue.

From this goodly verity, do I draw this lyke consequence. That the hearts wounded with diuine loue do neuer sigh in their torments, but of the apprehension they haue of their short durance: & Death, which to vs seemes so foule and deformed, vpon the sudden, changing it's countenan­ce, in their respect appeares a thousand ty­mes more beautifull then lyfe. Whence it is, that they are alwayes thinking thereon, to to be alwayes content; since it is the point where their paynes do termine, & where their felicityes begin. The most pleasing thoughtes, which our spirit can tell which way to conceyue, can haue no other obiect then that of contentment, of profit, and of vertue; in so much as they are the three sorts of goods whereto our will is tyed.

Now, where shall we find more plea­sure [Page 24] then in the thought of death, since it is the great day of our Fortune, where we take possession of the delights of Heauen? Where more profit, then in the selfe same thought; since the soueraygne good, which is promised to vs, is the But, the End, and Obiect thereof? And where more vertue, then to thinke alwayes of Death; whilest with the armes of these sweet thoughts we triumph ouer vice? I belieue it is impossible to tast pleasures without thinking of death, in regard these delights are continually a flying away, and incessantly dy with vs: in such wise, that if we cannot ressent the con­tentments but within their fruit, & in run­ning alwayes after them; they are rather dis­pleasures, then pleasures, and therefore we hold there are no greater delights, thē those of thinking of Death, as being the only meane to make them eternall.

When I resent vnto my selfe S. Laurence extended vpon the deuouring flames, but yet more burned with the fire of his loue, then with that of his punishment, how he cryes out with a cheerefull voyce, in the midst of the heates which consume him, to be turned on the other side, as if he thought he should not dye, but by halfes, being so but halfe burned; I do feele my selfe raui­shed [Page 25] with the same iumps of ioy, that trans­ported him. Death is so welcome to him, as he deliciously roles his body on the coles, as if they were very beds of Roses. So as if he be touched with any payne at all, it is for not suffering it; for that his life being all of loue, finds its element in the fire that consumes it, and therefore he sighes of glad­nes in the height of his torments. In effect, how shall he expire admidst those heats, if his hart be all aflame already, & his Soule of Fire? For if he were to be turned into ashes, the stronger must needs preuayle. So as he cannot be consumed, but through the fire of his loue. O sweet encounter! O wel­come combat! And yet more deere the Tri­umph! Death assayles him with flames, it assaults him with heats, but the fire where­with he is holily burned, triumphes, & re­duceth him to ashes, so to render them as cō ­secrated. This great Martyr neuer tasted in his life more sweet pleasures thē that of fee­ling himselfe to dy vpon this bed of flames, because resenting death, he felt the delights of immortall life, wherof he made himselfe a crowne.

Kings, Princes, and all those who are ray­sed to some great fortune, confesse it to be a great pleasure to dy, since they dy euery ho­re [Page 26] so sweetly amidst their greatnesses. I say, so sweetly, for their spirits and their senses are so strongly occupyed with their continuall ioyes, as the Clocke which keepes accompt of the houres of our lyfe, may sound long inough its 24. houres a day, and they heed it no more, then if they were starke deafe. And the night full of horrour, which re­presents to vs the same of the Sepulcher, cā ­not fright them any more, then if they were quite blind. Needs must the charmes of their pleasures be strong, to make them insensi­ble to that which toucheth them so neere. S. Augustin sayd, how the greatnesses of the world, aspersed a kind of leprosy on the sou­le, which euen benummed all the senses of the greatest Potentats of the earth. In effect, all their sighes, all their actions do but car­ry the countenance of Death with them, & yet perceyue they no whit therof. A strange thing! To liue, and not to thinke of lyfe at any tyme, or rather of Death, since to liue and dy is but one thing! It is yet true not­withstanding, that we dye without euer thinking of death; wherin do we spoile our selues of the sweetest contentments of lyfe, because our whole felicity consists in dying well; and the meanes to incurre a glori­ous death is alwaies to thinke of the miseries [Page 27] of lyfe, to the end to be encouraged through hope, to possesse the eternall glory which is promised vnto vs. We do naturally loue our selues with so strong affections, that all the powers of the world, are not able to burst the chaynes thereof.

But what more mighty proofes may we affoard of this verity, then that of thinking continually of Death, since the same is the day of our Triumph? When shall I begin to liue not to dye for euer? sayth the Royall Pro­phet. Our lyfe is a continuall combat, and the day of our Death is that of our Victorie. All the Martyrs though they were in the thickest of the fight, and alwaies in the acti­on of defending themselues, yet in this warre of the world, thought themselues ve­ry happy to find the occasion, where they might make to appeare the last endeauours of their courage in the midst of torments; for that they found in Death the crowne of im­mortall lyfe. O sweet lyfe, and cruell the attendāce!

As often as we carry our thoughtes beyond nature, and euen to Heauen, our spirit remaines wholy satisfyed therewith, because that in this diuine pitch, where it sees it selfe eleuated aboue it selfe, it be­gins to liue the lyfe of Angells. The earth [Page 28] is in contempt with it, and when the chay­nes of it's body fall off in their first conditi­on, it suffers their tyranny through con­straint. So that, if it be permitted vs at all moments to abādon the world in thought, to haue thereby some feeling of heauenly delights; should we be our enemies so farre, as to contemne these diuine pleasu­res, in groueling without cease in our mi­seryes, while the only meanes to be tou­ched with it, is to thinke on Death; since there is no other way in lyfe, to fynd the fe­licity we seeke for?

We may piously say that the Virgin pu­rest, & most holy liued on earth a lyfe litle differing from that lyfe which is liued in Heauen; her spirit all diuine intertayned it selfe alwayes with the Angels, or rather with God himself; while she had the glory of bearing him within her sacred wombe, or in her armes; In so much as her life was a voluntary Death, all of loue, seeing that through loue, she tooke no pleasure but to dye, so to possesse more perfectly the onely obiect of her lyfe. She prized not her dayes but in the expectation of their last night, as knowing its darknes was to produce the brightnes of an eternal day, wherof herselfe had beene the Aurora. O how sweet would [Page 29] it be, to be able to liue in that sort, for to dye deliciously! It is not a life truly immortall to be alwayes thinking of death, if death af­ford vs immortality? How fastidious is the life of the world, the Prophet cryes? Let vs now then be ioyning our voyce to his cryes, and say, that death only is to be wished for. All the holy Soules, which in imitation of my Sauiour, haue adorned thēselues with thor­nes, haue been turning the face to the tomb­wards, there to gather Roses. With death it is, where they termine their dearest hopes. So as if they liue content, it is not but through the sweet hope which they haue to dye.

O yee prophane Spirits, who sacrifice not but to voluptuousnes, pull off the hood of passion that thus blinds you, to destroy those aultars of Idolatry, whereon you im­molate your selues, without thinking of it, for punishment of your crymes. If you will know the true pleasure indeed, it consists of thinking of Death, as of the Spring that pro­duceth our delights. Our Crownes are at the end of their cariere, nor shall we euer come to possesse the Soueraygne God, to which we aspire with so much feruour and vnrest, but by the way of Death. When shall I cease to lyue with men, sayth Dauid? He is e­uen [Page 30] troubled amidst the greatnesses of the earth. His Scepter and his Crowne are so contemptible to him, as he would willing­ly change his Throne with the dunghill of Iob, on condition to dye with his constan­cy. To liue, is no more then to be seque­stred from that which one loues: and after God, what may we loue? After him what may we desire? So as, if now these holy af­fections & these diuine wishes cannot looke on glory, but in passing by the Sepulcher, let vs thinke continually on Death, as of the way we take, & which we are yet to make. This is the onely meane to render vs con­tent, for that these thoughtes are inseparable from the eternall felicity which is promi­sed vs.

That it belongeth but only to good Spirits, to thinke continually of Death. CHAP. IIII.

SVCH as know the Art of fa­miliarizing death with life, through continual remēbrance of their end, do neuer change the countenance in any perils. [Page 31] They looke to resume both their bloud, and life at once, with the same eyes they behold the things which are agreable to them: so as they remayne inuincible in their miseryes, through the knowledge they haue of their condition. Wounds neuer hurt their soules, and all the maladies wherewith they may be touched, afflict but their body only. Their good Spirit habituated with the ordinary encounter of a thousand sad accidents inse­parable from life, tasts their bitternes in its turne, and feeles their thornes without any murmuring. The end of all actions ought to be the first ayme of the iudgement that con­ceiues them, if it will shun the griefe of ha­uing done them. So as from the tyme that we are capable of reason, are we to serue our selues of it, to consider the necessity of our mortall and transitory condition; that the continuall obiect of our end, may serue as a condition & meanes to arriue happily the­reunto.

The wiser sort are those, who repent at least, for that which they haue done; & true wisedome consists in not cōmitting folly. And what more great may a man admit, thē that, to neuer thinke of death, since it is the end where all our actions receiue their prize or payne? Remember thou Death (the Wisemā [Page 32] sayth) and thou shalt neuer syn. O glorious re­membrāce, who raisest vs to so high a degree of honour, as neuer to offend God, which is the only perfection of the Soule, next to the knowing him, and louing him withall! O glorious remembrance, which changest our frayle and guilty Nature into one which is wholy innocent! O glorious remembrance that makest vs deliciously to breath the ayre of Grace, since they liue in the estate to dye euery hower, for to liue eternally! O glo­rious remembrance, which on earth makest vs the inhabitants of Heauen? O glorious re­membrance, where the Spirit finds both its Good, and repose.

When I represent to my selfe the pittiful estate of our Condition, I am afrayd of my selfe: for disasters and miseryes do so attend vs at the heeles, as there is almost no medium betweene dying and lyuing. We sigh with­out cease, the whole ayre we breath, & our very being that so tumbles alwayes towards its end, wisheth not, but its not being, whi­ther euery instant leades it without inter­mission. What better thoughtes may we now conceiue, then of these verities; since it is too true, that we are borne vnhappy, for to liue miserable, vntill the point of dying? And the only meane to change this misery [Page 33] into happines, is euery moment to thinke vpon it, for feare of falling euer into neglect, or forgetfulnes of our selues.

There are feeble Spirits, who dare not carry their thoughts vnto the end of the ca­riere of their life; they euen faynt in the mid way; their shadow affrights them; they fe­are euery thing they imagine, without con­sidering the obiect of their feare subsists not but in their fancy only, and how by that meanes, to become ingenious to torment themselues. To feare death, is to feare that which is not, since it is but a mere priuatiō; and to haue a further feare of the thought is to fly the shadow of his shadow which is nothing. Wherein these Spirits do but feed their owne weaknes, liuing in death, and dying in their life, without dreaming once of Death. But what goodly matter (will they say, so to mayntaine their errour) for one to thinke of that, which naturally all the world abhors? Is it not to be miserable inough to be borne, and to lyue, & dye in myseries, without one be burying his spirit before his Body, through the continual me­mory of his end? It is euen as much, as to make ones selfe vnhappy before hand, so to dreame of the euils, which we cānot auoyd. It is inough to endure thē constantly, when [Page 34] they arriue, without going to meet with thē, as if it could euer arriue too late.

Feeble apparences of Reason! Admit that Nature abhorres Death, as the ruine of this strait vniō of the body with the soule, know we not also how this nature, blind in all its passions, and brutish in all its feelings, takes alwayes the false good for the true, not be­ing able to worke, but by the Senses, which as materiall, take its part? To belieue now that our miseryes augment, by this thought, that we lyue & dye miserable, were much; while on the cōtrary we do blunt the point of their thornes, in so thinking of them, in regard this continuall consideration of our misfortunes in this life, makes vs to take the way of vertue, for the attayning one day, the glory, and felicity of the other. To ima­gine it also to be a griefe, to dreame assidu­ously of Death, as of an ineuitable euill, is a meere imaginatiō which cannot subsist, but within it selfe. For we are neuer to thinke of Death, but as of a necessary good, rather then of an infallible euill, since otherwise, it i [...] nothing of it selfe. We should only repre­sent to our selues that we are to change both condition and life; and how this change, can be no wayes made, but at the end of our course▪ whither we are continually running [Page 35] and that without pause awhit. Our being of it selfe destroyes it selfe, by little and litle, withall things els of the world besides. It is a funerall Torch burning by a Sepulcher, that shines as long as the wax of our body lasts, while euen the least blast of disaster is able to extinguish it for euer. For howbeit the earth be large and spacious, yet hath it noe voyd place, in its whole extent, but where to point euery one his Tombe; euen as nature, which though fruitfull of it selfe to produce many wonders, yet finds an im­potency withall to engender twice its ly­uing workes.

The Fables informe vs well, how Euri­dice was delyuered from her chaines in Hell but not from her prison; she had the power to approach vnto the bounds of the dismall place of her captiuity, but not to set her selfe at liberty. So as if the Poets, within the Em­pire which they haue established to them­selues, haue religiously held this inuiolable law, of not to be able to dye twice; with what respect ought we to adore the truth so knowne to euery one, and so sensible to all the world? And the knowledge which we haue thereof, should vncessantly draw our pirits, to these thoughtes, to the end they sstray not, in the labyrinths of sin, which is [Page 36] the only Death of the Soule.

When I represent to my selfe the faces, which these men of the world do make when they are spoken to of Death, I haue much ado to belieue, they are capable of rea­son, since they faile thereof, in the consi­deration of this important verity, that they are but meere putrefaction, and a little dust, ready to be cast into the wind in the twin­ckling of an eye: That walke they where they will, they but trample their Tombe vnderfoote, since the earth seemes to chalēge its earth whereof they are moulded and fra­med. They shut their eares to the discourses that are made to them of Death, which they are one day to incurre; and open them to hearken to the Clocke, whose houres & mi­nutes insensibly cōduct them into the Sepul­cher, whither willingly they would neuer go. In so much, as howbeit they are hasting euery moment to death, yet they dare not be casting their eyes on the way they hould, as if the sight could forward their paces: wher­in truly, I can not abide, nor excuse their pusillanimity, since the danger whereinto they put themselues, produceth an irrepara­ble domage.

This same is an infallible maxime, That such as neuer dreame of death, do neuer thin­ke [Page 37] of God, forasmuch as one cannot come at him, but by Death onely. On the other-side, not to thinke euer of the end, which should crowne our workes, were as much, as to contemne the meanes of our Saluation and so to forget our Sauiour who with his proper lyfe, hath ransomed ours. The eye cannot see at one and the selfe same tyme two different obiects, in distance one from the other. The lyke may we say, of the Spirit, though it's powers be diuerse, yet can it not fasten its affections vpon two subiects at once, vnequall and seue­rall one from the other. If it loue the E­arth, then is Heauen in contempt with it: if it haue an extreme passion of selfe-loue to its lyfe, the discourses of death are dreadfull to it. And by how much it sequesters it selfe from thoughtes of its end, the lesse approa­cheth it to God through those very thoghts. Lord, I will thinke of my last dayes (sayd the Prophet) for to remember thee. This great King and great Saint withall, did belieue the me­mory of Death was inseparable from that of his Mayster, since dye he needs must one day himselfe.

O sweet Death, and yet more sweet the remembrance, if it be true, that it power­fully resists agaynst all manner of vice! We [Page 38] cannot know good spirits, but throgh good actions, & there is none better in lyfe, then then of preparing ones selfe for death. What­soeuer we can do which is admirable indeed looseth the whole admiration, if it haue not relatiō therunto, nor may a man be thought to haue lyued, but to dy rather, who thinkes not euer of this sweet necessity, whereof the law dispenseth with no man. The greatest perfection consists, for one to know him­selfe, so as the Spirit cannot make its Emi­nency appeare, but by beholding it selfe in its nature, created to render the continuall homage of respect to its Creatour. And be­ing abased in this necessary submission, it should consider that its immortality boūds vpon eyther an eternall payne, or els on a lyke glory, and that it is not at all, but to be happy for euer, or eternally vnhappy. Vpon these considerations, it may found the veri­ty of its glory, since it could not tell how to purchase eyther a iuster, or a greater then that of knowing well it selfe. For as then, its diuine thoughts make it to take it's flight towards the place of its origin, not prizing the earth, but to purchase there the merit of Crownes, which it pretends to possesse in Heauen.

Among the infinite number of errours, [Page 39] which make the greatest part of the world to be guilty of crime, this same is one of the most common of al; To esteeme (forsooth) those extremely, who are eloquent, be it of the tongue or pen, and to put them in the rancke of the more excellent Spirits: As those also, who through a thousand sleights, being al very criminal, cā tell how to amasse a great deale of riches to ariue to the highest dignityes. Thus do the spirits of the world, and are so esteemed by such as they. But I answere with the Prophet, how all their wisedome is folly before God. The good spirits indeed are alwaies adhering to good, and there is no other in lyfe, then that, to be allwayes thinking of death, for to learne to dy well. Since in this apprentiship only, are comprized all the sciences of the world. Eloquennce hath saued neyther Cicero, nor Demosthenes. Riches haue vndone Cresus; & greatnesses haue thrown Belus King of Cy­prus out of his Throne, into a dunghill. To what purpose serues it, to know how to talke well, if we speake not of things more necessary, and more important of our salua­uation? To what end serues it to be rich, since we must needs be a dying miserable?

On the other side, there is no other riches then that of Vertue; and I had much rather [Page 40] possesse one aboue, then the crownes of all the Kings of the World below. What plea­sure may a man take to behold himselfe ray­sed to Thrones, since he must needs in a moment, be descending into the Sepulcher? What is become of all those, who haue beene mounting the degrees of Fortune, & beene seene on the top of most eminent dignities? Disastres, or time which changes all things, haue let them fall into the Tombe; so as there remaynes no more of thē, but the bare remembrance, that sometymes▪ they haue beene. Consider we then, and boldly let vs say, how it belongs to good Spirits only, to be euery houre: thinking of Death, since we dy euery hower▪ That these thoughtes are the most sublime, where with a good soule may entertaine it selfe: That of al the wayes which may lead vs to Heauen, there is none more assured, then that of continually thin­king of the last instant, which must iustify or condemne all the other of our life; for that our actiōs take their Rule frō these though­tes to receiue the price of them. All the rest is but vanity, and meere folly.

Out of these thoughtes, there is no good; Out of these thoughtes, there is no repose. Who thinks not of death, thinks of nothing since al seeme to termine at this last moment [Page 41] The most happy are miserable, if this thoght make not vp the greatest part of their hap­pines. And the richest are in great necessity, if they dreame not of that, of their mortall condition. Whatsoeuer is said, if Death be not the obiect of the whole discourse, they are but words of smoke, that turne into wynd. Whatsoeuer is done, if Death be not the obiect of the actions, all the effects are vnprofitable. In fine, all glory, all good, all repose, & all the contentment of the world, consists in thinking alwayes of Death; since these thoughtes are the only meanes to at­teyne the eternall felicity, wherto they ter­mine. And a generous Spirit cannot giue forth more pregnant proofes of its goodnes▪ then in thinking on the Death of the body, whiles euen of this moment depends the life of the soule.

How those spirits that thinke continually of Death, are eleuated aboue all the Great­nesse of the Earth. CHAP. V.

IT is impossible to know the world without contemning it since the disastres and miseryes, wherewith it is stuft, are the [Page 42] continuall obiects of this knowledge. And from the point that our iudgment hath bro­ken the visards of the false and imaginary goods, which vnder the maske of their goodly apparences deceyue our will, it sud­denly abhors in them, that very same which passionately heertofore it seemed to cherish. Whence it happens that we can neuer enter into knowledg of the world, but we acquit our selues of it at the same time throgh a sor­row, for not hauing despised it sooner; since all its goods are but in apparence onely, and its euils in effect. So as, if it be a Tree we may boldly say, that miseryes are the leaues therof, misfortunes the branches, and death the fruit. And it is vnder the shadow of this vnhappy Tree, where our forefathers haue built our first tombe.

