THE MIRROUR WHICH FLATTERS NOT.
CHAP. I.

MAN, remember thou art Man, never forget thy name, Homo ab liumo. if thou wilt not forget thy safety: Thou art called Earth, thou art made but of Earth; but the Earth subsists, and thou vanishest; Man is a thing of nothing, onely in appea­rance somwhat. but the earth remaines firm, and thy dust flyes away: Study thy miseries, Me­ditate thy disasters. Thou art nothing in effect, but if thou be any thing imaginable, I dare not so much as compare thee unto a dream, because [Page 2]the frailty of thy nature hath some­thing both more feeble, and lesse constant: an Apparition hath above thee the simplicity of the Elements, whereof it is composed, a shadow implies yet the advantage of the Noblenesse of its beginning, since the light produceth it. Nay lastly, a very straw, or an atome, dispute against thee also with reason, One can­not give the de­scription of Man, but by m [...]sery, nor of misery but by Man. for the purity of substance, since they are corrupti­ble, without infection, but thy hea [...] of filth gives horrour to thy own thoughts; insomuch that I am con­strained to match thee to thy self for to suggest thee the truth of thy slightnesse?

What a goodly Schoole is the world? and our condition a fair book: and all the sad accidents, to which Nature subjects it, as so many gracious Lessons?

May not a man justly say that the earth is a Colledge, wherein the di­versity of Times and Ages, sign ou [...] the diversity of Classes, in which we may equally make the course bot [...] [...]f our studies and dayes, under the way of those miseries, which ac­company [Page 3]us without cease: the poor­nesse of our way of birth, Mishaps and pains are the fruites of the garden of our life may stead us as a rudiment in the first Classe: the cries and teares of the cradle, are our Grammar, the creeping weak­nesse, and pittiful infirmities of Bay­age like so much Rhetorick, and now can there be a more subtil Phi­losophy, than that of the considera­tion of the calamities which are de­stined to youth? Is it not easie to become a great Naturallist by ver­tue of meditating the fruitfulnesse of our nature in the production both of ils, He which goes out Doctor in the know­ledge of himselfe, is igno­rant of nothing. and paines which continually afflict us? and what better Metaphy­sicks, than contemplations of our Be­ing, ever rowling to its ruine? Let us draw then the conclusion of this Argument, and joyn with as much reason as interest to these two Vo­lumes so renowned, the Bible, and the face of Heaven, where all sorts of Sciences are in their source. Death & immorta­lity are onely se­parated, but with the length of an in­stant. This also of our mortall and decaying na­ture, since it instructs us the Art to pry our selves in our Corruptions, that we may recover our selves in immortality.

When I consider that the Earth was created of nothing, Man of nothing. and Man made of this nothing, and the great­nesses which environ him, are no­thing at all, The world subsists not, but upon the foundati­on of its continuall revolution and all the pleasures which he idolatrizeth, are also of the same stuffe: I remain all confused with astonishment, nor ever able to conceive the subject of his vanity, nor the reason of his arrogance, poor corrupted Vapour with advancing it self, A vapour. Man ele­vating himself too high measures the depth of the A bysses of his Precipice. is soon transformed into a Cloud, to conceale its noysomnesse, but yet by way of this elevation, is resolved into Lightnings and Thun­der, and afterward retumbles into the ditches from whence first it had its beginning. A puffe of wind which rumbles in its own violence, A Blast angry perhaps that it cannot subsist, but in flying, and that the action of its con­cinuall flight, is the beginning of its ruine. Smoake. A smoak, which with a vain assault will needs scale the Heavens, and yet hardly can one well distin­gnish the intervall between its first Being and extinction: a poor gliste­ [...]ing Worm which dazies none but purblind spirits, and gives light to [Page 5]those wormes, which devoure it in private, A worm. We are al already, but rot­tennesse, since al­ready wormes begin to devour us. A stream. Every thing cor­rupt, the verys eye which now reads these truths shall not be ex­empt. A stream alwaies murmu­ring, alwaies trilling away, And now why shall all these goodly nul­lities, and all these pleasant Chimera's insinuate to us the vanity which they are of? shall these cozening appea­rances be stablish'd here below with Soveraignty? be it then only in de­sire, or in dream, for with what gil­ded rind so ere they be out-sided, Corruption is their Form, and Dust their Matter.