Man may seeme to disguise himselfe, if he will, vnder the richest ornaments of Grea­nes, & with the fayrest liueries of Fortune. Well may he trample Scepters and Crow­nes vnderfoot, in the proudest condition, whereto Nature and Lot might haue ray­sed him vp. He is yet the same; I meane a peece of corruption, shut vp in a skin of flesh, whereof the wormes haue taken pos­session already from the momēt of his birth. Let him measure as long as he will a thou­sand [Page 43] tymes a day, the ample spaces of the world, with this proud ambition, to make a conquest of them all; yet he must be fayne to let them fall, if he would find the true measures of them without compasse, enclo­sed all within seauen foot of earth, which shall marke out his Tombe. If he assemble with the same ambition, all the Thrones of Kings, for to make them serue as Aultars, whereof himselfe shall be the Idol; he shall not choose but lend his eares to the Oracles of sweet Necessity, though cruel for him: for he must dy, and consequently serue one day as a victime vpon those very Aultars, where they shall be yielding of Sacrifices to his, person.

Let him bestow Empires, as fauours, Kingdomes for presents, and whole Citties for the least recompence, and then when he returnes into himselfe, for to know what he wants, he shall find, that he needs no more, but a peece of a sheet to shrowd (with all his miseryes) the horrour of his infection and corruption. Let the Sunne neuer rise, but to giue light to his triumphes, if he ioyne not [...]o his victories those other of his passions, [...]e shall celebrate but his owne ouerthrow, [...]nd triumph on himselfe without thinking of it. Let the heauens be rayning on his head [Page 44] as many felicityes, as there are disasters on earth; all his happynes concludes with Death, while by the way of his prosperities, he goes on euery moment to the Sepulcher▪ In fine, although through his great possessiō of goods, he know not what to desire, not what to looke for; yet shall I not forbeare ere the lesse to put him in the rancke of the most miserable of the world, if vertue be not the richest of his treasures. For not changing his condition awhit, in the accomplishmēt of his greatnesses, and of all his delightes, he is alwayes the same, a little ashes, a little dust a little earth. And howbeit of the ashes of the wood of Libanum, of the dust of Azure, or of some more noble or fertile earrh; yet is al but meere putrefaction, and the crust of all these goodly apparences is full of infection.

I esteeme him very happy, great & rich, who contents himselfe, with the meriting of these greatnesses, these felicities, and these riches: for the glorious contempt which he makes of thē, for being abused in the know­ledge of himselfe, he beholds all the world beneath him, and desires but the continuatiō of his repose; since in the only thought of Death, he possesseth al the goods of life. The great Monarkes of the world seeke the intē ­tions of lyuing happy in their greatnesses; & [Page 45] he, the meane of dying content in his mise­ries: they are alwayes in care, to extend the bounds of their Empire; & he pleaseth him­selfe to bound his ambition, with what he possesseth, since he wants not any thing for his voyage. They make a masse of riches; & he takes glory in pouerty, knowing that the richest are robbed at the end of the course of [...]ife, and that we go forth of the world, in [...]ike manner as we enter into it, with the first habit of those miseries, which we haue in­herited from our parents. In such sort as [...]hinking perpetually of Death, in the way where it is to approach euery moment, he casts not his eyes vpon greatnesses, but to haue pitty on those who possesse them. He contemplates not the fauours of Fortune, but to publish the inconstancy thereof. So [...]f he regard Thrones, it is but to measure [...]he depth of the precipices that enuiron thē, since all crownes for him are made both of tare and thornes. And the Scepters as light as reedes, giue him not any other Enuy [...]hen that of trampling them vnderfoot, in­steed of holding them in his hands, since [...]hey are the markes of a glory of smoake, which resolues into nothing, to returne to its first beginning.

There is no doubt, but such as thinke cōti­nually [Page 46] of Death, are raysed aboue all the greatnesses of the earth, because Eternity is the obiect of their thoughtes. So as if they desire greatnesses, they wish they may be e­ternall: if they enuy Treasures, they marke the possession of them beyond Nature, to the end Inconstancy of tyme may not be­reaue them of them. They haue no ambi­tiō for this vayne glory of the world, which the least mischance may change into infa­my; nor for these Crownes, which a litle wind of disgrace, makes to fal from the head. All their glory is to thinke of death, for to be able to attayne at the last instant of lyfe, the Crowne of immortality, wherein con­sists the perfection of all felicityes possible to be desired.

Greatnesses are of the same nature, with those who possesse thē, they are but smoke, they are but wind; for we see thē to vanish away in the twinckling of an eye, with their subiect. So as if they seeme to subsist, notwithstanding in their continuall flight they are changing the countenance euery houre. To be great aboue the common sort of men, in honours and in riches onely, i [...] to be miserable, if the true greatnes of man consist in meriting all, and possessing no­thing. In so much, as he who thinkes o [...] [Page 47] Death in despising the felicityes of this life, makes himselfe to be worthy of the glory of the other; and in these only thoughtes is he raised so aboue himself, as if he were capable of vanity, he would not know himself. For from the tyme, that he ioynes the thoughts of Death, to the verity of his mortall con­dition, he tasts before hand in the midest of his course, the sweetnes of the goods, which he pretends to receyue at the end. I would say, that the sensible imaginations which he hath of dying cōtinually (as there is nothing more certayne then it) makes him to tread vnder foote, all the greatnesses of the earth, since that his soule directs his lookes vnto Heauen,

In effect, were it not as much, as to offēd a Prince, to offer him at sea, the Crowne of a Kingdome, in the midst of stormes and tempests, wherewith his ship were misera­bly tossed? or els at such tyme, as he were seene to be taken with a mortall disease? For he might answere very pertinently, they should attend him, to make him those offers on the shore, or when he were recouered of his health. Now, we seeme to represent this Prince, since like vnto him, do we floate v­pon this sea of this world, where the Ship of our life, is incessantly tossed with diuers [Page 48] misfortunes. Fortune comes to present vs in the fury of this tempest both Scepters and Crownes; would it not be accounted rash now for vs, to receiue them at her hands, in this pittifull estate whereinto we are redu­ced, & not to hope for a calme or cessation, for feare of seeing our hopes quite buryed with our life, in a cruel shipwracke, whose danger euen followes vs as neere, as the sha­dow doth the body? So as if she make vs the same offers, during the mortal malady whe­rewith we are seised from the moment of our natiuity (since we begin to dy, from the instant that we begin to liue) were it not a folly to accept them? And for vs to answere her, and to wish her to expect till we come vpon the shore, is a vayne attendance; while there is no other port, in the sea of life, then that of the tombe: and to attend also for the cure of this contagious malady; which we haue taken of our parents, were to expect that same, which shall neuer come to passe. So as indeed we should be throwing al these Crownes at her head, and make vse of the Scepter, she presents vs with, as of a staffe to be auendged of her for her perfidiousnes, & to testify to her that our constancy scornes her leuity; and that our contentment & re­pose, depends not awhit of the rowling of [Page 49] her wheele, if we learne euery day to liue forth of her Empire.

Let vs conclude then and say, that spirits that know wel the art of thinking of Death do marke out the thrones of their glory in heauen, not being able to find any thing on Earth, that were worthy of their greatnes. Hence it is, they take such pleasure, to dy without cease and to increase their content­ment yet further, that they alwayes are thin­king vpon it. O sweet remembrance of death, a thousand times more sweet then all the delights of life! O cruell forgetfulnes of this necessity, a thousand tymes more cruell, then all the paynes of the world! O sweet memory of our end, where begins our only felicity! O glorious obliuion of our mortal conditiō, the only cause of our disasters! Let vs not liue then, but to thinke on the de­light of Death; & let vs not dye but to con­temne the pleasure of lyfe: let vs forget all, but the remembrance of Death. Let vs loue nothing, but its thoughtes: and neuer es­steeme, but the only actions which haue re­lation to this last, since this is that alone, whence we are to receyue eyther price, or payne.

A Contemplation vpon the Tombe of A­lexander the Great. CHAP. VI.

O ALL yee Great Kings, Loe I heere sommon you to appe­are about this Tombe, to be­hould therein the wormes, the corruption and infection of the greatest, the happyest, the mightiest, & the most dreadfull Monarch of the world; & to say all in a word, of Great Alexander; whose Valour could neuer admit comparison; whose Victories haue had no other bounds, then those of the Vniuerse; and whose Tri­umphes, haue had all the Heauens for wit­nes, all the Earth for Spoyles, for slaues all Mortalls, for Trumpet Renowne, & For­tune for Guide. Descend then, from your thrones vpon this dunghill, where lyes the companion of your glory, and your great­nesses. Behould and contemplate this Pour­trait of your selues drawne to the lyfe, after the originall of your miseries.

Cyrus, approach you vnto this vnlucky place, vpon your Chariot al of massy gould, [Page 51] and come attended with that magnificent pompe, which made all the world idola­trous in admiration of it; that the infinite number of your subiects, may be an infinite number of witnesses, to conuince you of va­nity and folly, in behoulding this Victori­ous Prince heere beseiged by all sorts of mi­seryes, with in a litle hole, which serues as bounds and limirs to his power.

Cōsider, how this great Taker of Townes is surprized himselfe by the wormes; how this Triumphant souldier is defeated by thē, & how this Inuincible captaine, hath beene vanquished by death, and brought into this deplorable estate, wherein you see him. Are you not ashamed to be seated in that glitte­ring Chariot; since needs you must descend thence to enter into this dismall dwelling, where the wormes attend your corruption? This great number of subiects, which enui­ron you on all sides, to set forth your glory, is a troup of the miserable. For they dye in following you; and on which side soeuer you go. Tyme conducts you all togeather into the Tombe.

Impose your lawes vpon al the people of the Earth, yet needs must you receiue those same of Death. Build you as long as you wil a thousand proud Pallaces in your Em­pire, [Page 52] you cānot hold them but in fee-farme though you be the proprietary thereof, be­cause euery moment you are at the point of departing. Well may you decke your selfe vp with the richest robes of vanity, and play the God heere beneath, with Crowne on the head and scepter in the hand; yet looke what you are, consider what you are like to be, & contemplate your miseries at leysure, in the mirour of this sepulcher. To day you loure on Heauen with an arrogant eye; and to morrow you shal be seene metamorpho­zed into a stinking peece of earth. To day you make your selfe adored of such as haue no iudgment, but in the eyes only; and to morrow shall you be sacrificed in the sight of all the world for expiatiō of your crimes, and hardly shall be found a handfull of your ashes, so true it is, that you are nothing.

Xerxes, descend you a little, from the top of that mountayne of annoyes, where they sad thoughtes do hould you besieged with­in this Vale of disasters and of miseryes, to behold therein, the pittifull ouerthrow of the proudest Conquerour of the world. Spare your teares, to mourne vpon his Tombe, if you will but acquit your selfe of the iustest homage, you may yield to his memory. You weep before hand, for the [Page 53] Death of your souldiers, in foreseeing their end, with that of the world. What will you say now of the death of this great Captayne who for a last glory, after so many trium­phes is deuoured of wormes and metamor­phosed into a stuffe al of corruption, encom­passed all with horrour and amazement. So as if you will needs be satisfying your selfe, afford your teares for your owne proper harmes, since you are to incurre the same lot, without respect, eyther of your great­nes, or power. All your armyes are not of force inough to warrant you from Death: you must bow your necke vnder the yoke of this necessity, whose rules are without ex­ceptiō, whose law dispenseth not with any.

Alexander is dead, Cyrus his predecessour hath dyed also, after a thousand other Kings who haue gone before him, and you runne now after them: but to me it seemes, you carry too great a port of Greatnes with you. The earth wherof you are moulded & fra­med, demaunds but her earth; you must quit your selfe of all, and your scepter and crowne shall not be taken for more, at that last instant, then as sheephookes: for that if we be different in the manner of liuing, we are yet all equall in the necessity of dying. Now therfore, it is a vanity to say, you are [Page 54] of the race of Gods. Come & see heere, the place of your first begining, for as you are borne of corruption, so you returne to pu­trefaction. If you doubt thereof as yet, ap­proach with your infected flesh to these rot­ten bones, & with your clay to these ashes: If they differ in ought, it can be but in cou­lour only.

Tell me, to what end serue all those Sta­tues of your resemblance, which you caused to be erected on the lands of your Empire, since tyme destroyes & ruines the original? Thinke you, belike, they dare not medle with those pourtraits, which are but vayne shadowes of a body of smoke? You trouble your selfe too much, to make it credulous to the world, that you are immortall, as if this beliefe could affoard you immortality. If you haue but neuer so litle knowledge in you, know you not your owne misfortu­nes? If you haue sense, haue you no feeling of your miseries? I know well you are a King, but a King of the dead, since al those to whome you giue the law, do receyue it from Tyme, which makes them to dye eue­ry houre. Admit you be the chiefe of men, yet if they be miserable all of them together, as subiect to a thousand sorts of accidents; may we not well say, that you are the vn­happyest [Page 55] of them all. You play the omni­potent, when you are set vpon your Thro­ne of snow, not considering the while, that within your Pallace, as well as without, you are but a heap of dust, which euery lit­le blast of wind, may scatter on the ground to dissolue it into nothing.

Apelles, thou took'st a pride to be called the Paynter of Alexander; come then, and see the subiect of thy glory, if thy heart serue thee to endure the horrour of it. This same, is that Alexander, whose Maiesty so dazeled thee heertofore, and whose stench at this ty­me so infects the whole world. I mistrust thy audacious pensill to be able to represent the greatnes of his miseryes to the lyfe. Dost thou remember him at such tyme as thou drewest him, armed at all points, vpon his Bucephalus, euen vpon the point of his for­cible retayning the last crowne of his Tri­umphes, not hauing ought to conquer els besides? And sometymes agayne sitting on his Throne with the Crowne of a Conque­rour on his head, and with the Scepter of the Empire of the world in his hand? Durst thou maintayne now, these ashes are the draughts of thy originall? if thou wilt saue thy credit from reproach, do thou imitate Thymantes, draw the curteyne ouer Alexan­ders [Page 56] face, that he may not be knowne, so is he no more himselfe.

And thou Lisyppus, who employed so oft, hast made vse of such rich materials to man­taine this great Monarch on foot; these rot­ten bones, which make vp this Carkasse which thou seest, haue beene the subiect, both of thy glory, and thy labours. If it be true, that water eates into the stone, then weep thou freely on thy owne workes, to destroy them thy selfe, since their obiect is buryed, while tyme prepares their Sepul­cher.

Cesar, Mark-Antony, Pompey, Annibal, and Scipio, step you a little aside from the way of your Triumphs, to come, and see as you passe, the miserable spoyles of this great King alwayes victorious, of this great Monarke alwayes triumphant. Approach you vnto his Tombe, behold, contemplate, & smell the horrible corruption; would you say this carkasse heere that stinkes so abhominably, were the body of that inuincible Alexander? whose valour hath despoyled the earth of its Laurelles, and who being not able yet, to bound his ambition, with the compasse of one world, goes seeking him another; how­soeuer in digging the earth, he hath found but the place of this Sepulcher, where he [Page 57] is buryed with all his greatnesses. All those gallant Courtiers, that followed him, are changed into wormes, and are nothing els but meere putrefaction; and their proud Pallaces into this litle trench; and all their ornaments into these spiders webbes, which encompasse him round.

Cast your eyes vpon these images of hor­rour: This is the draught of him, who stiled himselfe the sonne of Iupiter-Ammon, & who exacted Aultars from men, to make himself adored. Iudge you now of the perfection of this Idol. Go your wayes into all places, where your ambition guides you, conquer all, triumph vpon all, and for a last victory make Fortune herselfe as your Tributary, that the rouling of her wheele may receaue its motion from that of your wills; al these Victoryes, and all these Triumphes, accom­panied with all the glory of the world, shal not warrant you awhit from Death: nor shall all the perfumes of Arabia exempt your flesh from putrefaction.

Cesar, dispute no more with Mark-An­tony about the Empire of the earth: Nature would haue you to take vp this difference betweene you, since neyther of you both cā iustly pretend, but to seauen foot thereof. And if you can hardly belieue it, measure [Page 58] you the spaces of Alexanders Tombe, who hath worne the Crowne vpon his head, which you desire. This is the onely meane to finish your quarrell, rather then to quenh your fury, in the bloud of your subiects. Ce­sar, play not the proud man so, in the midst of thy felicityes; it is now a long while, sin­ce that death hath stood waiting vpon thee, vnder the Throne where thou sittest in the Senate, for to let thee know, and perceaue at once, that he mockes at thy greatnesses, and contemnes thy power, by drowning thy lyfe within thy bloud.

Stoope a little to the pitch of thy vanity Mark-Anthony, there is no likelyhood at all thou shouldst euer be triumphing ouer thin enemy, since thou canst not so much as van­quish thy passions, which is the best victory that we can possibly obteyne of our selues. Thou shalt euen loose the Empire of all the Earth, where thou shalt find so shamefull a Tombe, as they shall not dare to speake of thy lyfe, by reason of thy Death.

Anniball, thou gloriest much in entring in Triumph, within thy proud Citty of Car­thage, after so many, and so great victories, which rayse thee to the highest Throne of Honour; but takst not heed the while, that if thou leadest thine enemies in triumph, vi­ces [Page 59] seeme to triumph vpon thy soule, fitter that miseries do the like with thy body. And againe, if Fortune fauour thee to day as king, she will dregg thee to morrow as a slaue. To day the Lawrels grow on thy head, and to morrow thorns shal grow beneath thy feet▪ to let thee see that nothing is certaine in the world, but change, since it changes euery houre, in making all things else, to change their countenance withall. I do euen flout at thy vanity; for the witnesses of thy glory, & very Carthage it selfe, which is the theatre therof, shal follow soone after the course of of thy ruine.

Pompey, flatter not thy selfe thus in thy prosperities, the very same Sunne, which hath seene them grow vp, shall see them wither ere long. It is true that all the world euen trembles at thine armes. Renowne hath no voyce, but to publish thy valour; but how then? knowest thou not, how the self same fate which affords thee Crownes & Scepters, takes them away againe when it pleaseth? Victory pursues thee euery where, both on sea and land; but this is but for a while. After the moment of thy birth, death aymes at thy head, to pull off all the Law­rells thence, wherewith thou hast so often crowned it; and knowing that the sea hath [Page 60] no rockes for thee, it hath scored out thy Se­pulcher already on the shore.

Weepe, weepe you great Kings, at the sight of these miseries, or rather at the feeling of your owne. If the greatest of the world, be nought but corruption, what shall be­come of you? If this inuincible Monarch, who had so many markes of immortality with him, be the prey of wormes, & sport of the winds, what shalbe your lot? Where­to may Fortune seeme to reserue you? Go to then, I graunt you, whatsoeuer you can possibly demaund; I affoard your ambition an age of lyfe, an Empire of a new world, & a happy successe to all your desires. What shall become of you after all this, since this long lyfe, this glorious Empire, & all your felicityes togeather must haue an end, with this world? As often, as you shall issue forth of your condition, for to enter into the forgetfulnes of your selfe, you do send your thoughtes into this tombe; and you shall suddenly return from this wandering. Do not flatter your selfe; your Crowne is but of earth, as the head that weares it. Your Scepter is but a sticke of wood, subiect to corruption, as your hand is that holdes it: and the rest of your ornaments are but a worke of wormes, wherof you are the prey. [Page 61] Iudge you then, whether your vanity, can subsist any long tyme, vpon such feeble foū ­dations, or no.

You are accustomed lykely, at such time as you build some proud pallace or other, to go a walking in the compasse thereof, ta­king pleasure to admire the goodly scitua­tion, where you haue destined the place of your dwelling: do you the like with your tombe, go visit euery day the solitary place where you are to lodge for so long a tyme; and this wil be the onely meane, to make death euen as sweet vnto you, as life it selfe; and to bury your pride, your vanity, and al your vices together, before your body; ac­cording to the saying of the Wiseman, for he that thinkes continually of death, shall neuer stray from the way of vertue.

He that thinkes alwayes of Death, is the Richest of the world. CHAP. VII.

I MERVAILE much, that Ci­cero should put this Truth into Paradox; That he (forsooth) is the richest, who is most cōtent, whi­les [Page 62] there is nothing more certaine then it. For the Soule hath no other riches, more properly her owne, nor more in affect, then that of contentment. In what condition soeuer, where a man finds himselfe with re­pose of Spirit, may he well be said to be per­fectly rich. True treasures are not of gould of siluer, or of other things of like valew, but rather of good actions, since by their price one may buy Eternity. Besides whose fruition, what may we desire? Besides whose glory, what may we pretend? With­all the riches of the world, we can buy no more, then the world it selfe. Alas, what good in the possession thereof, if it be wholy stuffed with euils? See we not euery momēt how it quite destroyes it selfe, and that it runnes without cease, to its end, as the Sūne to its West?

The richest are ordinarily, the most vn­fortunate of all others: for that hauing by lot of nature, some little Empire on earth, they fall absolutely to attribute the Soue­raignity thereof to thēselues; & in the vayne thoughts of their greatnesses, seeme neuer to sigh but for them, nay they euen dy with them. O dreadfull Death! He then may be only said to be rich, who makes profession to follow vertue; his way being bordered [Page 63] with Thornes, represents to vs that same of Death, whose Roses are at the end of the course, to crowne our labours withall. In so much as we cannot loue vertue, but with the continuall thoughts of Death; since to see its Body, we had need to seuer our selues from the shadowes of the Earth. We much admire some feeble ray of its image only, vnder the obscure veyle of our mortall con­dition; but that only in idaea, and as it were in a dreame. We had need to awake yet once more, and come to be reborne from our a­shes againe, as the Phenix, in the presence of the great Sunne of Iustice. I would say, that we must needs dy one day, for to reuiue eternally in the accomplishment of all the felicities of Heauen.

Alexander hath no greater a treasure, then that of his hopes. The ayme or scope of his Fortune was alwayes vpon the future; and what goods soeuer he possessed, he e­uery day yet attended for more, as if he had some intelligence with Chance, to receiue from its prodigall hand, all the effects of his desires. The merchants, that go in pursuite of riches vpon the Ocean, liue not but of the hope of their mercinary cōquest. How miserable soeuer they find themselues, on the way of their nauigation, they so mainly for­get [Page 64] themselues, in the sweet thoughts of their expectation, as they thinke them­selues the richest of the world; and they wil sooner be loosing their lyfe, in the midst of the rockes, then the beliefe they haue thereof. So much their imaginary hope see­mes to carry them away.

Let vs say then, more boldly, and with more reason, that such as termine all their hopes to the Eternity, as to the onely ob­iect, which is able to quench the thirst of our soules, still increasing more and more, may be sayd before hand, to be the richest of the Earth. For their hope, is not that of Alexander, whose vowes were addressed to Fortune; & much lesse, that other of those old Martiners, as changeable as the sea that gui­des them; but another quite different, that for foundation hath but Vertue, and in the hope of possessing one day the treasures of Heauen, they take the paynes to purchase them, through the continuall meditation of Death, as the onely lesson that teacheth vs to liue well. They passe deliciously their tyme in the expectation of their last day on earth, and like to those merchants, stand counting all the houres of their voyage, with impatient desire to see out of hand, the very last of them, so to be alwayes perfectly [Page 65] happy. And howbeit this voyage be long, and troublesome, yet they esteeme thēselues so rich withall, as they, would not change their hopes, for all the gold of the world.

In effect, we must needs confesse, that the only hope of glory, ioyned with vertues is the only good of life, for the atteyning one day, of the possession of them; where a holy soule may find the full accomplishmēt of its desires. But it is yet to be considered that this hope, and all these vertues can haue no surer foundation, then that of the conti­nuall thoughtes of Death, since all our good doth absolutely depend of this last houre, wherein the important sentence of our life, or Death is to be signified vnto vs. Hence it is, that mā being holily rich, heapes vp good workes, during the course of his life, as di­uine Treasures, to enrich his soule with all the eternall felicities, which may accomplish it with glory and contentment. He liues al­wayes contēnt and rich at once, in this plea­sing thought (forsooth), that he will neuer seeme to dye, vntill such tyme as he be quite dead. Whence it happens that he tramples vnderfoot very generously all sorts of grea­nesses and riches, through the knowledge he hath of those, which his spirit possesseth without euer being touched with other [Page 66] enuy, then to finish readily his voyage, to make exchange for Death, with a life ex­empt from Death. So as we may wel main­teyne, that he, who is alwaies thinking of Death, is the richest in the world; seeing that euen such thoughts only, may make him to purchase the treasure of Eternity, wherein consists our soueraigne Good.

A Contemplation vpon the Tombe of Cre­sus. CHAP. VIII.

YOV Rich-men of the world, who know no other God, then Gold and Siluer, come and see the trea­sures, which the greatest King of the Earth hath carryed with him, into the Tombe. And this is the mighty King Cresus, to whome the mines serued him for a Coffer the Indyes for a Cabinet, and the Ocean for a new riuer of Pactolus, where he vainely en­deauoured to quench the thirst of his guilty auarice, and of his most haughty ambition. Represent vnto your memory his passed greatnesses, and behould now his present miseries. If you thinke of the riches of his life [Page 67] all of roses, consider the pouerty of his Death all of thornes. If you remember the magni­ficences of his Court, turne the lease at the same tyme, to see the horrours of this his dis­mall solitude. If you muse yet on the rich or­naments of his golden Pallace, see & con­template through your teares, the corruptiō which is inclosed with him in the Tombe. If you haue seene him seated on the highest top of greatnesses, behold him now with the same eye abased on the dunghill of misery. He hath liued, he hath reigned as an Idoll within the Temple of Fortune, on the prou­dest Altar of Vanity, but the torch of his life, is put out, the date of his reigne is expired, the Temple of his glory is demolished, the Aultar of his Empire is destroyed, and this carkasse which you see, is the Idol that serues as a prey vnto the wormes.

Gobrias, do thou cause thy selfe, to be drawne heere by thy Lyons, on thy Chariot of massy Gold, before thou dyest. The dece­iptfull glasses of thy goodly Mirrours, hide from thine eyes, the truth of thy defects, & let thee see, but the guilded case of thy rich apparences. On the other side, they but re­present to thee by halfes, while this Sepul­cher shal depaynt them forth to thee at large with the same draught, and with the selfe [Page 68] same lineaments, which Nature hath markt vpon thy body, from the moment of thy birth. In comming hither, to visit this place thou shalt not stray awhit out of thy way, since euery moment of Tyme, directs thy steps vnto the Sepulcher. Enter a little into the knowledge of thy selfe, and reuert from thy wandering. Thou reposest for the most, vpon a Couch all of gold: And what plea­sure takest thou the while, to passe some nights vpon this bed of Flowers, since thou must lodge so long a tyme, vpon a clod of earth, wherof thou art framed & moulded? thou takest al thy repasts vpō a siluer Table, thou seest this carkasse, wherof thou art the originall, how it serues for a table & meate all at once for the wormes to feed on? Why dost thou prize so much thy treasures? Be­hould to what estate is he brought, who hath possessed all those of the World. At his birth he had for portion, all the good of the earth▪ and in dying he hath inherited all the miseries of nature. Imagine that which he hath had, and see what is left him. He hath purchased al, & yet possesseth nothing, nor canst thou auoyd his lot, whilest thou holdest the same way of his life: hence it is, that I point thee out thy sepulcher all ready within his Tombe.

[Page 69] Policrates, come see the coffer of the Trea­sures of Cresus, to glut thy couetous appetite with all; his rotten bones I meane (whose marrow the wormes deuoure) the stench of this prey couered with a linnen sheet, new­ly weft together with the infection. Behold now all, which this mighty King was able to saue from the Shipwracke of his lyfe and riches al together. These are the lamentable relickes, as well of his Maiesty, as of his gre­atnesses; and thou runst into danger of the same rockes, so sayling in a lyke sea, if thou change not the Pylot. Take profit then frō the domage of another, & mayster thy bru­tish passions, that prepare for thine enemies, the triumph of thy lyfe.

And thou Lucullus, come and visit the Se­pulcher of this great Prince, before thou vn­peoplest the ayre of birds, the land of sauage beasts, and the sea of fishes, if thou wilt see displayed the vanity of thy enterprises. Thou takest a glory, while thy life lasts, to afford entertainement to all the world: Be­hould awhile, how thou art like to be in­treated after thy death. Cause thy tables to be furnished with meats, the most delicious that are, yet of necessity must all the com­pany, serue one day as a last course for the wormes. Let thy festiuall dayes, hould out [Page 70] for a whole yeare together, the Sun which shines vpon thee, will not fayle to conduct al thy bāquetting ghests into the Sepulcher; In such sort, as looke how the tyme deuou­res it selfe, so likewise doest thou seeme to deuoure thy life by little and little, with the same food that doth nourish and mainteyne it. What reckoning canst thou make of al the glory of thy prodigious magnificences, if it haue no other foundation with it, then that of corruption? For al the proud preparations of thy Feasts do metamorphoze themselues into infection, with thy miserable subiects, which haue caused the expence.

You mercinary Soules, who are not capable of loue but for your treasures, nor of passion but to make you Idolaters of them, you stand counting your Crownes euery day, and you keep no account by order, of a wise foresight of the small tyme which is left you to enioy the same. To what end serues you your Booke of accompts, where you reckon vp the summes which are due vnto you; if you want vnderstāding to cal­culate that which you owe to your consci­ence, whose interests termine themselues, eyther to your losse or safety? You vnbury the gould and siluer out of the earth, not considering the while, that you are going to [Page 71] occupy their place in the same earth. You buy with their money, the pleasures of your lyfe, and you sell those of your death: for lyuing in delightes, you dye in torments. Know you not that whatsoeuer is on earth, is but Earth?

Wherefore tye you then your affections so to that, which you cannot loue without hating your selfe? what will you do, when you dye, with your treasures? I doubt very much you wil leaue them to your children; but yet the crymes which you haue com­mitted in procuring thē, shall stil be abiding with you: so as, to make your Heires passe deliciously this life, you shall loose the eter­nal, which is promised vs. You damne your selues, for them, as you were not borne, but for others. Quit the world, before it quit you, & bid an eternall adieu to its vanityes. Cresus was all gould, as you are, and now is he all dust. The flash of his riches, did dazle all the world, except Solon, who discoue­ring his miseries, in the midest of his great­nesses, maintayned him to be poore with all his treasure. Go you sometymes, before your death, and imagine the houre which you breath in to be your last, and then con­sult with the Oracle of your iudgement, for to know the good which you would [Page 72] haue done, before this cruell separation of your selfe from your selfe. And after it shall haue taught you your duty, suffer not your selfe to be ouertaken by the sundry disasters, which euery moment may be taking away your lyfe. Serue your selfe of your Riches, without glewing your affection to them. Since you are the mayster of them, suffer them not to be your mayster. You haue found them in the earth, and there let them rest for you, nor let any one be fetching thē forth. Wel may you be hiding them in your coffers, for a tyme, but the day of Death discouers all, & it is in your hands to make vp the last accompt, eyther of the profit, or domage, which they shall peraduēture haue caused to you. You might haue purchased Heauen with your almes; where it may be you haue rather bought euē Hell with your prodigalities. You might haue built Tem­ples to the glory of him, who hath bestow­ed them on you; & you haue offered them in sacrifices, vpon the Aultar of your passi­ons, to the Idols of your soules.

Will you neuer open your eyes to disco­uer the precipices, which encompasse you round? Will you be alwayes cruell to your selues, to the preferring of the mansion of the earth, before that of heauen; the delights [Page 73] of the world, before those of Eternity; and the vayne riches of heere beneath, before the treasures of the eternall glory? Imagine you that before you were borne you were no­thing; that being borne, you haue but qui­ckened a peece of corruption, whose life cō ­ceales the infection, and whose Death be­wrayes the same. Say now then you Rich men as Cresus, shall I terme you miserable with Solon, since Death takes all away from you, saue only the sorrow of hauing liued so ill a life?

That he who thinkes alwaies of Death, is the wisest of the world. CHAP. IX.

VERITY is the obiect of all Sciences. And of all verityes there is none more knowne, nor is more sensible then that of our mortall condition, since we dye continually without cease. In so much as the best science of the world con­sists in the knowledge of ones self. The dis­asters and miseries that befal vs euery houre, are goodly schooles for vs to become lear­ned. As for me, I hould, that the onely [Page 74] meditation of death, instructs vs in all that which is necessary for vs to know. Who doubtes, but that he who thinkes alwayes of his end, is a great Deuine; if all the good­ly Maximes of this diuine science, termine at the eternall life, which followes death? That he is a Philosopher, we must needs be­lieue; for if Philosophy learne vs the art of reasoning, we can serue our selues of rea­son, no wayes better, then to be alwayes a thinking of death, and the contemp of lyfe. That he be an Astrologer, is a meere necessi­ty, because, throgh the mouing of his lyfe, he vnderstands that same of the stars, which shine vpon him; imagining with himselfe, that as he goes by litle and litle, to finish his course in the Tombe; so lykewise the Sun approches to the end of its lucid race, where it is to fynd at last its vtmost.

That he is a Mathematician, the resem­blances are too playne, since that according to the measure of the knowledge he hath of himselfe, he can measure the height, depth, and breadth of all things, being of the same nature with him. That he should be ignorāt of Arithmetick, it were not credible; for since he can tell how to compt all the moments of his life, he must needs be very skilfull in numbers. I should thinke, he had skil in mu­sike [Page 75] too, since he puts his passions in accord, to charme his spirit with their sweet harmo­ny. He must of necessity be a great Phisitian since he busyes his soule so, in the chiefe health of his innocency, to attaine immorta­lity, in musing alwayes vpon Death. So as with reason might we hould him, to be the wisest of the world: and the wisest that are to authorize my saying, may well be glad to imitate him.

Aristotle, thou hast ill imployed thy tyme to stand so much in discourse of the world, without knowing the miseries thereof. For if thou hadst had the knowledge of them, why hadst thou not followed the example of Alexander, in seeking forth a new one, not for to conquer it, as he, but for to liue in, eternally happy? And as his valour had put the conceipt into his head, so might thy spirit haue giuen thee the same proiect. It is playne therefore, thou hast spoken of the Earth with the language of heauen, and of heauen with the language of the earth. Thou hast made an Anatomy of nature, discour­sing with iudgemēt, of all the second causes which do make the springs of the whole to moue. Thou hast gyuen the definition of al things, but only of thy self; as if thou couldst not haue remembred them all, but with [Page 76] forgetting thy selfe. Thou wast busyed much in counting the nūber of the heauens, without assigning thy place there put aloft. Thou hast noted the diuers motions of the Sunne; thou hast spoken of it's Eclypses, without once informing thy selfe of the cause, which hath giuen it the being, and light.

Thou hast discourst very aptly of the re­uolution of ages, and of the continuall vi­cissitude of tyme; without taking any heed to the perpetuall inconstancy of thy life. Thou hast maintayned, that whatsoeuer subsists in the world, runnes post to it's ru­ine; and yet, as if thou perceiuedst not thy self to runne awhit towards the Tōbe with the rest of created things, thou hast spoken not a word of this second life, wherein abi­des the perfection of all our happines. Thou hast yielded the Sunne to be eclypsed. Thou hast afforded the Moone to take diuers coū ­tenāces vpon her. Thou hast giuen leaue to Serpents to be changing their skin, and to the Phenix to reuiue of it's ashes; and cruell to thy selfe the while, thou hast taken away the hope from thee of euer arising againe. Thy spirit hath beene like to a torch, which consumes it selfe to giue others light. For thou labourest to discouer to men all the [Page 77] goodlyest secrets of nature; and hast volun­tarily hidden from thy selfe, the secrets of thine owne saluation. Thou hast lent Ari­adnes threed to an infinite number of spirits who were intangled in the labyrinth of the world, without once being able, to get forth thy selfe, though the knowledge of its causes and effects: & thou hast euen dam­ned thy selfe. Fooles, speake not but of thy Prudence, and wise men of thy Folly. It had beene a great deale better for thee, thou hadst possest all the Vertues, then to speake so of them, without them, & in their absence. Thou madst profession to teach mē the language of reason, and thou hast neuer beene speaking with thy selfe thereof, therby to bring thee, into the contempt of the earth and desire of heauen. Thy light hath dazeled thee, thine armes haue vanquished thee, & the greatnes of thy Spirit hath made thee miserable. For with endeauouring to merit Crownes, thou hast raysed thy selfe aboue all the Empires of the world, to make thy selfe to be adored; & that thy Example might serue as a law vnto others, thou hast beene the first Idolatour of thy selfe,

Thou wouldst not belieue that there was one God in heauen, because thou saidst thy self to be a God on earth. Thou wouldst [Page 78] not speake of the other lyfe, as knowing wel, that he who distributes the good, & the euill to ech one, should seeme to prepare there a Hell for thee to punish thy arrogācy. So as if it were once affoarded thee, to re-be­gin thy course againe, thou wouldst doubt­les forget the vanity of all thy learning, to be thinking continually of Death, whiles these only thoughts do learne vs all manner of sciences. The glory which is left thee, for hauing spoken of the world, is shut vp in the world, and though it should last as long as it, yet shall it alwayes dye with it. Thy reputation is reuereneed on earth, and thou art trod on vnder foot in Hell. Men do ho­nour thy name, and the deuils torment thy soule. Behold all the recompence of thy tra­uailes. Let vs say boldly then, that he who is alwayes thinking of Death is ignorant of nothing; and that, for to be esteemed wise, he should liue with his thoughts, as the on­ly obiect of the glory we hope for, and of the felicity we attend euery houre.

Plato, to what purpose serues thee, that faire Renowne, which thou hast caused to suruiue thy ashes? They speake euery one of thee, but if they fetch any argument of thy wisedome, they conclude vpon thy fol­ly, while Death dishonours thy lyfe. We [Page 79] may compare thee to Hanniball; for after he had triumphed ouer others, he let himselfe be vanquished by himselfe, hauing receyued a law from his passions, & a seruitude from his vices. In lyke māner may we say of thee, that thou hadst couragiously triumphed o­uer all thy popular errours, which are thy chiefe domesticke enemies: after, I say, thou hadst left thy goodly actions, for so many examples of morall vertues; thou buryedst the richest Crowne, within thy Sepulcher, and that which surmounts all tyme, and the inconstancy thereof: for at thy Death, thou adoredst many Gods, as repenting thee of the opinions, yea of the beliefe thou hadst in the course of thy lyfe.

Thou tookest a great deale of paynes to procure the surname of Deuine, through thy diuine thoughtes; but in the highest of thy soaring pitch, thy spirit, as an illegitimate yong Eagle, not being able to endure the splendour of the sun of faith, was cast down headlong from the top of the heauens to the lowest of the earth, where dying alwayes in punishments, and reuiuing euery momēt in their dolours, it shall liue for euer in eter­nall paynes. Let vs say then agayne once more, that all sciences are but meere vanity, except such as teach vs to liue well, and dy [Page 80] happily. And that after this manner, who thinkes continually of Death, is the wisest of the world.

A Contemplation vpon the Tombe of Sa­lomon. CHAP. X.

RETVRNE yet once agayne O great Queene of Saba, to be­hold this wise Salomon, & come attended with your magnifi­cent trayne, that euen the selfe same subiects, who were the witnesses of your ioy, may be the same likewise of your sadnes, in this cruell change, both of tyme & fortune. You haue passed through many a sea, and happily beene quit of a thousand dangers on the land, for to visit this great Monarke, as the onely Abridgement of the wonders of the world. Put your selfe once more into the perils of the same rockes, and into a new danger of so long a voyage, to see the setting of this Sun, the ashes of this Phonix; I would say the Tombe, and cor­ruption of this incomparable, of this in­imitable, of this mighty King of Sages.