I am astonished that Man should be capable to mistake himself, even to the point of forgetting what he was, then, when he yet was not: what he is now, whilst he enjoys the beauty of the day, Nature exhibits us so ma­ny Mir­rours of Incon­stancy, as she hath produced objecis. and what he must one day be at the Sun-set of his life: Assuredly yes, I am astonisht at it, since all created things may serve him for a Mirrour to contemplate therein, apparently the verity of his miseries.

The Heavens, though whirling about with a Motion, alwayes equall in the same spaces of their carreere, do not cease to wax old, and even [Page]their age represents to us naturally our decay. Since that Na­ture it self is mortall, this se­cond cause cea­sing [...] the ruine of these ef­fects is infallible. Though the Stars shine with a sparkling luster, as clear as at the first Day of their creation, yet as they are attached within those circles of Ages, whose continuall motion is limited, they approach by little and little to their last West, where their light must be extinct, and the pace of their course shews us the way of our life, since time conducts us all together, though diversly to our end. The Fire so greedy, that it devours it self, when finding no more fuell to nourish it, is it not a Mirrour of the Lamp of our life, whose kindled week goes out, when the Oyle of the Radicall moy­sture fails it? The Air, which cor­rupts continually, is it not an Image of our corruption? & with out doubt the Waters transparent body, re­presents us the fragility of ours, and its liquid crystalline, Every thing flees a­way from us, and in running after [...]em we tun to rdeath. always rolling away makes us see in its gliding, our flitting nature. The earth could not have figured us better then she doth, since we are to day of the same matter, and to moroow of [Page 7]the like form. The world is a Nose­gay of flowers, which by little and little wither all together. What fairer Mirrour hen that of Flowers, where we may see in one day the whole course of our life, for at Sun-rise the buds resemble out Infancy, at noone the same now full blown, our youth, and at Dayes-end themselves now quite withered our last age, I will not speak of all the other Spices of creatures animates, how every one in its self, though living, is an Image of death. It sufficeth me to cherish this remembrance, and leave to you thereof the meditation.

What shall I tell ye of Fortune, of honours, riches, and all these glorious qualities of valour, Fortune hath no­thing more her own, then her In­constancy. Beauty and a thousand other besides, which vanish away with us? This blinde Goddesse hath a Mirrour under her feet, whose round figure shews us at once, both her instability, and our inconstancy, as for greatnesse and riches, the ashes of those which have possest them, are as so many fresh Crystals of a Mirrour, which flatters not, wherein we may see the vanity both of their enjoyment, and of their possessors. Those other [Page 8]qualities of fair and valiant, There is nothing immortal in man but ver­tue. are of the fame nature, as those sensitive and vegetable souls, which die toge­ther with the subject which they ani­mate, without leaving ordinarily so much as one small memoriall, for marke that they have had a being otherwise: and in sequell to these truths, Man is the Mir­rour of Man, so that by due con­templati. of one part, he may save the whole can you finde a truer Mir­rour, then this of our selves, since every part, (nay what say I?) every action, and every sigh is an animate pourtrait of Death; Insomuch that we draw the breath of so many con­tinuate Gaspes, without ability of dispose of one onely instant, to give intervall to this exercise.

How is it then possible that Man should miss know himself, having such faithfull Mirrours before his eyes, All the Objects of the world b [...]d us A­due, while we but regard them since they are al­ways fleeing away. where at all times he may see apparently the Truth of his Nature kneaded in Corruption, formed by it, and destroyed also by the same; Strange thing! he can see nothing in the World, but Images of incon­stancy, and yet will not apprehend his own change: whatsoever shall smite upon his eare, will resound [Page 9]nothing but the bruit of his flight, To mus always of Death, is the way of immortality, & yet he wil not think upon his retreat.