What metamorphosis? The splendour of [Page 81] his Riches, had once dazeled your eyes, & now the horrour of his pouerty, doth begg euen teares of your compassion. Heereto­fore you cōtemplated his power with asto­nishment; and now see into what plight of feeblenes haue miseries brought him. You admired the greatnes of his Empire▪ & that likewise of his spirit, ioyned with the per­fection of his wisedome; but now consider how all these goodly qualityes haue not beene able, to exempt him from the Sepul­cher, where he serues as a prey vnto the worms. You haue adored him on the The­ater of his Vanities at such tyme as he repre­sented the personage of the greatest King that euer wore a Crowne; and turning the leafe, within the twinckling of an eye, is this very King, no more then a loathsome car­kasse, whome horrour & amazement hold in pledge, vntill such tyme, as he be con­uerted into dust; which he hath beene in­deed, but that is all. And hardly dare we now maintaine him to be he, since that in seeking him out, within himselfe, is he not to be found: So vanisheth the glory of the world, all flyes into the Tombe.

Solon, since thou hast borne the surname of all the seauen Sages of Greece, come & vi­sit this tombe, of the wisest of the world, of [Page 82] this incomparable Salomon. He was great of birth, great in happines, great in power, great in riches, & most great in knowledge; But behold now, how his rich cradle is chā ­ged into this poore Sepulcher; How his fe­licity, hath taken the visage of misfortune; How his power is bounded in the impotēcy thou seest him in. He is not great but in mi­series, he is not rich but in wormes, and in the knowledge of the follies which he hath wrought. Among so many goodly lawes which thou hast gyuen to the Athenians, re­member thy selfe of that, which nature hath imposed vpon thee, to dy at all howers, vn­til such tyme, as thou be quite dead. Thou dost in vayne command thy bones to be cast into diuers places after thy Death; for if they putrify not all at once, ech one of thē shall produce a stench from the marrow, in the place, where it shalbe buryed. Thou must necessarily follow the lot of this great Sage, since you are brothers both of the same condition. Thou hast taught others long inough; learne thou that, which as yet thou knowest not. Thou teachest all the world to liue; learne thou thy selfe to dy well. Thy knowledge is but vanity. For though thy precepts be engrauen in marble and brasse▪ time which deuoures all things, shall deface [Page 83] the remembrance of them, to so bury thy glory. If thou lyuest not for thy soule, rather then thy body, they will scarce belieue thou hast lyued at all.

Periander, come & behould thy Compa­nion of renowne, so as if thou knowest him not, in the estate he is brought into, touch but thy owne miseries with thy finger, and thou shalt playnly discouer on their face, all the draughts of his resemblāce. He hath been King as wel as thou, as good, as wise. And if thou bearst the Surname of Tyrant aboue him and that he hath not beene a Tyrant of his people; yet the vanities of his life haue beene so. He is dead howsoeuer; and at the very same tyme, wherein truly thou behold'st his putrified bones, the fire of thy life hath brought thee by little and little, into ashes, neere vnto his ashes. If thou tracest the same way with him, thou shalt put the truth of thy saluation into doubt. I would haue thee be a Tyrant also, but that only against thy selfe, to be cruell to thy passions, nor euer to pardon thy faults; otherwise reason shall be depriuing thee of the Surname of a Sage, which thy folly hath giuen thee.

Pittacus, be thou a partner likewise, to behold the miseries of thy like, and if thou wilt learne thy good spirit wisedome, em­ploy [Page 84] thy reason, and eloquence to chase a­way vices from thy country, rather then the Tirant though thy force and courage. Thou sayest, we ought to foresee the accidents a­farre of, which may happen to vs, for to be able to suffer them, with the more constan­cy, when they light: why thinkst thou not then, alwayes of this accident, inseparable from Death, which pursues vs neerer then a shadow the body; not for the suffering of the paynes with the greater constancy, but rather with more profit, that Death might make thee a successour of a more happy life? Behould in this tombe, the image of all thy errours. See wherein consists the glory of the world, and this vayne renowne, wherof thou becōmest an idolater. If this great Sage haue beene so taxed, how shalt thou be a­ble to auoyd the blame and shame at once? I leaue thee to thinke and meditate vpon it.

Bias, come and behould through curiosity the ashes of the wisest of the world, to iudge whether there be any difference betweene them, and those of the most fooles. I know well, that the horrour of the tombe will not astonish thee awhit, since thou hast seene thy country sackt already with a dry eye, and thy children dead before thee. But in these actions it is not, where thou art to [Page 85] make the force of thy spirit to appeare. Af­ter thou hadst lost all, thou oughtst to haue saued thy selfe to be rich for euer. Thou be­lieuest, thy vertue should appeare, with saying, that thou carryest all thou hast a­bout thee, and hadst saued all thy goods from the fire of thy towne, wherein thou mistakest thy selfe. For thou wert puffed greatly with thy vanity, and charged with the weighty burden of thy vayne scien­ces. Thou knowest all that, which we ought to be ignorant of, to become well skilled in the knowledge of true vertue in­deed.

And to let thee say playnely thine owne folly, so it is, that the precepts of thy wise­dome haue neuer yet saued any one of those that obserued the same. Thou preachest vertue, and adorest but a false image therof▪ wisedome consists not but in alwayes thin­king of death; and thou hast nothing more deare, then lyfe in the blindnesse, wherein thou art. Misfortune robs thee euery houre of a part of thy self, through continuall losse of that, which thou louest most, and thou art insensible of all these attempts. But heer­in thou letst thy vanity appeare, rather then any vertue at all, since thou referrest not the effects of thy patience to the absolute cause, [Page 86] which giues thee grace thereunto. Thou Enemy to thy selfe, thou pullest the wings of thy spirit, that it may not fly aboue thy nature to know the Authour thereof. Con­sider the glory that shall rest, and be left for thee. The stone of this tombe which thou seest shall wayte vpon thy flesh to couer it with all, in corruption and infection; and if thou will be reputed wise, thinke continu­ally vpon this verity.

Thales, thou must be a party lykewise, for to come and see, the mayster of the Sages, in this poore little lodging, which nature hath prepared him from his birth. He hath beene farre more wise then thou, but yet with all his knowledge, he hath hardly byn able to fynd the way of his saluation. He knew so perfectly, the effects of all the se­conde causes, as he forgot oftentymes to yield due homage vnto the first and soue­raygne cause, onely adorable. Take thou thy profit then, from the exāple of his losse. Thou studyest vaynly to marke the courses of tyme, consider rather, how it pulls thee by litle and litle into the Sepulcher.

Why breakest thou thy braynes, to know from whence the winds proceed, since thou oughtst to feare that of vanity, for it threatnes thee with shipwracke? Thou [Page 87] further notest sundry motions of the starres, it sufficeth thee, that that of the Sea be fauo­rable to thee, to shun the rockes of that o­ther of the world, wherto nature hath made thee to embarke thy selfe. Thou makest les­sons to thy schollers vpon thunder, it is but a very curiosity of thine; thou shouldest not seeke for shelters, but for the thunders of di­uine Iustice, which shal shortly punish thee for thy foolish errours. If thou wilt be wise indeed, forget thou all what thou knowest, nor do thou euer remember but this verity, that thou art of Earth, and soone shalt thou return into Earth agayne, as this great King whose ashes thou beholdest, enuironed with horrour and infection. Go now, and make a lesson to thy schollers, of that which thou hast seene, and then shalt thou deserue the surname of a Sage.

Chilon, step thou a little, out of thy way, to come and see the ruines of this Colossus heere of Greatnesse, whose vnmeasurable height astonished all the world. This is the King Solomon, the wonder of all the Monarkes of the earth. Demaūd of him now what he hath done with his crowne, with his Scepter, with his Treasures, with his Courtiers, with his slaues, and where now his pleasures are. And if he answere thee not [Page 88] a word, make the same demaunds of thine owne spirit, and it shall answere for him, that all is vanished like smoke, that all is slid away like waues, that all is rouled thence like a torrēt, that al is melt a way like snow; & that al these shadowes haue pursued their bodyes, into the ruine where thou seest it. Thou oughtst to haue engraued this precept which thou gauest forth of Nosce teipsum, on thy hart rather, then on the Temple of A­pollo. For this knowledge is not compatible with thine errours. Thou hast giuen forth this second Precept, Of neuer coueting too much, wherein truly, thou art not culpable at all, since thou desiredst not inough. Thou assignest all thy pretensions on the earth, as if thou wert borne but for it; it seemes the Sunne neuer rises, but to conuince thee of ingratitude, since for the goodnes of its ef­fects, thou neuer didst homage to the cause from whence hath it receiued the being and the light it hath. If it had as many tongues as beames, it would haue published at once, both his glory, and thy forgetfulnes. Con­fesse then the errour of it, if thou wouldst haue men iustly to attribute wisedome to thee.

Ceobulus, come thou in thy turne lyke­wise, to visit the King of Sages, not in his [Page 89] Pallace, but in the litle house, which the harbingers of death haue appointed for him. Thou bestowest thy tyme but ill; for thou shouldest be making of verses, and thou art full of them thy selfe, to wit, of wormes. So as if thou loue thy Poesy so much, make verses on thy wormes, describe thy miseries, and neuer speake but of thy misfortunes; o­therwise, shalt thou loose the Surname thou hast of a Sage. Thou seest well how the science thou professest, teacheth not but va­nity, & how all the world is the great mai­ster of it. True wisedome consists in posses­sing all the vertues, and thou yet liuest in the hope of atteyning the first, which is to know ones selfe. Salomon was wiser then thou art, and yet with all his knowledge, and wisedome both, was he taxed of folly. He hath beene the greatest of the world, & this little trench which thou seest contey­neth all his greatnesses. The lands of his Empire are comprised within this litle hil­locke of earth, whereinto he is reduced: if thou wilt forgo thy vanity, behould som­what neere, his miseries, and thou shal learn all the Sciences of the world in the medita­tion of his nothing. You Sages of the world if you establish the foundation of your glo­ry on your prudence, all is but vanity. Be­hold, [Page 90] contemplate, and publish freely the truth you know; I for my part will not learne other science then that of liuing wel, since this is the science of the Eternity, which hath for obiect an immortall glory.

A Contemplation vpon the Tombe of He­lena. CHAP. XI.

RETVRNE thou, O Mena­laus, with thy Army, to the conquest of this fayre Helena, to triumph now at last vpon her vtmost spoyles. Imagine the Tombe wherein she is enclosed, to be the the proud Troy, which deteynes her from thee. Marshall thy Army about her Se­pulcher, and let the valiantest of thy sol­diers, well armed against the horrour and affrightes of all the infections of the world, giue the first onset to this fortresse of mise­ryes. There is no need to reduce her into ashes, since she is wholy full of ashes now. Encourage then thy Captains to the assaults. Thou hast now, no more to deale with an infinite number of men, but rather with an infinite number of wormes, as owners, & [Page 91] possessors of the subiect of thy victory. But me thinkes some new Achilles, or some Aiax hath already demolished the rampiers of this litle Troy, wherein thy Helena is capti­ued.

Approach then, braue Menalaus, with napkin at thy nose, teares in thine eyes, sighs in thy mouth, and plaintes in thy soule, to behold the Idoll of thy passions, and the ob­iect of the triumphes. Behold this fayre Helena, whome the greatest Monarks of the world haue adored. Behold this fayre Helena, whome Theseus tooke away, and Paris rauished as a thrall of her perfections. Behold this fayre He­lena, who hath peopled Greece with wid­dowes and Orphans. Behold his fayre Helena, who hath drowned a good part of the earth with a deluge of bloud. Behold this fayre Hele­na, the wonder of all the wonders in the world, the shame of ages past, the despayre of such as are to come, & the miracle of her present age. Behold this fayre Helena, whome Paynters neuer durst to represent, nor haue Poets beene able euer to prayse inough. Be­hold this fayre Helena, whome no man hath admired but with Idolatry. Behold this fayre Helena, whose merits haue armed the one part of the world agaynst the other, as if for [...]er alone they would haue vtterly destroied [Page 92] the Vniuerse. Behold at last this fayre Helena, whose lyfe hath cost a million of deathes: behold this stinking carcasse which heere you see, this heape of putrifyed bones, and this lump of infection full of wormes.

Commaund thy imagination, to repre­sent her vnto thee, in that estate she was in at such tyme as thou adoredst her on the Throne of her graces, for to acknowledge sensibly the differēce. Demand of her head, what is become of that fayre golden hayre of hers, so alwayes curled, where Loue had wrought a thousand Labyrinths, to make a thousand of the freest Soules to wāderin? Her hayre, I say, whose flash dazeled the eyes, and whose wreathes captiued harts? Where is that Alabaster brow, where Ma­iesties appeared in troupes, as alwaies ready to impose new lawes of respect to mortals? Where are her eyes, which you termed The eyes of Loue, since he had not beene blind, but for her sake? Or rather those two fayre stars eclipsed, from whence thou receiuedst both the good and the euill influences of thy life? say we yet more, those two fayre Suns, ar­riued now at their last West, whose splen­dour euer blinded the whole world? What is become of them? we can hardly discerne the dreadfull ruines of their being. Where [Page 93] may that godly feature be, whose flowers alwayes spread and disclosed, the winter re­uerēced much? Where is that mouth of Co­ral, whose voyce was an oracle of good & euill fortunes? Where is that necke of Iuory, that snowy bosome, and all the other parts of that body, where Nature had imployed the last endeauours of her power? I see no­thing but wormes. I smell nothing but a stinke. All is vanished quite away. The flesh of that Maiesticall brow, lets her hy­deous bones appeare. Those fayre eyes shew forth the holes, where the wormes haue built their Sepulcher. The flowers of this visage are changed into thornes: and this mouth sometimes of Corall is now become a sinke of Infection. And for the rest of the parts of the body being al of the same nature with the whole, we may know the peece by the patterne.

Menalaus, behold the subiect of thy affe­ction, of thy pleasures, of thy paynes, and of thy triumphes. Behold her, whome thou so deerely louedst, so highly reuerencedst, & [...]or whome thou hast a thousand tymes put [...]hy Scepter, thy Crowne, yea all Greece in daunger, with thy life, and honour. Be­hold thy vanity discouered, consider thy [...]hame, contemplate thy folly. This heape [Page 94] of Ashes hath made thee to reduce into ashes the proudest Citty of the world. This stin­king Carkasse hath been conuinced in dying for putting a Million of men to death. This Colossus of miseries, full of infection, hath changed the most flourishing Empire of the world into a meere dunghil. Muster vp thine Army about this Sepulcher, that thy Cap­taynes and Souldiers may lament with thee thy folly, bewayling the tyme they haue im­ployed for the conquest of this heape of stin­king earth. So as, if the Ghosts, wherewith she hath peopled Hell, were able to breake their prisons, they would bring a new warre vpon thee, as the partner of all the crymes, which they haue committed, in fol­lowing thee.

I attend you, Dames, neere vnto this Tombe, to make the Anatomy of your be­auties, of your sweets, of your allurements, of your charmes, of your baites, of your wā ­tonesse, and of all your vanities together. It is tyme for me to vnmask your Spirit, to let you manifestly see the truth of your mise­ryes. You make a shew to all the world of your body, painted and washed euery day with the bathes of a thousand distilled wa­ters, and I will shew you the infection and putrefaction which is within. You say that a [Page 95] woman is then faire, when she hath a good body, with a handsome garbe, the haire fla­xen and naturally curled, a soft skin, and as white as snow, a large and polished brow, the eyes blew or black, and pretty bigg, the chyn short and somewhat forked, & the rest of the parts of the body equally proportio­ned one to the other. But this is nothing yet. This goodly peece must needes be accom­panyed with some Graces, to be quickened with Maiesty. Her flaxen and curled haire had need to be trimly dressed; her skyn how soft soeuer, should be nourished in water like a fish, for to cōserue it in its bewty & lustre. The brow had need be taught, to hide its pleights and wrinckles, to appeare alwayes most polite. Those fayre eyes must learne the art of charming harts; & to haue this se­cret industry with them, to wound in their sweetnes, and to kill in their choller. That little mouth of Roses should be alwayes sounding in the cares the sweetest harmony of eloquence, for to calme the harshest Spi­rits. In fine, ech part of the body is to learne its lesson of quaintnesse, and the spirit that animates the same to teach it euery day some vanity or other, and some new instructions to win loue withall, or rather folly, as if there were not fooles inough in the world.

[Page 96]Besides, this fayre peece had yet need to be decked vp with the richest habits that may be found, to giue lyfe to her grauity. This gallant hayre had need to be wreathed with chaynes of pearle, and diamonds, to allure the eyes more sweetly in admiration of them, and harts vnto their loue. This delicate skin should be heightened through the shaddow of a fly. This paynted visage should be daubed anew with a huge num­ber of trumperyes, and instruments of vani­ty, be it in Rebato's of all fashions, in Pendants for the eares of all colours, in Carcanets of di­uers inuentiōs, & in Veyles of different stuffes. This body thus quickened with folly, ra­ther then with reason, should be euery day tricked vp with new habits, to the end, the eyes might not be so soone weary to cō ­template the vanityes of them. In fine, she should haue a magnificent traine with her, of Horses, Caroches, and Lakeys, to main­tayne the greatnesse of her house.

But let vs now breake the crust of these wily bayts, that blind our spirits so, and charme our reason, for to make vs run into our ouerthrow. This rich peece is but a fa­got, or a bundle of putrifyed bones, of ner­ues, and of sinewes full of infections, and whose Cemeter serues for a theater to let vs [Page 97] see the miseries of them. Those frizled loc­kes are but the excrements of nature, en­graffed in a soyle full of lice. That delicate skyn is but a peece of parchment pasted vpō bloud. Her frayle beauty, but that of flo­wers, subiect to the parching of the sunne & the scorcching of fire: one dropp of the se­rene, and the onely alteration of the pulse, and but one night of vnrest only, are inough to ruine it quite. That large & polite Brow is notable to saue it selfe from the assaults of the wrinckes, which from moment to mo­ment take vp the place, whatsoeuer resistāce be made against them. Those faire eyes are but as waterish holes, subiect to 60. seue­rall maladies, all different; being so many mischiefes disposing to their ruine: a little Rheume makes them so ghastly, as they are constrayned to hide them, for feare they make vs not afraid. That Nose and mouth are two sincks of corruption, from whence infections issue at all moments. And for the rest of the parts of her body, being all of the same stuffe, one may wel iudge of the whole peece by a patterne only.

On the other side, the action that animate this peece is but a breath of wind, which fils vp the sayles of our Arrogancy in this sea of the world, where vanity serues for Pilot, to [Page 98] hazard vs in the Shipwracke. Those flaxen lockes in vayne are tricket so on the face, through an art of nicenesse; the inuention is as guilty, as the matter frayle and contemp­tible. Let her wash her delicate skyn day by day, the selfe same water that nourisheth, doth putrify it no lesse; for according as the sleight therof makes her apparence to seeme yong anew, nature causeth the being to wax ould. That smooth Brow to no purpose hides its furrowes so, whiles Age discouers them by little and little. If those eyes haue the skill to charme the harts, yet haue they not the tricke to charme their miseries. I graunt that little mouth of Roses, for a tyme may yield oracles of Eloquēce; yet we must cōsider that as the words are formed of ayre, so into ayre agayne do they resolue; their glory is but wind, and their harmony but smoake. In fine let the spirits which quickē these fayre bodyes, know all the lessons of vanity and quaintnesse that are, may it not be said yet, that the art is blacke, and as per­nicious as the instructions are.