Lastly his other Sences, and his fancy, shall have no other object but this of the continuall vicissitude of all things, and yet he will remain firm and stable in his vanity, till death ruine its foundation. Thus in the deceitfull opinion, wherein he is, of possessing all things, he looseth the possession of himself, and having too much dreamed on his pleasures, his Life is past as a Dream without return. I must tell you one of my meditations.

I shall never be able to compre­hend the meaning of those, who moan themselves against Fortune, A man may well complain against Fortune, these vain regréetes, exempt him not from the pain. the World & all the pleasures of this life. One forsooth will upbraid to this foolish Deity, her deceipts with­out considering that he deceived himself in giving Trust to a God­desse that near had any. He yet will accuse her to have conducted him still through craggy ways, and over-spread with thorns, as if in following one that is blinde a man should not hazard to run this danger.

Another will make ye fresh com­plaints against the World detesting it's Sweets, The world may well be the in­strument of our de­struction, not the cause. cursing it's charms and calling it a Thousand times, de­ceiptfull, but why? one would say to hear these plaints, that the world began but now to receive its birth, I mean were but now newly creat­ed, that no man knows it yet, and that its first couzenages began, but now to be discovered? What follyl is not this to cheat ones self, to have commerce with a cheater? the world never yet bore any other name or title, The num­ber of those whom the world hath de­ceived, is so great, that they that still trust it, are now no more excusa­ble. why then aym we to nourish our selves with its delights, whose after-bitternes impoysons sen­sibly our souls? But if its charms be powerful enough to tempt reason they are yet too feeble to vanquish it, provided that the wil consent not so, that a man remain convict of all the crimes, whereof he may be accused.

What seeming ground then have we to be enraged against those plea­sures which we have received, The will is so free that it cannot suffer violence, but from it self. if our selves' only give them both being and form? the Fancies conceive these delights, & the will gives them birth, [Page 11]they are the works whereof our imaginations form the Spices, Pleasures are the greatest enemies of life, for in casting flowers upon our heads, they fill our hearts with thorns. and our desires make the Metamorpho­sis, changing them into objects pal­pable, and sensible, which are marks of the seal of our depravednesse.

Let a man then abhor pleasures instead of accusing them, detest their vanity in lieu of complaining of deceitfulnesse. But if they be crimi­nall, they onely bear the stain of their Fathers, and if they be com­plices of our destruction, tis we give them Birth, to give us death.

Let men cease to lament of For­tune, since the Mirror of its flying scarfe, Fortune is still her. self, he which trusts her, takes de­light to be cheated. and wings expresse to the life its lightnesse, and our folly.

Let none Argue any more that the world is cause of our ruine, since we cannot chuse but tread every hour over the dust and ashes of those, who have too late repented to have followed it. As for voluptu­ousnesse, tis a vain Idaea, to which our passions give a body, to make it serve as a sensible object of their brutality, insomuch that it can do nothing, but by our first mo­tions, [Page 12]taking its vigour from our force, Pleasure still takes its force from our volunt ary weakness. 'Tis more then folly, when the folly of others, serves us not for example. and its power from our So­verainty, and this renders us doubly culpable, palleating our faults, in­stead of acknowledging them, since laments, rather than excuses, might absolve us them.

Is it not that St. John Chrysostome toucht with compassion of our mi­series cries out in astonishment of our weaknes: Oh World how many hast thou deceved! but this is its trade and pro­fession. Oh Fortune how many hast thou made to fall! but even yet still, while I am speaking, she gives employ­ment to her treason, and exercise to her Tyranny. O Pleasures com­fitted in Sweets, and yet steeped in bittersnesse, how many have ye poysoned! but yet their venome is so common, that the whole earth is infected with it. What remedy then to all these ils? No other then this, to pry into ones self, in the MIRROƲR of his own Ashes, We can no better contem­plate any thing, then in the Mirrour of our Nothing. AMIRROUR always hanging at the Girdle, and which flatters not. AMIRROUR whose glasse, though more brittle, then one of Chrystall, makes us [Page 13]yet to see that all the objects of the World are false, All the Mirrours of the World flatter, except this of our mise­ries. but that of our Corruption, a Mirrrour, which re­presents us more lively in our pour­traict, then in our selves, A Mirrour, whose kind of shadow and Chimera makes us see in effect, that which we are in appearance.