As for the habits, which decke vp this rich Peece, they are but the workemanship of wormes, since they haue wrought the silke. Those pearles & Diamonds so encha­sed in the hayre, are of the treasures of the [Page 99] Indies, where the Riches of Vertue are vn­knowne: but they are as so many subiects of contempt to holy Soules, who know that Heauen is not bought with the gold of the earth. And for all these toyes, that serue thus for ornaments to women, they are but as so many veyles, to shroud their defects with all, while they are so full of them. Let them shew themselues as beautifull as they will, yet will I count more imperfections in their bodyes, then they haue hayres on their heads. They appeare not abroad till Noone, to shew that they employ one halfe of the day, for to hide the halfe of their mi­seryes; and during the small tyme they are seene abroade in, if we looke neere into all their actions, they giue forth a great deale more pitty then loue. One shalbe alwayes holding a napkin in her hand, for to voyed a part of the corruption which she hath in her. Another shalbe forced in company to step aside vnto the chimney, to spit forth at her pleasure, the infection she holds in her breast. There she shalbe houlding her muffe vpō her cheeke swolne with Rheume for to couer the ill grace it hath. Heere will she neuer pull of her gloues, for feare of dis­couering the itch of her hands.

Behold the lesser defects of women, [Page 100] whiles of discretion, I conceale the greater, but I belieue in vayne, since all the world beholds thē wel inough; so as if they would yet see more sensible verityes of their mi­serable condition, let them approach to this Tombe.

You Courtiers, I coniure you, by the po­wer of those Beauties, which you haue a­dored so much, to come hither and behould their ruine. What say I? nay horrour, infe­ction and putrefaction rather. Theseus, send thou hither thy ghost to this body, where thou hadst lodged so long a tyme both thy hart and soule. Behold this faire Helena, whome thou hadst stolne away with the pe­rill of thy life, as idolatrous of her imaginary perfections. Search now in her, the baytes that charmed thee so, the charmes that ra­uisht thee, the bewty that made thee such a thrall, and all those sweetnesses which haue forged the chaynes of thy seruitude. Those bayts now haue no more force, but to allure the wormes; those charmes haue no more power, but to conserue the infection; and those bewties and sweetnesses changing the nature, do afford amazements, rather then any whit of Loue. But yet me thinks, thou art well reuenged. For this cruell Tyrant, who had reduced thee so by little and little [Page 101] into ashes, is euen now but ashes her selfe. This mercylesse woman who would seeme to loue no man, is hated of all the world. This proud Dame, who made her selfe ado­red, serues as a victime to the wormes, and sport to the winds. Yesterday her bewty did please thee so much, as thou hadst no eyes, but to admire her; & to day is her foulenesse so hideous, as thou hast no contempt but for her. Yesterday thou sighedst for her loue, & to day the same hart euen sighes for her mi­seryes. Yesterday her perfections did rauish thy soule, to make them adored; and to day her defects extort thy teares, and sighes, to bewayle in their fashion their ruine. Looke then, see heere that which thou hast loued so much, and that which thou hatest so mayne­ly. See heere, what thou hast admired with astonishment, & that which thou abhorrest with so much reason; what cruell change is this from thy selfe, with thy selfe? or rather from the subiect of thy loue, with the same subiect it selfe? Shall I dare to say, that this stinking Carkasse heere is the fayre Helena? That this heape of rotten bones are the sad spoyles of her perfectiōs? And that this little Ashes, is the dolefull head of that wonder of the world?

Paris, Returne thou from Hell, into the [Page 102] earth agayne, for to see the cause of thy disa­stres. Approach to this Sepulcher, and con­template the infection & corruption neere at hand, with thou hast adored vnder the name of Helena. How many tymes hast thou beene kneeling before this carkasse, & before these rotten bones? How many mischiefes hast thou run into? How many perils hast thou escaped? How many seas hast thou crossed ouer? How many euils hast thou suf­fered, for to possesse this heape of wormes? Thou verily belieuedst, thou hadst all the riches of the world in thy ship, whiles thou hadst thy Helena therein. The Coffer is opē, behold now wherein consist thy treasures. Art thou not ashamed for hauing so made loue to this heape of Ashes? and for hauing sighed so, a thousand, & a thousand tymes after this stinking Earth? Thus the glory of the world doth passe away, all flyes into the Tombe.

Your Courtiers, come, yield you a last homage of visit, to this Idol of your passi­ons. I haue heard indeed the Persians heerto­fore, haue adored the Sun, and that there haue beene other Paynims, who in their brutishnes haue adord likewise diuers sorts of beasts; but I haue neuer seene a more pro­digious thing, then now at this day, while they adore euen Clay, Corruption, and In­fection. [Page 103] There is nothing more certayne▪ then that in adoring women, they become Idolatours of their putrefaction; since their body is a sacke of worms. Behold the good­ly subiect of your watchings, of your trou­bles, of your extrauagancies. How is it pos­sible, this heape of ashes heere should affoard you such ill dayes, and so long nights? That this sinke of infection should make you shed so many teares, and send so many sighes into the wind? Are you not iealous, trow you, that the wormes should possesse this subiect of your affection? Can your wayward cou­rages ere endure these wormes should be ta­king their Fees thereof in your presence, & to your scorne? For they glut themselues of the one part of what you haue adored, and for the other, they make a dunghill of it. These are no Fables, these. Looke, & smell your selues, all is but misery and stench. So passeth the glory of the world away.

I inuite you, my Dames, to a feast, which the corruption of Helena's body makes vnto the wormes, in the presence of Heauen & Earth. This Tombe which you see, is the Hall, where the banquet is prepared; come you hither in troupes, attyred all in the ri­chest Ornaments you haue, as you would go vnto a wedding-feast. I licence you her­in, [Page 104] to bring a glasse with you hanging at your girdle, for to admire with an dolatrous eye, the good Graces you haue. And if you affoard any whir of intermission at all, cast but your eyes awhile, vpon this stinking carcasse heere, since it is the body of your shadow, and the originall of your liuing pourtraicts. You now see inough, that you are but ashes, but earth, but clay, but meere putrefaction and infection; and yet suffer neuertheles your selues to called Goddesses; and to heape yet more cryme vpon crime, you accept the Sacrifices. I haue not seene, nor read of so prodigious Metamorphoses, that euen very Clay should be raised vpon a Throne, and the wormes and corruption should be meriting of titles of immortall glory. You suffer them to be kneeling be­fore you, and feare not the while, least the wind of your vanities be carrying away the dust, whereof you are framed. You walke vpon cloth of gold, and after your death, are the beasts trampling vnder foote your stin­king earth. You suffer them to kneele be­fore you: Alas! what a sight to humble o­nes selfe, before a dunghill! Decke vp, and adorne your carkasse as long as you please, the stench at last shall discouer the miseries thereof, to the sight of all the world. This [Page 105] handfull of ashes, which you see heere, is the beautifull Helena, whose allurements charmed harts, and whose charmes did ra­uish soules. And yet notwithstanding is there left no more of her, then the meere in­fection, which was bred with her.

I do euen laugh at all your vanities, my Dames, & mocke at those who admire thē so. When as your bewties do assaile me, I breake the very crust of them, & approching to the corruption which is within, it makes me hate them more, then euer any man had loued them heretofore. I take pleasure som­tyme to behold your sweetnesses, your allu­rements, your nyceties; but it is only to be touched with compassion of your miseries. For whatsoeuer is the frailest in the world, is not so frayle as your nature is; whatsoeuer is more variable heere beneath, is not so changeable as your being is. I dare hardly eye you any long tyme, for feare, least euen while I looke vpon you, you vanish from my eyes, since you dye euery hower.

Flatter not your selues, my Dames, be­fore your Glasse; your body is euen iust of the same nature, with the shaddow which you see therin. You are indeed nothing. But if you force me to say, you are somthing, you are a meere dunghill couered with snow, a [Page 106] sinke of infection enuironed with flowers, a rich coffer full of wormes, and in a word, an abridgement of all the miseryes of the world.

You Courtiers take a pride, forsooth, for hauing caryed away a thousand Fauours frō the hands of Ladies, either through the force of your spirit, or thorugh the charms of your subtilties. One bragges for hauing enthral­led a Lady with the chaynes of her owne hayre. Another for inueagling a new Mi­stresse in his loue, through letters written with his owne hād. There, one more perfect thē the rest shalbe publishing his triumphes. Heere another more happy yet, shal auouch al his passiōs to haue beene crowned. There shal not faile some one that wil be ordinarily busiyng his spirit with these vaine thoughts that he was euen borne into the world, to tempt the pudicity of Ladyes, so louely he is. But let vs pul the wings of this proud one, & make these bodyes of earth to walke vpon the earth, who rayse their Spirits vpon Thrones of smoke, belieuing they do well.

Thou, that vauntest thy selfe for enthral­ling thy mistresse with her owne chaynes; what glory it is, whiles the hayre, which so charily thou keepest within a box of muske, are but the rootes of lice, which shall putrify [Page 107] in sight, and thou shalt sent them anone, in despight of al thy powders & perfumes. So as if thou wilt needs haue me call those wre­athes of excremēts, so full of infection, by the name of chaynes, they are euen the chaynes which the Deuill put into thy hands, to help thee to draw that body, which thou hast idolatrized into Hel; but takest not heed the while, that in drawing it thither, they draw thee; and haling it thither, they hale thee also. Behould a trimme peece of Glory to be proud off.

Thou that hast yet more secret tyes of Friendship, with a Lady, written with her hand, and with her bloud; if thou thinkst so, thou art rich indeed, if thy treasure consist in a peece of paper, bespotted ouer, & blurred with blacke or red: yet to heare thee speake of this fauour of hers, they would verily say, thou possessedst the Empire of the world. An intolerable vanity the while. For admit that all the fayrest Ladies of the world had signed to thee with their guilty and cor­rupt bloud, that they loued thee perfectly indeed, on which side wouldest thou find thy glory in these assurances? In so promi­sing their loue to thee, they but promise thee to get thee damned, since a loue so vn­lawfull as that, leades soules into Hell. And [Page 108] And dost thou make any reckoning of these promises then, poore soule? All the testimo­nyes of their passions do witnes thy folly a­gaynst thy selfe; and takest thou pleasure to blind thy selfe, with their hood, not to see the precipices that beset thee round? Thou imaginest it strayght to be a great honour to be fauoured of Ladyes: represent to thy selfe, what a glory it were, for thee, that a peece of Clay being quickened with lyfe, should seeme to be beloued of a Dunghill. Whiles thou becommest thus an Idolatour of a beautifull body, thou euen adorest the wormes, the infection and corruption it selfe, where with it is stuffed. What a crime is this?

And thou Companion of vanity, and folly at once, that so vauntest thy selfe to haue dispeopled the earth of Myrrhes to crowne thy amourous triumphes withall, tell me what is become of this glory, and of this contentment, which thou see­mest to exalt so much? I graunt, thou hast trampled on flowers: But where art thou now? If therein thou hast found the way of roses, thou shalt enter anone into that of Thornes. For this is the order and course of things in the world, that Pleasure begets Sorrow. Eyther thy delighs are past, or [Page 109] present: if past, thou art already in the Hell of their priuation; if present, thou art lyke­wise in another Hell of their cryme, and of the apprehension to loose them. In so much as which way soeuer thou admirest thy for­tune, if it be a body, misfortune is the sha­dow. What glory doest thou thinke thou hast gotten by the victory of thy guilty en­terprises? Thou hast peopled Hell with an infinite number of soules. Are not these ve­ry glorious actions trow you? Thou hast lent thy cunning to the euill spirits, to de­ceyue thy neyghbours, as if he were not deceaued inough with his owne deceypts; and yet still thou braggst thereof, thereby [...]o heape cryme vpon cryme.

I summon you, Courtiers, to appeare in [...]hought and imagination, vpon the thorny bed, where you shall cast forth to the winds [...]his breath of life, and to represent withal to your self before hand once a day the horrour & amazement you shall then haue of your [...]elfe, when you shalbe calling to mind, the [...]essons of the vanity and folly, which you haue giuen to an infinite number of feeble [...]pirits, whose companions in losse you haue [...]uer beene. Put off the tyme to this last ho­wer, to make your accompt of the fauours which you haue euer receiued from Ladyes, [Page 110] if you wil know the true price of them. Thē euen then it is, when you shall feele very liuely, the assaults of your guilty consciēce; the crust of your pleasures shalbe broken, & you shall playnely see, what lyes within. Your spirit vnmasked of the veyle of your passions, shall sensibly discerne the truth of its passed offences, but there is no more re­turne to be had vnto life, to do pennance in, for them. You must go further thē sorrows. What sorrow soeuer I am able to expresse, is no part of that which you shall suffer. All torments whatsoeuer being ioyned together haue not gal inough to comprehēd the least part of the bitternes of that cruell Adieu, which is then to be made to the world. Thē it is, I say, that you shall sigh, but not of loue. Then it is, that you shall play the extasyed and dead person, not in presence of your Mistresse, but before your crucified Iudge▪ Your tongue so eloquent before, shalbe then struck dumbe, in punishment of your too much speach. So as of force, shall you court Death in your fashion, and according to the sad humour which shall then possesse you. You must of necessity be playing your part in this last momēt vpon the theater of you [...] bed. I would be loath for my part to troubl [...] the Reader, with the faces which you shal [...] [Page 111] make: it sufficeth that you imagine the one part, and that you doubt not of the rest. Thinke thē of death, you Courtiers, since the Eternity both of glory & payne, depends of a moment. O sweet, and dreadfull moment!

And you, my Dames, you belieue you haue conquered an Empire straight, as soone as you haue once subiected any spirit to you power: to what end do you study so, euery day, since you learne ech moment but vani­ty, and new lessons of nicenes, be it for actiō or grace sake; but therein what thinke you to do? Your purpose is to wound harts, & you vndoe soules; for when you make a mā passionately in loue with you, you do euen make him a Foole. You cannot be taking a­way his hart, without depriuing him of rea­son. And to what extrauagancies is he not subiect the while, during the reigne of his passion, I would say, of his folly? You are al which he loues, and very often all which he adores; what cry me? I should thinke it rather to please you, then to saue himselfe. If he looke vpon the Sun, he is but to make comparison betweene the light of your eyes and that of this bewtifull starre, which I le­aue to you to imagine how farre frō truth▪ He seemes to maynteyne very impudently, in scorne of all created things, that you are [Page 112] the only wonder of the world, and the very abridgemēt of al that nature hath euer made bewtifull; which yet no man belieues but he, and you. If he carry vp his thoughtes to Heauen, he compares you to the Angells, with these words, That you haue all the quali­ties of them. Iudge now without passiō, whe­ther these termes of Idolatry do not fully, & wholy passe sentence, to conuince him with a thousand sorts of crymes. And yet do you take pleasure to make the Deuill more po­tent then he is, for to cause others to be dam­ned.

Returne then agayne vnto your selfe, and consider how you ought to render an accoumpt one day of all those spirits, whose Reason you haue made to wan­der in the labyrinth of your charmes. For she that on earth, shall haue subiected the most, shalbe the greatest slaue in Hell. What glory take you to ioyne your char­mes with those of the Diuels, thereby to draw both bodyes and soules vnto them? I attend you at this last moment of your lyfe where your definitiue sentence is to be pro­nounced. Thinke you alwayes of this mo­ment, if there be yet remayning in you, but neuer so litle sparke of loue for your selues. When you shall once haue enthralled all the [Page 113] Kings of the earth; there would yet be a great deale more shame, then honour in it, since all those Kings were no more then meere corruption and infection. Thinke of your selues, my Dames, you are to day no more the same you were yesterday. Tyme which deuours all thinges, defaceth ech moment the fayrest lineaments of your face, nor shall it euer cease to ruine your beauties, vntill such tyme as you be wholy reduced to ashes. So passeth away the glory of the world, all flyes into the Tombe.

That of all the Lawes, which Nature hath imposed vpon vs, that same of Dying is the sweetest. CHAP. XII.

FROM the tyme that our first Father had violated the sacred Lawes, which God had impo­sed vpon him; Nature, as alte­ring her nature, would ac­knowledge him no more for her child. A­none she rayseth a tumult against him, with all created things. The Heauen armes it selfe [Page 114] with thunders to punish his arrogancy. The Sunne hides himselfe vnder the veyle of his Eclypses, to depriue him of his light. The Moone his sister, defending his quarrell, re­solues with her selfe to be often changing her countenance, towards him, to signify vnto him the displeasure she tooke thereat. The Starres being orherwise innocent of na­ture, became malignant of a sudden, to po­wre on his head their naughty influences. The Ayre keeping intelligence with the E­arth, exhales her vapours, and hauing chan­ged them into poyson, infects therewith the body of that miserable wretch. The Birdes take part with them, they whet their beakes, & clawes to giue some assault or other. The Earth prepares the mine of its abysses, for to swallow him vp, if the dread & horrour of its trembling, were not sufficient to take a­way his life. The sauage beasts stand grin­ding their teeth to deuoure him. The Sea makes an heape of an infinite number of roc­kes to engulfe him in their waues. But this is nothing yet; Nature is so set on reuenge against him, as she puts on his fellowes to destroy their pourtraite, I meane to combat with the shadow of their body, in causing them to quench the fire of their rage, with their proper bloud. In so much as man hath [Page 115] no greater enemy then man himselfe. Let vs go forward.

To continue these euils, do miseries, en­ter into the world, accompanyed with their sad disastres, and followed with despayre, griefe, sadnes, folly, rage, and a thousand passions besides, which do cleane vnto the senses, for to seize vpon soules. This poore Adam sees himselfe to be besieged on al sidess if he looke vp to Heauen, the flash of the lightenings there euen dazles and astoni­shes him quite; the dreadfull noyse of thun­der makes him to wish himselfe to be deafe; he knowes not what to resolue vpon, since he hath now as many enemyes as he had vassals before. Adam may well cry mercy for his syn; what pardon soeuer he obteyne thereof, yet will nature neuer seeme to par­don him for it. Whence it is, that in com­passe also of these ages of redemption it self, wherein we breath the ayre of grace, we do sigh that same of miseryes. So as if there be nothing more certayne, according to the experience of our sense, then that the Earth is a Galley, wherein we are slaues; that it is the prison, wherin we are enchained, and the place assigned vs to suffer the paynes of our crymes in; can there possibly be found any soules so cuell to themselues, and such [Page 116] enemyes to their owne repose, as not to be continually sighing after their liberty, after the end of their punishments, and the be­ginning of an eternall lyfe full of pleasures? What would become of vs, if our lyfe endu­red for euer, with its miseryes? if it should neuer haue an end with our euill? & that it had no bounds, or limits, no more then we? For then should I be condemning the laughter of Democritus, and allowing of the continuall teares of his companion, since the season would be alwayes, to be alwaies weeping and neuer to laugh. Then would it be, that cryes and plaints would serue vs for pastimes, and teares & sighes, should neuer abandon eyther our eyes, or harts.

But we are not so brought to this extre­mity of vnhappines; The Heauens being touched with compassion of our euills, and of the greatnes of our miseryes, in giuing vs a cradle for them to be borne in, haue af­foarded vs a Sepulcher also for to bury them in. O happy Tombe, that reduceth to ashes the subiect of our flames! O happy Tombe, where the wormes make an end to deuoure the rest of our miseryes! O happy Tombe, where our soules do recouer their liberty, & where our bodyes do fynd the end, and terme of of paynes! O happy Tombe, where we are re­duced [Page 117] to corruption, to arise in glory! O happy Tombe, where death euen dyes with vs, and where lyfe reuiues with our selues for an Eternity! O happy Tombe, where we ren­der to the earth, the earth of our body, to put our soules in possession of the inheritan­ce of heauen! O happy Tombe, where we passe from death, to lyfe; from sadnes, to ioy; from infamy, to glory; from payne, to re­pose; and from this vale of teares, vnto the mansion of delights.

From the tyme that the children of Israel had tasted in the desart the sweetnes of the heauenly Manna; the most delicious meates of the earth, were growne to be contemp­tible to them; their harts euen chāging their nature, fell incessantly gaping after this ce­lestiall food. So likewise may I say, that from the instant, wherein a holy Soule is once fed with the food of the grace which is found in an innocent lyfe; the world is an obiect of horrour and amazement vnto it; its thoughts & desires creep not on the earth any more; if it sigh, it is but after its last sigh; if it complayne, it is only for the long terme of its banishmēt in this vale of miseryes. The hope of dying serues it as a cōfort in its tro­bles, and solace in its paynes; it lyues in the prison of its body, as slaues in the prison of [Page 118] their crimes, with a necessary constancy, alwayes attending on the last houre therof, and this last moment where begins the eter­nity of glory.

Me thinkes the sentence of death, which the diuine iustice pronounced once to our first Parents, in that earthly Paradise, was much in their fauour, agaynst the euills, wherewith their lyfe was fraught. For if God had made the same to be immortall with all mischifes which succeeded their of­fence, of all created things had man beene found to be the miserablest of them, and most worthy of compassion; but the same Goodnes, which moued the Creatour to effect this goodly worke, did euen moue him likewise to conserue the same. His sen­tence was of death, but in the rigour of his iustice, he let his merry to appeare at the same tyme, since from the payne of death we passe to the delights of a permanent and immortall lyfe. In so much as this sweet cō ­solation, is inseparable from our tormēts, for they shal one day finish. O sweet End, since thou breakst the chaynes of our captiuity! O sweet End, since thou makest vs to reuiue, neuer for to dy! O sweet End, since thou putst an end to all our sufferances! O sweet End, since we dye to reuiue for euer!

How Worldlings dye deliciously without euer think [...]ng thereof. CHAP. XIII.

WE must needes confesse how the soules of the world, are so dee­pely taken, with the sleepe of their pleasures, as they are euen drowned in their blindnes, without feare of the precipices, that en­compasse them round. Ioy transports them, gladnes rauishes them, rest charmes them, hope comforts them, riches moderats their feare, health fortyfies their courage, & all the vanityes nurse them, and bring them vp in the forgetfulnesse of themselues, so, as they may neuer be able to vse any vi­olence, for to breake the chaynes of their captiuity. A pittifull thing, how they ne­uer consider the while, that this ioy wher­with they are so carryed away, euē vanishes quite lyke a flash of lightening; that this gladnesse wherewith they are rauished, de­stroyes it selfe, with its owne violence, in running incessantly vnto its end; That the repose which charmes them, cōcludes with an eternall vnrest; that the hope which cō ­forts [Page 120] them, quite changes it selfe by litle & litle into despayre; That these riches which do moderate their feare, during their lyfe, augments it at their death; that the health which strengthens their courage, whiles the calme and tranquility of their fortune lasts, doth bread them a thousand stormes throgh the absence thereof, where they run dan­ger of ship wracke. And finally that all those vanityes, which serue them as a Nurse, and Schoole mistresse to trayne them vp in vi­ces, are as so many bad Pylots which make a traffike of their losse and ruine.

When I image with my selfe, the blind­nesse whereto the men of this world are brought, I cannot chuse but be moued with compassion for them. Is it not a strang thing and worthy of pitty, that they runne as fast as euer they can vnto Death, without cease, without intermission, without fetching of their breath, and without euer taking any heed of the way they hold, as if they liued insensible in all their senses? The Sunne, which riseth euery morning, sets euery eue­ning, for to let them see, how the light of their life, should haue at last, a last setting as well as it. The Age, which makes them hoary, and which keepes reckoning of their yeares, through the accōpt of the wrinckles [Page 121] which it causeth to grow on their face, prea­cheth nought els, but the necessity of their departure. All their Actions termine not a whit, but to the ruine of the body, from whence they fetch their motion, since e­uery action of it selfe still tendes to its end. How can they chuse but thinke of death, if all the subiects which are found in Nature, do euen cary the very lineaments thereof in the face? The Sunne dyes in running his ra­ce. The Moone dyes in her perpetuall in­constancy. The ayre dyes with its corupti­on. The birds seeke death in flying. The brute beasts in running, and the fishes in swimming in the water. The seasons dye, in springing againe as well as the trees. The flowers dye, with the day that hath seene them blow forth. The earth dyes in the or­der of tyme, since her yeares are counted. The Sea sinckes it selfe by litle and litle in­to its proper abysses. The fyre consumes it selfe in its heat; and Nature it selfe that ser­ues for a second cause, in the generation of all things, destroyes it selfe, by litle and litle with them.

I speake nothing of men, since they haue nothing more proper then Death. What meanes, trow you, to forget this sweet ne­cessity of dying, whose law very happily [Page 122] dispenseth with none? yet for all that, do not doubt but there are many in the world, who would neuer be dying: but this were a childi [...]h language of theirs, so farre from reason, and common sense, as one had need to declare himselfe to be a starke foole, for to excuse himself of the errour, or rather of the cryme. We do all waies contemne the good vnknowne; and as we naturally lyue in the apprehension of loosing that which we possesse, we cleaue to the present; so true it is that all things do escape vs, and fly away frō vs. What a life were it for vs to lyue eternal­ly in the miserable condition, wherein we are borne? What a life would it be, to be al­wayes breathing in sighes, in mourning, & in playnts? What a life were it to dy neuer, and to suffer without cease, since miseryes and paynes are the miserable accidents of our bodies? it would euen be a liuing death, or rather a dying life, a thousand times more cruell and intollerable then death it selfe. Happy then, yea thrice happy is that last in­stant, which makes vs get forth of the Em­pire of tyme! most pleasing is the moment, which leades vs into the Eternity! O sweet agony, ful of extasy and rauishment! O glo­rious Ioseph, guide now my pen in this faire labyrinth of death, wherein it is wande­ring, [Page 123] to touch at some thing of your last rauishments, when as you gaue vp your soule on the lips of himselfe that created them.

Lyfe hath nothing so delicious as your death: you dy in the armes of the mo­ther of lyfe, and of lyfe it selfe. And shall I say, that is a death? You amorously expire on the mouth of your Redeemer, that is to say, on the gate of Paradise; what ioy! The pen fals out of my hand, as if it were sensible of these incomparable pleasures, wherwith the end of your holy lyfe was crowned, but I hope to recouer it agayne very short­ly, for to speake more worthily thereof, if these secret Vowes, which I haue already offered you, may be gratefull to you. Let vs say then confidently, that of all the acti­ons of lyfe, the last of death, is the welcom­est of al, to such as haue lyued well; and it is permitted to all the world to liue well.

Goodly Considerations vpon this important verity; That whatsoeuer we do, we dye euery houre without cease. CHAP. XIIII.

THE inhabitants of Nylus are so accustomed to heare the dread­ [...]ull noyse of its waters alwayes roaring, as they haue no eares to feele the incōmodity therof. Let vs say the same in a diuers sense, of men in the world, that they are so habituated to this sweet feeling of dying, without cease, as they perceiue not thēselues to dy awhit. They breath, in dying, the aire of the Death which they sigh forth, without thinking e­uer of Death. A strange thing to liue conti­nually in Death, and to dy euery day in life without once dreaming of the necessity of their end, whither they run alwaies! They do nothing els but dy, and they haue no care but to liue. For if they speake, the ayre wher­of they forme their words, causeth the lights to dye, which is the Clocke of life, the respi­rations the minutes; these minutes are coū ­ted, and one succeding to the other, the lasts [Page 125] strikes the houre of Death. If they eate, the very food that nourishes them, doth putrify in their bodyes, as in a dunghill, in signe that they are full of corruption; and this infectiō by little and little ruines the infected vessel wherein it is enclosed. If they sleepe, they exteriourly carry the countenance of death, which they hide within. In fine there is no action, wherein they may be any wayes employed, which is not a Symbole of De­ath.

If the foolish errours of these men of the world, concluded not in an irreparable do­mage, they would afford as much pleasure as they moue pitty. For one gets into his Caroch, with purpose to goe to some faire house of his in the Country, without consi­dering the while, how that very way of his walke, is euen the same of Death, whither Tyme, which is the Coachman, leades him insensibly with all his company. So as if they go not to lye, for this dayes iourney, at the lodging of the Tombe, it is put of for the morrow after. Another embarkes himselfe in a Pinnace for to sayle into the Indyes, & himselfe is a Pinnace the while, embarked in the sea of the world, from the moment of his birth, sayling without cease, at the pleasure of the wind, wherewith age doth replenish [Page 126] the sayles, and that without once being able to land, but in the hauen of the Tombe. This Gallant heere shalbe going in post, to see his Mistresse, and he hath no other obiect in all his course, then to arriue as soone as he can, to the place where she lodgeth. Foole as he is, he considers not the while, how that e­uery step he puts forward on his way, he ap­proacheth the nerer to the Tombe, whither he runs with full speed, vpon the same Post-horses he takes to compasse his amourous desires. Another there, wil be going more ea­sily in a Litter, and with lesse incommodity for feare the heate or cold may seeme to pre­iudice his health; but let him go as easily as he will, yet Death will not fayle to lead his mules in such sort, as he shall but passe o­nely by his howses of pleasure, so to go for­wards in his way directly to the Tombe, what digression soeuer he seemes to make, to put it off.

Thinke on this truth, my Dames, du­ring the calme and tranquility of your for­tune; the spring tyme of your lyfe, will not alwayes last: euen as the seasons of the yeare succeed ech other, so those of age pursue one another. But as we see often how the in­temperance of the ayre, causeth the winter to arriue in the midst of sommer; take heed [Page 127] the intemperance of your humours, produce not the winter of death in the midst of the spring tyme of your lyfe. In vayne do you set forth all your deceiptfull markes of im­motality, the time scornes them, and I laugh at them. For if to day you be something, tomorrow are you lyke to be nothing: So pas­seth away the glory of the world, all flyes into the Tombe.

The Tombe of the pleasures of the Sight. CHAP. XV.

LET all the fayrest Obiects, which are in Nature appeare in my presence, to behold ech one in its turne, the foundation of their Sepulcher. Let the Hea­uen shew forth, open to view, its serene countenance; the Sun his liuely brightnes; the Moone her siluer day; the starres their twinckling sparkes; the Ayre its fayre na­kednes; The birds their warblings, & their richest robes of plumages, enamelled with euery sort of colours; The Trees the orna­ment of their blossomes, and the decking of their fruits; the Meadowes the tapestry of their greenes; and Mountaynes the mossy [Page 128] stuffe, wherewith they couer their crumpt backes; the forrests their thicke branches; the sauadge beasts, the extrauagant beauty which Nature hath impressed in their brutish kind, through the diuersity of the formes which they represent; the Earth, the inside of its coffers, replenished with all sorts of ri­ches; the Riuers, the Christall of their stre­ames; the Fountaynes, the liquid glasses of their waters; the Sea its huge waterish mā ­tle; & the fishes, the infinite number of their figures, wholy different. Let the world yet giue forth new wonders, and beauty exhi­bit to our view its fayrest lyuing pictures; yet all those obiects, taken altogether, are no more then a little dust, enclosed in the crust of artificiousnes, which Tyme quite ruines, by little and little.

Thou man of the world, who seest but only by thine eyes, in cherishing thy life so with the pleasures of the sight, admire yet once in thine Idea, the obiects, whose beauty heeretofore thou hast adored; then represēt to thy selfe according to the argument thou canst draw from the nature of their being, what is become of them, or what are they like to be. If it be some proud pallace, wher­in the order, the riches, the magnificence, & the industry of the workeman be in dispute [Page 129] about glory, to know who shall carry away the prize; consider that Tyme destroyes it at all howers, and that it shall neuer giue o­uer, till it see the ruines of it.

If the charmes of Art do charme the sight, in admiration of the fayrest colours, laid on a rich subiect, think but a little of the fraylty of those accidents. For all the beautifullest colours that are, do fetch their birrh from that of flowers. And can we see any thing more changeable, or of so small a date as they? So as if the allurements of the beauties of Nature, do rauish thy soule by thy eyes▪ defēd thy self forth with through the know­ledge thou hast of their misery; since in effect the fayrest Lady in the world, is but a masse of flesh, which corrupts euery moment, vn­till such tyme, as it be wholy formed to cor­ruption, and this corruption into wormes.

As for all other things whatsoeuer which thou mayest haue seene, being no whit more noble then it, thou Mayst well be iudging of their defects by the consequence. In so much as whatsoeuer the Heauēs, haue glit­tering, the Earth rare, Nature gay, & Art more admirable, if thou seruest thy selfe of the touchstone of thy iudgement, to know the matter which supports the image, thou shalt soone find all to be no more then dust; [Page 130] and so mayest feare least it happen to fly in thine eyes, to make thee blind, if thou loo­kest but too neere vpon it.

The Tombe of the Pleasures, of the Sense of Hearing. CHAP. XVI.

YOV Soules of the world, who suffer your liberty to be taken a­way through your eares, with the deceiptful charmes of Syrens: You I say, who sigh for ioy, for delectation, and extasy, amidst the pleasures of a sweet har­mony, eyther of voyces or instruments, lēd your guilty eares to heare the reasons, which seeme to condemne your errours. I doubt not a whit, but the purling of a siluer brook, the sweet running murmur of a fountayne, the pretty warbling of birds, and the amou­rous accents of a delicate voyce, ioyned with the sweet allurements of the melody of a Lute, are of force inough to captiue your spirits vnder the empire of a thousād sorts of delights. But yet returne a little from this wandering of yours; Content your selfe, with the losse of liberty, and saue your rea­son to repayre your domage.

[Page 131]At such tyme as you stand listening to the humming noyse of this riuer, & to the mur­mur of this fountayne, imagine this truth the while, That all passeth away, that all slides a­long like to the waues. Their language prea­cheth nought els. Those birds euen call for death, at the sound of their chaunting like the Swan. And if the harmony of a voice, or Lute so charme you, cōsider awhile how the pleasure of this melody is formed of the ayre, and that in the same instant, it resolues into ayre agayne, so as the delights euen dy in their birth. You let your eares be tickled with the charmes of Eloquēce; imagine you that since it is true, that as neither Cicero, nor Demosthenes were exempt from the Tombe, or corruption, with al their fayre elocution, so shall you neuer be able to perswade death with al your gallant discourses, to prolong the terme of your life, but a moment. True Eloquence consists in preaching Vertue, and true Harmony to hould reason alwayes at accord with the Will, for to desire no­thing but what is iust.

The Tombe of the other Pleasures, that are affected to the Senses. CHAP. XVII.

OPEN your eyes, you world­lings, to discouer playnly the truth of your crymes: You take your pleasures to cherish dain­tily your bodyes, as if you knew not their miseryes. But why say I, your pleasures? Can you take any content­ment, to stuffe your putrified body, with a new matter of corruption? Whatsoeuer you eat is a symbole of Death, & so shall you dy in eating. You do nothing but heape dung vpon dung, & add but infectiō to infection. I graunt that your life, passeth euer its dayes in continuall banquetting. But I would fayne haue you let me see the pleasure which is left you of all this good cheere at the latter course. Is this a contentment, trow you, to haue the Belly stuffed with a thousand or­dures, to put your spirit on the racke with the stinking fume of meates, not well con­cocted, which arise vp in the brayne? Is it well with you to haue the head drousy, the pulse distempered, the spirit benummed, & reason astray?

[Page 133]Behold heere a part of the delights which succeed your delights, and you haue no care but to pamper your bodyes, as if you lyued but onely for them, not considering the meane while, how the same very food, which affoards them lyfe, euen brings them to death. Inebriate your selfe with these brutish pleasures, and by the example of the new Epicures, haue no passion but to con­serue them; yet of necessity, must the ima­ginary paradise of your lyfe, conclude in a true Hell on the day of your death. For all these roses shalbe changed into thornes in that last moment. Glut you, and crumme your bodies for to satiate the wormes with­all. But this is nothing as yet. Your sou­les being the companions of your euills, must needs be euerlastingly punished in an eternity of paynes. O dreadfull Eternity! It seemes in a fashion, that those men of the world may well be excusing their vanity, that causes them to carry both amber and muske about them, since they are all full of of infection and corruption, which makes me belieue, that they feare, least men come to sent the stench of their miseries, & so en­gage them, or rather inforce them to serue themselues of this cunning. In effect, all these odours, and these perfumes smell so [Page 134] strong of earth, as we cannot loue the smoke without runing into danger of the fire. So as those who tye their spirit to these vayne idea's of pleasures▪ are in loue with shadows and despise the bodyes. They smell very well, that smell not ill; and such as habi­tuate their bodyes to Perfumes, can neuer endure the stinke of the mortuary Torches, which shall encompasse their b [...]d, at the houre of death.

I speake to you, my Ladyes, who doe so passionately affect these foolish vanityes. I remit you euer to the instant of Death, for to receyue the iudgement of your actions, full of shame and reproach. Deale you so, as your soule may sauour well, rather then the body; since the one may euery moment be cited to the presence of God, and the o­ther serues as a prey for the worms. It were better your teeth should sauour il, then your actions; for those are subiect to corruption, and these heere shall liue eternally, eyther in payne or glory. I leaue you to thinke of these important verityes.

For the pleasures of Touching, being of the selfe same nature with the rest, and hauing no more solid foundatiō then they; we may draw the consequence of the same argumēt with them, and conclude; how this ima­ginary [Page 135] pleasure cannot seeeme to cleaue but to weaker spirits, who loue only the earth; because its obiect is so vile and base, as we had need to abase our selues, to obserue its aymes. Let vs resume the ayres of our for­mer discourses, and say that the pleasures of the world, do not subsist in the world, but through the name onely, which is giuen them. For in effect they are nothing but a dreame, & the shadow of a shadow, whose body we neuer possesse. Such as loue them are not capable of loue, since they fix their affections on the pourtraicts onely of ima­gination, and of the Idea's which the wind defaceth euery moment. True contentmēt consists in thinking alwayes of death. And this is the onely pleasure of lyfe, since it ter­mines in the delights of Eternity.

How he who hath imposed the Law of Death vpon vs, hath suffered al the paynes ther­of together. CHAP. XVIII.

I NOTE an excesse of loue in the History of that great King who being touched with a ge­nerous desire, to banish vice for euer from his Kingdome, & [Page 136] to bring in Vertue, there to reigne in peace; among an infinite number of Lawes, which he imposed on his subiects, the payne of pul­ling out the eyes, was decreed for his puni­shment that should violate the most impor­tant of thē. The ill lucke was, that his only Sonne, should fall the first into that cryme. What shall he do? And what shal he resolue vpon? For to quit himselfe from the assaults both of loue and pitty, which nature gaue him, euery moment he could not do; since the halfe of his bloud, takes away fury from the other halfe. What likelihood for one to arme himselfe against himselfe, to excite his arme to vengeance, to destroy his body? He hath no loue but for the guilty, & how shall he haue passion to destroy him? He sees not but by his eyes, and how shall he be able to see him blind? In fine, he sits not on his Throne, but to keepe him the place; & how shall he possibly mount this throne to prononce the sentence of his punishment? Of necessity yet the errour must be punished if he wil not soyle the splendour of his iusti­ce, which is the richest ornament of his Crowne, and the onely vertue that makes him worthy of his Empire.

Nature assayles him powerfully, Loue giues him a thousand batteryes, and euen [Page 137] Pitty often wrings the weapons from his hands; and yet Reason for all that, seemes to carry away the victory. There is no re­medy, but needs must he yield to Nature, Loue, and Pitty; but yet finds he a way to make Iustice triumph in satisfying the law. He puls out one of his sonnes eyes, for one halfe of the punishment, and causes another to be pluckt forth from himselfe, for to finish the chasticement. What excesse of Goodnes.

Let vs draw now the mysticall Allegory from this history, and say, That our Redee­mer represents this iust King, at such tyme, as in the terrestrial Paradise, he imposed this law of obedience vnder paine of death vpon man, being the Sonne of his hands, as the noblest worke of his Creation. This man being the first borne, becomes lykewyse at that same very tyme the first guilty in con­temning the commaundements of his Soue­raygne: He eats that fatall Apple, or rather opens with his murderous teeth that vnluc­ky box of Pandora, stuffed with all manner of euills. The punishment euen followes his offence so neere, as he instantly incurres the payne of death. But what a prodigy of loue! The Creator being touched with the miseryes of his creature, takes away the ri­gour of the law, without destroying it quite [Page 138] or infringing the same: I meane, that he seuers death from death in causing the guil­ty to arise agayne from his ashes, for to liue eternally. And the meanes, wherof he ser­ues himselfe, is to dye with him, and in the Chalice of his passion to drinke all the bit­ternes of death, for to chāge the nature ther­of. In such sort, as this way of death con­ducts vs now to eternall lyfe.