A Mirrour all miraculous, which preserves certain Species's of no­thing to render them sensible to our knowledge. A Mirrour all di­vine which metamorphosing our bodies into shadows, yet expresses us so naturally, that the most ar­rogant cannot mistake themselves. A Mirrour lastly, which Nature hath charmed with it's own proper spels, to the end, that viewing him­self herein, a Man may be able to resist the charms of the World's allurements.

I am greatly astonisht at those that preach us the Knowledge of our selves, to be so troublesom, & difficult, since at all times, and in all places, of all sides & of all sorts of fashions, we are nothing at all, or if by an excesse of flattery and vanity, I borrow [Page 14]some names to expresse truly what we are, If a wan would still study himself he would become the wisest of the World. it can be no other then those of dure and mire, whose noy­somnesse takes away all doubt on it, from the most incredulous.

In what then consists this trouble of studying to know one's-self, since the most ignorant may in this, go out Doctors in the schoole of our miseries: Self-know­ledge one­ly difficile to the proud. where lies the difficulty to arrive to this knowledge? when the very wind of our sighs carries away, every moment, some of that polluted dust, whereof we be made. Where is this pain, say I yet, since our senses and spirits can have no other object then this of Incon­stancy, as unseparable to their na­ture, as it is proper to our condition. And what can be this difficulty, when we are, capable of no action more, then to destroy our selves? We must break this rinde farther. Humility is a skil­full Schoole-master, to ieach us to know our selvs.

I will beleeve that every one knows from whence he comes and whi­ther he goes, that his body is but a work of rottennesse, and that the worms attend thereof the prey, as a nourishment which to them is [Page 15]destinated: A man knows no more then he re­members. but it is important to consider that these truths, though sensible, are oftenest put in oblivion, and this default of memory denotes that of knowledge. He which mu­seth upon his slightnesse underva­lueth (except God) all things and vanity would never be able to sur­prise us, during the interim of this meditation. The re­mem­brance of Death makes us forget the vanities of Life. Man knows very well that he is Mortall, but whilst he never thinks seriously of the neces­sity of dying, this knowledge is forgot, though he dye without cease, and in loosing the remem­brance of his condition, looses the knowledge thereof.

Remember that you are a Man said his page every morning to Philip of Macedon. The way to passe our days conten­tedly, is to think eve­ry hour of the last. This great Monarch made himself to be rouzed every day from sleep, with the News of Death, fearing to be charmed with the sweets of Life. Greatnesses en­viron him on all parts, to make him forget his humility, but under­stand you not the delicate air, which he causes to be sung to the tune of his miseries: the pompe and [Page 16]Magnificence of his riches dazle his eyes with their lustre, The re­mem­brance of the poorness of Death, is a po­tent charm to resist the memory of great­nesse of Birth. that he might never consider the wretchednesse which is proper to him. But you see how he makes himself to be awaked with the noyse of this truth, ever to cherish its remembrance: Sir re­member that you are a Man; oh how many Mysteries are compri­sed in these words! behold the Al­legory on't.

Great Kings remember you are subject to many more Miseries, then you have subjects in your Em­pire. Great Monarchs remember that of all the great extention of your Territories there shall not remain you one onely foot, If we be different in man­ner of life, we are all equall in necessity of dying. so jealous are the worms of your glory. Great Princes remember that your Scepters and your Crowns, are such feeble marks of greatnesse, that fortune sports with them, Time mocks at them, and the Wind shall sweep away their Dust: Soveraign Judges of the Life of Men, remember that al­though you are above the Lawes, This of Dying is inviolable.

The Fable is pretty, of the reso­lution, [Page 17]which the flowers and plants took to elect a King and Queen, Cares and anx­ieties surpass in number the plea­sure of Kings. and as the number of Voyces gave the election, the Marigold was declared to be the King of the Flowers, and the Bryar Queen of Plants, and under this toy lies hid serious verities.

Is there any thing fairer in all the borders of the Garden of Nature, then the flower of the Marigold? Its golden Tincture of the colour of the Sun, at first view dazeleth so delightfully; that the Eye amazedly gazing with admiration of its fresh-displayed beauty, can hardly retire its regards from an object so a­greeable. But gather it, and dight it on you, and its sent produces a thousand disliks in the Mind, for that one onely, which you hold in your hand, for hence of a sudda in the humours become dull, and melancholly having been annoyed with so fair a fulsomnesse. If Crowns &: Scep­ters were to be sould, wise men would ne­ver buy thew.

Royalty is absolutely the same: The Scepters are as fresh flowers of Marigold, whose lustre and beauty equally ravishing, attract at first [Page 18]glance to their admiration the Soul by the eyes; but if a Man take them into his graspe, or deck his head with them, he shall find himself fill'd with anxious cares by this co­verture. If you doubt of this, aske Seleucus, he will answer, That the first moment of his Raigne, was the last of his Quietnesse.

The Sweet-bryar also bore away the Royalty; for who would not love it with its Rose? O how both together have powerfull attractives, to tempt aqually, both the heart to desire them, and the hand to pluck them? And 'tis in vain that Nature hath given arms to the jealousie of its prickles, Thorns are the Roses of Kings gardens. to serve for the defence of its flowers: since these sharps are as so many baits, which irritate us rather with Desire then Fear. All the world insert it in their nose­gayes; but the prickles remain, the Rose withers.

Say we then also, that Royalty is a fair Sweet-bryar, accompanied with its Roses; I mean many con­tentments of the same nature. Both together have great charms to affect [Page 19]us both with love and desire, Great miseries are desti­nated to great for­tunes. but the Bryars of the Crown remain, the Rose of delights withers. O how ponderons is the load of this great­nesse? And if you beleeve not me, enquire hereof of the puissant King Mithridates, The feli­city. of Kings hath much more lu­stre, then Reality. he will often reiterate to you, That he never sigh'd, but for the ponderous burden of his Crowns.

SIR, REMEMBER YOU ARE A MAN.

But what is there here to pride in? May it be of the greatnesse of his Dominions? This is but an alien good, Kings may trou­ble them­selves to conquer the earth, it still triumphs over them. which admits not to be pos­sest but by vanity, since its honours and pleasures have nothing else but meere in propriety. To be an am­ply landed-man, is to have miry soyl to sell, and small profit to make thence.

Sir remember you are a Man. What may be his ambition? may it be to conquer the whole world, what will he do with it after conquest, since it is a Ball of snow, which Time melts by little and little, tum­bling it without cessation.

Sir remember you are a Man. What [Page 20]might be his designs? He which makes himself to be a­dored, is rather sit to be Deaths Victime then to be idolatri­zed. Should he pretend to Altars; and Temples, what oblations can be made to a Victime, whom Death holds con­tinually at a bay? can Incense be offered to a Dunghill, or an Idoll made of a Sink? the very thought shockes common sense.

Sir remember that you are a Man. Man is so mise­rable, that I am a­mazed he pities not himself. What can he do with his absolute power? A little stone makes him stumble; a straw can blind him; a shadow, an Atome, a thing of no­thing are capable to reduce him to nothing at all. And is not this an object of pity, rather then of envy? Great Kings, these are truths too important for you, to lose their re­membrance.