O sweet Death, a thousand tymes more ple­sing thē whatsoeuer is most pleasing in the world! O sweet Death, a hundred, and a hun­dred tymes more delicious, then all the plea­sures vnited together! O sweet Death, where the body finds repose, the spirit contentmēt, & the soule its whole felicity! O sweet Death, the only hope of the afflicted, the sole con­solation of the wisest, and the last remedy for all the euils of the world! O sweet Death, and a thousand tymes more admirable, then his goodnes that imposed the law, since through the same very Goodnes, he would needs be suffering the paine it selfe, for to take away the payne. Who durst refuse to drinke, in his turne, in the Chalice where God himselfe hath quenched his thirst? Let vs go thē very holily to Death; for to go cheerefully thi­ther, is to make loue and vertue lead vs into the sepulcher, if we meane to find therein a [Page 139] second cradle, where we may be reborne anew, neuer to dye any more.

I cannot forget that goodly Custome of the Egyptians, that when as a Sonne be­ing armed with fury, should passe to that extremity of cruelty, as to take away the life from him, who had giuen him the same, he incurred this sweet punishment withall, to be shut vp for three whole dayes in prison togeather with the body, whose Parricide he was: & I should thinke, that such as had im­posed the law, had this beliefe, that the ter­rible and dreadfull obiect of the cryme, was a torment of force inough for the guilty, to extort the last teares from his eyes, & the vt­most playntes from his soule. For in effect Nature neuer belyes it selfe, it is alwayes it selfe, it may well affoard some intermission of loue & of pitty, but yet at last, it snatches the hart from the bowels, through a violēce worthy of it selfe.

Let vs see now the backside of this Med­dall, so to draw forth the mistery, out of this moral verity. We represent to day, this guil­ty sonne, since we haue put our Redeemer to Death, who is the common Father of our soules. The punishment, which the law of his Iustice, hath now imposed vpon vs, it to looke cōtinually on this Tree of the Crosse, [Page 140] whereon our crymes haue made him to ex­pire, for to repayre their enormity withall! O sweet punishment! For spilling the bloud of him, who hath filled our veynes, the law exacts no more of vs then teares! For hauing nayled him on the Crosse, Iustice enioynes vs no other payne, then that of nayling our eyes on the same pillar wherupon he is nay­led! For hauing crowned him with thorns, he would haue vs to trample vnder foote, the roses of our pleasures! In fine, for putting him to Death, he demaundes no more at our hands, but sighes and teares for to testify our sorrow for the same! Who could refuse to af­ford him this pitty, or loue, who for our loue hath had such pitty vpon vs? His hart hath beene melt to teares of bloud, vpon the Aul­tar of the Crosse; and shall we not drowne our selues, in the sea of our teares, being so prest with the storme of our sighs & plaints; Shall we suffer the rockes to vpbrayed vs of insensibility? The Sunne hath beene dark­ned at the sight of our cryme, and shall not we wax pale for sorrow, of committing the same? The Moone had beene hiding her selfe for shame, and shall not our countenāce awhit be couered therewith? The earth hath quaked, and shall not our hearts seeme to tremble for feare? The veyle of the Temple [Page 141] hath beene rent in twayne, and shall our bo­wels remayne entire? In fine, Nature hath suffered, and shall we be exempt from suffe­ring, at the sight of our Redeemer nayled v­pon the Crosse?

Weepe, weep you mine eyes, all the water of your humide springes; powre you forth boldly the last teare on this Crosse, where my Sauiour hath spilt the last drop of his bloud. Do you imitate the Sunne, in your little course, drowne your selues within the sea of your teares, if you would, like to him be arising againe from your West, and shine without him in the East of an eternall light. And thou my hart, vnty thy selfe a little, frō all the feelings of the pleasures of the world, since the only roses of true contentment, are found amidst the thornes of the Crosse. The whole felicity concludes in this point, of neuer hauing any other, then that of carying the crosse. This is the ladder of Iacob, which serues vs to mount vp to Heauen with all. This is the brazen Serpent, that cures our soules from the poyson of the vanities of the world. Without the Crosse there is no plea­sure, nor repose in the world. He that caryes the crosse with him, may well say, more cō ­fidently then Bias did, that he caryes all his riches about him. For therein alone are com­prized [Page 142] all the treasures of the world; therein consists the accomplishmēt of our happines. O deere Crosse, the only wish of my soule! O deere Crosse, the sweet obiect of mine eyes! O deere Crosse, in which alone I put my hope! O deere Crosse, vpon which alone, do I esta­blish the foundation of all my felicities! O deere Crosse, where my wishes find their end, & my enuy, its vtmost limits! O deere Crosse, deere Instrument of my victory, and rich Crowne of my tryumph! I pretend to no­thing els in the world, but the Crosse, I abā ­don al for it. For as I reuiue not but through it only, so will I dy with it, and deliciouly expire vpon its couch. And this is the only meanes to be vnsensible of Death.

You Soules of the World, I present you with the Crosse, as with a new Arke of Noe, to warrant you frō the deluge of the diuine Iustice, and that deadfull day of iudgment. Can you refuse to kisse the wood, wherupō you haue nayled your Sauiour? Behold the wonder! He hath exchanged your cruelty into loue. For he hath affoarded you the in­uention, to nayle his hands, that he might haue alwayes his armes so stretched forth to imbrace you withall. The like may I say, that he caused his Feet to be so nayled, to at­tend you at all houres, since euery houre is [Page 143] he ready, in his will, to pardon you. O pro­digy of goodnes! O miracle of Loue! Lord graunt I beseech thee, I become not vngra­tefull, for so many fauours done me! Teach my hart a language, wholy diuine, to thāke you diuinely for them; whiles I can offer you no more, for a whole acknowledgemēt of al, then the only griefe of not hauing any thing worthy of you.

The pleasure which is found in Liuing wel, for to Dye content. CHAP. XIX.

IT is impossible to expresse, the pleasures of a holy Soule, its contentments are not to be so called, its sweetnesse hath ano­ther name, its extasyes & raui­shments cannot be comprehended, but by the selfe same hart which feeles them. For not to lye, it hath ioyes wholy of Heauene it tasts the delights most deuine, and with a like grace, it carries its terrestriall Paradise with it. If its thoughts seeme to touch vpon earth, it is but only for its contempt, for anon they take their flight to heauen-wards, [Page 144] as the onely obiect, which they do ayme at at all tymes. In fine, as they are immortall, they neuer regard but the Eternity. The paynes it endures, haue no bitternes with them, but only in name, the miseries do euen change their quality in its presence, as if they awed its courage. If misfortune chance to light vpon it, with some sad accident or o­ther, it receiues it as a present from Heauen, rather thē as any disgrace of fortune. If death seeme to snatch away from it, what most it Ioues, it payes nature the teares it owes it, and at the same very tyme, satisfyes reason through generous actions with its constan­cy. If it loose all the goods which it had for portion on earth, it complaynes not awhit, but of it selfe, while its offences seeme to deserue a great chastizement.

On the other side, as it placeth not its affe­ction on the riches of the world, fortune can take away nothing from it, but what it is willing to loose; because it hath no­thing proper, but the hope of possessing one [...]ay the richest treasures, in a Land which is wholy scituated out of the Empie of Time, and inconstancy thereof. Let it thunder, let the sea mount vp to the Heauens, vpon the backe of its waues; let the warres dispeople townes, and all the disasters of the world [Page 145] make al together an Army to set vpon it, yet remaynes it firme, and stable as a rocke in the midst of this Sea▪ & if it feare any thing, it is but the feare of offending God. O sweet feare! more noble then all the courages of the world! Thus liues it content amids the broyles, whereof the world is so full. Thus liues it most happily amids the sad accidents which land euery houre on the shore of the world. Thus enioyes it a sweet repose amids the troubles, and continuall tribulations of Mortals. It loues not health, but to employ its lyfe in the seruice of him, who hath be­stowed it vpon it. If it laugh, it is for the ioy it hath, that it neuer had any such be­neath, since the Redeemer had neuer beene gathering but thornes: and if it weep, it is for the griefe of its proper miseryes, rather then for those of its body, being very soli­citous to conserue entiere, and without ble­mish the image and semblance of its Crea­tour, whose impression it had receyued on the first day of its being.

In fine, it is capable, neyther of pleasure nor yet of sadnes, but for the onely interests of its saluation, whose thoughts are euer pre­sent with it. And is not this a sweet lyfe? So as if Time strike the houre of its retrayt from its first disposition to death, it deduceth a [Page 146] last, for to yield vp it selfe into the hands of him that created it. In vaine doth euill seeke to afflict its senses, the light of its constancy would be alwayes appearing through the shadowes of its sad countenance. To what condition soeuer had it beene raysed vnto▪ it takes no care to quit the greatnesses, be­cause it had neuer tyed its affections there­unto. The Sun may well arise, and sett a­gayne; yet she beholds it alwayes with the selfe same eye. Its East and West are equall to it, though they be different, attending without anxiety, the West of the torch of its lyfe. The labour which it hath, to pre­pare it selfe for death, is not very great, since still it hath lyued in this preparation. Not­withstanding as we cannot employ all our tyme in so important a busines, it deliciou­sly spends the remaynder of its lyfe therein: It smyles to behold all the world to weep about its bed, and being not able to speake any more to cōplaine of their plaints, it sighs to heare them sigh. For it suffers, not but what it sees others to suffer. All the griefe is in the body, and if it seeme a litle, to reflect vpon it, it is but a griefe of loue, with sighing in expectation of its last sigh, for to behold the onely obiect of its good.

Let the wyfe cry, the children pull their [Page 147] hayre, and the neerest of its kyn be carying on their visage the sadnes, which they haue in their hart; let the best friends be partners of this condolement, and euery one in his fashion complayn of the disaster so befalne him; yet she alone stands praysing the hea­uens for it, and blesseth the day, and houre now ready to produce this last moment, where the eternity of its glory should begin Well may death seeme to make its visage pale, but not the hart, for loe it appeares in these last extremes more refulgent then e­uer, lyke a cādle which is ready to go forth; it hath the voyce of a dying Swan, which is able to charme all the dolours that enui­rone it round. The Diuells are astonished to behold it so deuoyd of astonishment; the force of its inuincible courage▪ doth so wea­ken their power, as they are constrayned to pretend nothing, to triumph at. In such sort, as with the armes of Vertue, it caryes away the crowne vnto the end of the race, euen dying with the desire it hath to dye, rather then of sorrow, for not lyuing long inough. Thus through force of the sighes of loue, it sends forth at last, through a last push of loue, the last sigh from the bowels, and so flyes away vpon its wings, vnto the fel­lowship of the Angels into Heauen, where [Page 148] its holy thoughtes had now along tyme e­stablished their dwelling. O sweet dwel­ling! O happy death, which conducts vs thither! O welcome dwelling, and most de­licious, the moment which affoards the E­ternity thereof.

The Picture of the Life and Death of a sin­full Soule. CHAP. XX.

OF all the miserable conditions, wherto a man may be reduced, that same of lyuing in Mortall Sin, is the most vnhappy and vnfortunate. The Slaues in the Galleyes are a great deale more happy, then such a one. For their bondage is limited to a terme; and that of sin to a payne of an eter­nall seruitude. It is impossible, a guilty man should liue content, in the midst of all the pleasures of the world, for his cryme is his hangman and torture. If he be present at bā ­quets, the remembrance of his offences is mingling of some aloes in his delicious meates. If he quench his thirst with the sweetest nectar in the world, the same very [Page 149] thought wilbe distilling a droppe of gaule into his Cuppe. If he walk into some good­ly garden, the imaginatiō of his faults being alwayes present with him, makes him to feele the Thornes of the Roses he admires. If he go a hunting, the Torturer of his guil­ty conscience runs after him. Let him goe where he wil through the world, his cryme is his shadow, which followes him through­out. Whatsoeuer he doth, he is euer ready to thinke of what shal become of him, & what fortune soeuer he possesseth, it is neuer great inough to put his spirit in repose.

The least accident that happens to him brings him to Deathes doore, because that finding himself to be guilty, he lyues alwais on the poynt of paying for his cryme. If it rayne, he imagins straight the Heauens are prepared to powre a new deluge vpon him, for to punish him with. If it thunder, he perswades himself presently, that the lighte­ning hath no other ayme, then to light on his guilty head. If the weather be fayre, he sees a sommer without, & a winter within; for his brutish passions produce a continual tempest in his soule. If fortune present him with Scepters, he regards them, but as one apprehending thē shortly to be taken away from him, since he deserues them not. In fine [Page 150] he wanders in vaine, in the labyrinth of all vanityes, and returnes to himselfe agayne at all tymes, to confesse of force, that he is the most wretched of the world, in the most of all his greatnesses.

If he be taken with a sicknes, behold him on the racke; there are not Priests inough to be found, nor Religions to confesse him, & yet knowes he not what to say. For the nū ­ber of his offences, are without number, and his troubled memory, can but only represēt to him, the least part of them. The disease seemes to presse him hard in the meane tyme & his paynes do put him anew on the racke. Of all whatsoeuer is represented vnto him, there is nothing likes him so much, as the Phisitian doth; but he is now in the point to try his last remedy, after he hath turned ouer all his old Bookes. The Doctours are assembled togeather about his bed, but it is only to bid him Adieu, in a language which he vnderstands not. Behold all the comfort they giue him; in so much as to see the Phi­sitians so assembled about him, and set by his bed in chayres of Grauity, one would say, they were the Princes of the Senate, that come to pronounce the sentence of Death vpon this guilty wretch. He hearkens atten­tiuely to them, without hearing them. For [Page 151] the feare he hath of vnderstanding all which they say, makes him euen deafe to the halfe. The Syncopes, are the Hangmen, which present themselues to him, for to execute this cruell sentence of Death. Then the hope of his curing, begins to leaue him. Behold him yet once againe in the strongest pangs of his agony. He would confesse the euil he hath done, and that which he endures doth hinder him from it. He would recount the history of his life, but the dolours of his pre­sent Death, will not permit him to do it. His hart through its vehement sighes, his eyes through their forced teares, and his Soule by its necessary sighes, do pray his tongue, ech one in its fashion, to disclose their crymes; but the same cannot speake, the rigour of a thousand punishmēts makes it to be dumbe.

On the other side, his spirit in the dis­order wherein it finds it selfe, can haue no o­ther thoughts then those of sorrow, for eter­nally abandoning that, which it loues so deerly. He knowes not how to expresse a last farewell to his pleasures. Whatsoeuer re­presents it selfe to his eyes are so many ob­iects, that renew his payne. If he take heed vnto the beames of the Sun, with peere into his chamber window for to take their leaue of his eyes; he remembers immediately all [Page 152] the pleasures he hath taken through help of their fayre light, in a thousand and a thou­sand places, where it hath beene a witnes of those errors of his. If the weather be foule he thinkes vpon that tyme, which he hath ill spent, imagining withall, that the Hea­uens being touched with compassion of his disasters, do euen weepe before hand, and bewayle the losse they endure of his Soule. It seemes to him, that the sound of the bells doth call him to the tombe, and that of the Trumpets vnto iudgement. He sees no­thing about him, that astonishes him not. He heares nothing that affrights him not. He feeles nothing but his miseryes: his tō ­gue is all of gaule, & wheresoeuer he layes his hand vpon himselfe, he touches but the dunghill of his corruption.

If his spirit seeme to returne to him agai­ne, by intermission of the traunce wherein he is, he quite forgets the hope of good, through the ill he hath committed, not be­ing able to dispose his soule to any repentā ­ce. The sight of his friends importunes him, that of his children afflicts him, and the pre­sence of his wyfe serues him as a new addi­tion to his sorrow. They behold him not but weeping, & he is neuer strooken with other noyse, then with that of the cryes and [Page 153] plaints of his domestickes. The Phisitian goes his wayes out of the chamber, to giue place to the Cōfessour. And the one know­ing not how to cure the body, the other hath difficulty to heale the soule, by reason of the despayre wherein he is entangled. Iudge now to what estate must he needs be brought. His speach; that fayles him by litle and litle. His sight is dimme, with his iudgement, and all his other senses receyue the first assaults of Death. They present him with the Crosse, but in vayne, for if his thoughtes be free, he thinkes but of that which he beares of force. They may cry lōg inough to him to recommend himselfe vn­to God, the deafnes he hath had before to his holy inspirations doth astonish him now also at this houre.

How many deaths endures he, before his death? How many dolorous sighs casts he forth into the ayre, before the breathing his last? All the punishments of the world, cannot equall that which he endures. For passing out of one litle Hel of paines, he en­ters into a new, which shall not haue end but with eternity? What good then would he not willingly haue wrought? But his wishes are as so many new subiects of griefe in this impotency, whence he is neuer to [Page 154] see himselfe deliuered. Into what amaze­ment is he brought? The Sunne denyes him its light, so as if he behold his misfortu­nes, it is but onely by the light of the mor­tuary Torches, which giue him light, but to conduct him to the tombe. O how the Houre of these last extreames, drawes forth in length! Ech moment of his lyfe snatches out the hart from his bosome eue­ry moment, without putting him to death. On which side soeuer he turnes himselfe, both horrour and despaire beset him round. He caryes Death in his soule, for that which he is to incurre; Death on his body, for that which he now endures; Death in his senses, since they dye by little, and little: in so much as all his life is but a liuing Death, that con­sumes him slowly to reduce him into ashes.

Being now brought to these streights, the wicked spirits imploy the last endeauors of their power for to carry away the victory, after so many conflicts had. What meanes of resistance where there is no pulse, no motiō no voyce, no tongue? His spirit is now in extremes, as well as his life; and his hart being hardened, is now ready to send forth its last sigh in its insensibility, as if it dyed in dying. His eyes are now no more eyes, for they see no more. His eares may no more be called so [Page 155] for they heare not awhit; and all the other senses, as parts, precede the ruine of their whole. The Soule only resists the cruell assaults of Death, in beholding its enemyes in continuall expectation of their prey; but the hower presseth, it must surrender. O cruel necessity! In fine, for to finish this bloudy Tragedy, the Deuils carry it away to Hell, for recompence of the seruices, which it had yealded to them. And this is the lamentable end of synfull Soule.

You Soules of the world, who liue not but throgh the life of your pleasures, behold the fearefull Death, where the life termines. And since the heauens, the earth, the elemēts & whatsoeuer els in nature moues & chan­ges without cease, do you thinke to find any constancy, and stability in your delights? Know you not, that with the very same action wherewith you runne along, withall your contentments, you run vnto your Death? and that during the tyme it selfe, that Tyme affoards them vnto you, he takes euen them away from you? We loose euery houre what we possesse, what care soeuer we take in conseruing the same. My Ladyes, Keep well your gallāt beauties from the burning of the Sunne. If that of the Sunne, or of the fire, be not able to marre them, yet that of [Page 156] Age and Tyme doth ruine them; notwith­standing all the industry of Vanity, which you haue to employ about them. Put your fayre Bodyes into the racke of another body of iron, to conserue the proportion therof; yet tyme but derides your inuentions. For it assayles you within, and you defend your selues but without only. You haue dared the Heauens inough, with an arrogant eye; you must needs be stooping with the head now at last, for to looke on the earth, whence you are formed. You must needs bow the necke to the yoke of your miseryes, and resume a­gayne the first forme of your corruption. In going to dauncing, to feasts, and to walke abroad, you go to Death. In vayne do you command your Coachman then to cary you to such a place, since Tyme, as I haue said, conducts him also that caryes you thither. In so much, as on which side soeuer, you turne your selues, you approach vnto the tombe.

After you haue tasted all the pleasures of the world, what shalbe left you of all, but a griefe of the offences in the soule, the sad re­membrance of their priuation in the memo­ry, & this sadnes in the hart, for hauing made it to sigh so after your ruine? I doubt very much, least death do astonish you; but if you neuer do thinke vpon it, it will astonish you [Page 157] a great deale worse, when you shall see it indeed. If to liue and dy, be but one and the selfe same thing, make the Thought of death▪ while you liue, so familiar to your selfe, that you neuer thinke of any other thing, since you neuer do other thing but dy. So as if to feare it, and neuer to thinke of it, do make its visage the lesse hideous, I would counsayle you, to banish this Thought out of your spi­rit, but so, as you be in good estate. But on the contrary, the forgetfulnes you haue of it, makes it so dreadfull vnto you, at the least remembrance therof that comes into your mynd, as you seeme almost to be in danger of dying, by the only feare of dying. I can­not abide the weaknes of those spirits, who apprehend an euill so much, which they cā ­not auoyd; whereas the euill of the feare which they haue, is often tymes a great deale more bitter, then that which they feare. But the only meane to be cured of this feare, is to liue alwayes in that of God. For the strōgest apprehension of Death proceeds from the great number of the Offences, which one hath committed in his life.

A good man feares rather to liue too long then to dy too soone, because he hopes for the recompence of his trauayles, at the end of his course; whiles the wicked can attend [Page 158] but for the chastizement of his sins. So as for to banish this feare from our soule, we had need to haue banished the offences thence. The innocēt hath no feare, but for the iudgement of God, & this feare is inseparable frō his loue; he feares him not but through loue, so as this very feare produceth contētment, and banisheth sadnes in the meane tyme. I leaue you this truth to meditate vpon, that a life of Roses brings forth a death of Thornes.

Let vs say now for Conclusion of this worke, that if one will auoyd this man­ner of Death, he must alwayes be thinking of Death. There is nothing more sweet, then these thoughts, nothing more welcome thē this remembrance. Without the thoughts of Death, there is no pleasure in life: without the thoughts of Death, there is no comfort in anoyes: without the thoughtes of Death, there is no remedy for our euils. In fyne, to finish all, he who is alwayes thinking of Death, doth thinke continually of the mea­nes of attaining eternal life. O sweet thogh­tes! I would not haue my spirit, to be ca­pable of a thought, but onely to thinke eue­ry moment of death, since it is the onely good, the onely contentment, and the only Repose of lyfe.

A goodly Consideration, and very important both for lyfe, and death. CHAP. XXI.

I SHOVLD thinke there were no greater pleasures in the world, then to contemne thē all at once; since in effect, the best spirits do neuer find repose, but in the contempt thereof. I know well, there are certayne chast Pleasures, which we cannot misse; but as the soule hath its senses affected lyke vnto the body, we are to hinder our spirit, from mixing its feelings, with those of Nature, euer feeble and frayle, therby not to tast its delights too deliciously. Our iudgement hath beene gi­uen vs as a Torch, to guide our steps by our actions, and our thoughtes, in this sea of the world, wherein we are as Slaues in the Galley of our bodyes; and the pleasures we seeke therein are the rockes, where we find our shipwracke. I know well also, that we are to be strongly armed for to defend our selues, while our proper senses do so warre vpon vs. But in this manner of com­bat, the excesse of payne, produceth the [Page 160] excesse of glory, let vs breake the crust to see this verity discouered.

The greatest Saynts, and the wisest men haue beene forced to confesse, after a thou­sand proofes of experience, that we can not tast any manner of contentment, without the grace of God. Thou Couetous man, in vayne thou rests thy vn-rests on the coffers of thy treasures. I deny thee to be held con­tent, for if thou reasonest, euen reason con­demnes thee. If thou seruest thy selfe of thy iudgement to be able to do it; what argu­ment soeuer thou makest, it but fully con­cludes agaynst thy opinions. So as thou cāst neuer enter into the knowledg of thy vayne pleasures, without departing from that of thy selfe. In a word, thou canst not be a man and be content togeather, in thy miserable condition; since reason, and thy contentmēt can neuer subsist in one subiect. Thou Am­bitious man, I would lend thee wings for to fly to the heauens of fortune; & it seemes to me already, that I see thee seated in her throne; but looke what greatnes soeuer thou possessest, thou dar'st not say for al that, thou wert well content, for feare the truth should happē to bely thee. And knowest thou not, how Ambition, and Repose do alwayes breake fellowship, the one with the other? [Page 161] That Pleasure and Feare cannot couple to­gether? and that desires as well as hopes do make the soule to be thirsty? Represent to thy selfe then, the disquietnes which thou findst in thy greatnesses, since thy Ambition cannot limit its ayme within their fruition. How the pleasures of thy possessiōs are mixt with the feare of their short durance; & that by vehemently wishing more & more, thou makst thy selfe vnhappy. In such sort as thou maiest not dare, to cal thy selfe happy, with­out flattering thy selfe, or rather without blushing for shame.

You Courtiers, let me see the pictures of your felicities, & bring to light what seemes most to afford it the lustre and splendour it hath. I graunt that in the midst of the spring tyme of your life, loue and fortune, with a prodigall hand, haue bestowed vpon you what they had most rare, & beautifull with them; yet would you dare to maynteyne with al this, that you are content during the reigne of your Empire. Whereas if any one haue the boldnes to perswade weake spirits thereunto, let him truly recount vs the hi­story of his pleasures. I know that he will streight be shewing vs some Roses, but I know withall, that he wilbe hiding the Thornes vnder their leaues, as frayle as his [Page 162] contentments, though they were of the flo­wers of a restles remembrance, gathered in the sad memory of things past; since delights are of the same nature, alwayes dying, and subiect to receiue their tombe, frō the very same day they first sprong vp. As for the pre­sents of Fortune, if she giue them with one hand, she takes them away agayne with the other. So as, her fauorites are ordinarily the most vnhappy of all, because that in snatching away the goods from thē agayne which she hath once bestowed vpon them, she dragges them often along, for to bury thē vnder their ruines. And will you call that a pleasure?

My Dames, you have but one fayre wed­ding day in all your lyfe, whose feast you do secretly celebrate in your impatiēt desire and longing hope: but will you cōfesse me the truth, that it is but a day of rayne & tem­pest? For you cast forth a thousand sighes to the winds, and powre out as many teares, being so moued through the farewell you giue to your selues, whiles you giue your selues to another, without knowing, for the most part, your owner: which yet were nothing, if the clauses of your contract did not signe you out, the death both of the one and the other, & the incertainty also, who [Page 163] shalbe the first. For you must confesse, that if you loue your selues perfectly indeed, you dye euery houre, of the apprehension you haue of an euill, which neyther the one nor the other can tell which way to auoyd. I will not speake a whit of the accidents and miseryes without number, which are inse­parable to this cōdition; I leaue the know­ledge therof to those, who haue had the ex­perience. But I pray you to confesse freely, if you be content with the felicities that re­mayne to you, or no?

Thou Couetous man, returne then to thy selfe, after thou hast pulled off the hood of thy blindnes, for to publish, how the sole treasure of Grace can enrich the soule, with all sorts of contentments; and that with out this good, are all goods false. Thou Ambi­tious man, the deuine Iustice now puts thee on the racke, to make thee cōfesse this truth, that in the onely possession of Grace, are comprehended all the desirable greatnesses that are, since he that possesseth it, is the greatnest of the world. You Courtiers, all the Fauours which you seeke for, are but wind and smoke. It is tyme now to ac­knowledge your vanity, and to bid a last adieu vnto the world. The Kings & Prin­ces, whome you court so, are euen as mise­rable [Page 164] as your selues, since they can afford you but transitory goods. Alas! for a handful of earth, will you relinquish the pretensions you haue to heauen? If you will bestow your tyme well, then court you an omnipo­tent King, as our God is, whose Fauours haue no price, whose Graces are infinite, & whose Goods are eternall, as his Glory is, wherewith he crownes our labours.

Know you not, that his Almighty hand stayes, and mooues agayne, when he plea­seth the wheele of fortune? How this blind Goddesse receiues frō his prouidence, what­soeuer she giues, and that she so serues, but as a channell to conuay both disasters & pro­sperities into the Earth? So as if your hart do sometymes fetch sighes of loue, after those obiects of dust, do you then command your spirits not to stand so gazing on the be­auty of a riuer, that glides away incessantly like its waues. For whatsoeuer may be seene faire in Nature, is but a feeble ray, and a first Idea of the purest of this soueraigne and ado­rable Essence, wherein consists the accom­plishmēt of al perfection, as the onely inex­staustible spring, from whence they issue, without spring or begining. Represent vnto your selues, that whatsoeuer seemes so fayre to day, shalbe changing the countenance to [Page 165] morrow. In so much as for to find a perma­ment beauty, and of louely qualityes indeed that might alwayes abide in its purity, we had need to acquit our selues of the worlds circuit or bounds, & to carry our thoughtes into Eternity, as to an only mansion where all things are eternall.

This is the lesson of that great Prophet, when he cryed, Lord, when shall I be able to quench my thirst in the spring of thy eternall plea­sures? In vaine do you seeke for a foūtaine of delights, to quench the thirst of your hart withal; for what greedines soeuer you haue to drinke, after you haue drunke, you shall find your selues more a thirst then euer; and the reason is good, which is, that the water of this fountaine, retaynes the nature of the soyle that produceth the same; whence it is, that all the goods of the world are not able to satiate the Ambition of one holy Soule, as being created to the possession of infinite goods. After one cōtentment had, they sigh anone after another, and so after another and another, without cease. Our spirit being quickened with a deuine obiect, points al­waies its lookes, beyond what it possesseth, it permits it self sweetly to be drawn like the iron, by its deuine Adamant, for to vnite it selfe vnto it, as to its end, whither it tends [Page 166] without cease or intermission. In effect what would become of vs, if our desires & hopes were buryed in the tombe? Such as know what it is to liue, liue not but of the hope of a sweeter life, & in this sweet hope do find nothing that is worthy of them, but the contempt they make of all things. O generous contempt of the world, wherein consists our whole glory!

You Courtiers, I leaue you to thinke v­pon it, vntill such tyme as you be disposed to put it in practise, for to exercise withall your more hidden and secret vertues. My Dames, you will permit me to tell you the truth. The fayrest day of your life, is that of Death. This is that nuptiall day of your Soule with its Creatour, a day of pleasure, rather then of teares, since therein do you bid an eternall Adieu vnto the world, and to all its myseries. A day of gladnes, rather then of sighes, since you giue your selues through loue to him, who of his goodnes hath afforded you al things. In the expecta­tion of this happy day it is, that the fayrest dayes should be tedious to you. Neuer cast your eyes vpon your glasse, but to count the wrinckles, which age makes to grow by little and little on your brow, as so many presaging markes of Death approaching.

[Page 167]Represent vnto your selues sometimes, how all the pleasures which you haue had are passed, that those you now enioy do passe, and that those which you are lyke to tast, shall also passe away; & then imagine with your selues in what lamentable case shall you find your selues, at the end of the course of your lyfe, with all the Thornes of your withered Roses? with how many as­saults of griefe, shall you haue your hart thē battered? With how many alarmes the soule affrighted? and with how many tortures shall the one, & the other be rackt? Performe betymes what good soeuer you would wil­lingly haue had done at this last houre, and take you away their power, and liberty from vpbrading you one day, for the euill, whose paines you shal carry in that last day. It seemes, as you lyued not, but to repent you at your death, for hauing lyued so ill, not considering the while, that slow re­pentances are ordinarily changed into des­payre.

I bewayle you, my Dames, as often as I thinke of the infinite number of the vanities which do busy your spirit. How much time you bestow euery day in trimming vp that dunghill of your body, as if your guilty in­dustry, were able to driue away the mise­ryes [Page 168] from thence? You do all what you can to make your selfe beloued: and know you not that nothing is more louely then Ver­tue? Do you then purchase them altogea­ther, so to make you beloued of al the world and not onely for a day, but euen for euer. The beauty wherof you make such accompt is a fadyng quality that subsists not, but in its continuall change; it flyes along with you into the Tombe, but it passeth more swiftly then you; for it euen gets before you by the halfe way. When you are arriued but to the midday of your lyfe, is it come to its full West. When you enter into your Au­tumne, it arriues to its Winter, where it finds its ruine. Alas! that for a small num­ber of daies, you will stād so much to please men, and be displeasing of God for a whole Eternity? O dreadfull Eternity! how pro­found are thy Abysses!

My Dames, as often as this guilty desire shall possesse you to offend God, in your foolish vanityes, thinke a little of the Eter­nity of the payne, which is to attend your crymes. For one moment of false, and ima­ginary pleasure, you put your selues in daū ­ger of suffering eternally an infinite number of true euils indeed. What expect you of the world? It aboūds but with miseryes. What [Page 169] looke you for of Fortune▪ She is prodigall, but only in misfortunes. All Riches are but of earth, all Greatnesses of smoke, and all Honours of wind, & as for the louely qua­lityes, which are affected to the body, they euen dy with it. In so much as Vertue only, I tell you agayne, is exempt from Death. You neuer thinke but of taking your plea­sures, without considering the while, that in passing away the tyme so, you suffer to slide away in hast, the small remaynder of life that is left you. In louing life as you do, you should be striuing to prolōg your dayes and on the contrary you seeke digressions to passe them ouer, without taking any heed therto, as if you went to slowly vnto death, and that the way to the Tombe appeared too tardy and tedious to you: wherein truly you take pleasure to deceiue your selues.

Do not so flatter your selues, my Dames, you must needs dy, there is nothing in you that dyes not euery howre. Your fayre gol­den hayre, which you dayly so put vnto the torture of the iron, doth euen dy by little & little with you. For in changing its appa­rence, it becomes of the colour of Death. The wrinckles of age do soyle the polished glasse of your brow, for to marre its beauty and grace. Your fayre Eyes, which I will [Page 170] heere terme two Sunnes, for to please you, do run like to the Sunne, without cease vnto their last West, whither Death conducts thē through the help of their proper light. The Lyllies of your Cheekes, do wither euery houre, and the Gilliflowers of your lips do fade euery moment. The Iuory of your teeth corrupts with the breath of tyme, and of age. The snow of your Necke melts, and all the louely qualityes of your spirit, wax old in their continuall decay.

I admit you to be more beautifull then Helena; Helena is no more, she is euen passed away like a flower, and you are iust in the same way of her ruine. Her charmes did ra­uish the whole world, & your bayts subdue the best part of mortalls: but as all is dead with her, so all dyes with you. The tyme of her Empyre is expired, that of your Raigne runnes alwayes away. She hath beene, she hath liued, they haue admired her with asto­nishment, they haue honoured her with sa­crifices, but all the Temples of her glory are demolished, all the Aultars are ruined, all the Idolatours are reduced to ashes, & scar­cely remaynes there any memory of these things, since euen the very age, which hath seene them, is buryed with them in the a­bysses of the passed.

[Page 171] You must dye, my Dames, and all those graces, wherewith you captiue Spirits, shall neuer obtayne any fauour of Death. You must dye, and all those enticements, wherewith you rauish spirits, haue not allurements i­nough for to violate the lawes of nature. You must dye, and all those charmes, where with you captiue soules, haue not the po­wer to charme death in its fury. You must dye and all those pretty graces that make you so admirable, cannot exempt you from the Tombe, nor corruption. You must dye, and all your perfections together cannot hinder the houre of your death for a moment only. You must dye, and to speake more playnely to you, your golden hayre must needs pe­rish; your eyes so cleere & fayre must needs make a part of the dunghill of your body. The delicate skin of your face, must needs discouer its putrifyed bones, and all your beautyes togeather by changing the coun­tenance, shalbe taking the forme of dust, since you are nothing but dust: Nor do I feare yet to lye, since in effect you are no­thing. You must dye, & all your rare Coulises serue but onely to consume you; all your Phisitians haue no medicine for to cure the malady of your mortall condition. You must dye, and therefore are you carefull of your [Page 172] health in vayne, since age pardons not any; yea you dye liuing, and do you what possi­bly you can do, the terme of your lyfe is al­wayes slyding. You must dye, nor do all the moments of the day tell you of any other thing. The houres continually strike this verity in your eares, & the Sun neuer sets, without telling you, in its fashion, how it only foreruns the time of the setting of your lyfe.

We must dye, I say, at last; for we dye with out cease; and after so many sighes of mise­ryes, we must cast forth to the wind, the last of our mishaps. We must dye; the sentence is giuen, the execution is made, and the same continues euery day, before our eyes, whēce they are so accustomed to weep. We must dye, but since there is nothing more certayne, we must alwayes be in disposition to dy at all houres, since we dye euery moment. We must dye, but we are to reuiue eternally in glory, since we are created, but for it only. We must dye, but we must be reborne agayne from our corruption, for not to dye for euer. Let vs dy boldly then, since needs we must, but let vs dye in innocency, for to shun the death of death. We must dye, but we must rise agayne before that soueraygne Iudge, who is to giue vs the recompence of our tra­uayles, [Page 173] or els to impose the payne of our crimes vpon vs. We must dye, but it is but for once, and of that onely moment depends our whole vnhappines, or felicity. We must dye, but we must yield accompt of the lyfe past, to receyue the guerdon, or paine which is due thereto for euer. We must dy, and to de­lyuer vs happily from the daunger of this sweet necessity, must we liue well. You must dye, you Soules of the world; ech one seemes to cary his tombe with him. Laugh you al­wayes, sing continually, be you euery day at your banquets, and take your sports in a continuall chase of diuers pleasures, after all which notwithstāding must you needs dy, and in this cruell separation of you frō your selues, your laughings chāge to teares, your songs of gladnes into lamentable cryes of sorrowes, and all your banquets, & pleasu­res into bitter plaints, which torment your hart, and put your soule vpon the racke.

There might be some manner of satisfa­ction perhaps, to heare the discourses which men of the world do hould, if their blind­nes the while do not afford mattter of com­passion. One takes paynes to recount al the pleasures he hath taken, during his life; ano­ther keepes account of the good fortunes he hath had, a third assures vs that he hath pos­sessed [Page 174] heertofore a great number of treasures; & a fourth endeauours to perswade as many as will belieue him, that he hath beene on the top of the greatest dignityes. What dis­courses of smoke are these? For he that hath tasted so many contentments, hath nothing left him, but the sad remembrance of the ha­uing once had the possession of them. Ano­ther, who yet now thinkes on the good for­tunes which once he hath had, makes him­selfe a new vnhappy, through the memory of his passed felicities. He that casts his eyes on the ashes of his riches, insensibly consu­mes himselfe, in the selfe same fire that con­sumed them. And another that reares vp his head aloft, for to behold through his teares, the place from whence he fell, euen looseth the force for euer to rise againe, notwithstā ­ding that it be good for him, to sleepe often, so to be a framing of these dreames. For euē as all those pleasures, and goods are slid, & vanished away, with the things that seemed the most durable; so all the contentment, & all the goods which may any wayes apper­taine vnto vs, shall fly away; and the worst is, that we run after them, for to signe out our Tombe in their Sepulcher.

Salomon hath had so many pleasures; Cresus passessed so much riches; Alexander receiued [Page 175] so great honours, & Helena so many prayses for her incomparable beauty. But Salomon is no more but dust, with all his riches; Alexan­der, but earth with all his honours; nor He­lena any more then corruption, with all her graces.

Trust you not then to your pleasures, you great Kings, for their Roses shall wi­ther, and their Thornes endure for euer. Put not your hopes in Riches, since they are of earth as well as you. Despise you Honours since all glory is due to Vertue only. And you, my Dames, employ from hence-forth all your cares and labours, to decke your Soules, rather then your bodyes, if you wil haue Angels enamoured, and men to be e­mulous, of you. For so euery one shal striue for glory, to imitate you in this glorious enterprize. This is the counsayle I giue you; and with it, will I finish my Booke.