Well you may out-brave the heavens with a birstling eye-brow: the onely imagination of its Thun­derclaps holds you already in alarm. Boldly may you tread upon the Earth with a disdainfull foot; the same whereof you are made, shall shortly be so troden, when the worms are glutted with it. Remem­ber that you are a Man, and that all [Page 21]the objects of riches and honours which environ you, I have said to corrupti­on, Thou art my father, and to the worm, thou art my mo­ther and my sister. Job. 17.14. are of the same Nature as you are. You are dying every moment, and every thing falls away without cease.

When I represent to minde your heads, diadem'd with a rich Crown, I conceive it a little point infirm'd and closed in a circumference, whose lines abut at the center of corruption, lines of magnificence, The head that wears the crown, wears away with it. which terminate at the point of wretchednesse.

If I consider you with Scepter in hand, methinks I see a simple shrub, planted upon worser Earth, the shrub dries up, and is reduced to dust, the ground remaines that it was before.

Let me contemplate you seated upon your Thrones, deckt with your richest ornaments, my imagination shews me a Iupiter in picture, hol­ding the thunder in his hand; for you are so weak for all your absolute power, that if you presum hardily to raise your head, but to look upon the Sun, your eies will water at the same time, to expiate with your teares, the crime of your arrogance.

Great Kings, Remember then, that you are not Great, but in miserie, Soveraign Monarchs, Remember, that your Empiredome is but a servitude, since you are subject to all the disa­sters of your subjects. Powerfull Princes, one gust of wind defies to the struggle your absolute power. Sa­cred Majesties, I salute you to day by this name: All the at ributes of worldly glory ac­company us but to the grave. but to morrow I will change termes, and call you Skeletons and carkasses, to the end that in speaking this cruth, all the world may know you, I will change my tone.

How ingenious are the Poets in their fancies? They recount us, how that Inconstancy being banisht from heaven, descended upon earth, with design to have her picture drawn, and upon the resuse, that Painters made of it, she addrest her selfe to Time, Man serves for a sheuttle­cocke to all things, sime all things concur to his ruine. who after he had considered her in all her diversities made use at last of the visage of Man for the fi­nishing cloath, wherein having re­presented her to the life, all the world took her for Man himself, since in effect 'tis but one and the [Page 23]same thing. O fair truth discovered by a fable. Man is Incon­stancy it self, ra­ther than its pour­traict.

He then that now would see the Image of Inconstancy, let him con­sider the Life-touches and linea­ments of it; upon his own visage. Our fore-head which wrinkles every mo­ment, is it not the very same as hers? Our eies, which by continuall use every hour, do already require spe­ctacles, are they not as hers? Our cheeks which now chap-fall are in nothing different from hers. In fine our visages are the only MIR­ROURS WHICH FLAT­TER NOT.

But what shall we answer notwith­standing to the objection of this truth, that, Though a Man hides himself under the vayle of hypocrisie his defects alwaies breake through. that which we see of MAN, is not the MAN. If his vi­sage like a false Horologe index false, this our pourtraict of Incon­stancy is meerly imaginary:

But is there any thing more incon­stant than the spirit of man? 'tis a weather-cock for all winds, behold again the first draughts of the vi­sage of Inconstancy: must we not of necessity compare his changing [Page 24]humour to hers, The spirit of Mun is much more changing, than his body, for this chan­ges onely in grow­ing old, but that growes old onely in chan­ging. if a man would ex­hibit thereof but one example; and these are yet new lineaments, which represent us this levity. In fine, his thoughts, his desires, and all the pa­ssions of his mind, are but objects of vicissitude, capable of all sorts of impressions: so that in the perfection of the portraicture of man, Incon­stancy is found perfectly depainted. Let us proceed.

The fictions of Poets are yet seri­ous enough, Vertue onely can render us invulne­rable. A vertu­ous Man feares no­thing. to serve us often for su­fficient entertain of the time. 'Tis they which tell us of one Achilles, immortall in all the parts of his body save only his heel.

Great Kings, I will, if you please take you for Achilles's, and will give out you are like him, invulnerable, but only in the heel. Every Man would be immortal but none takes pain to acquire immorta­lity. But of what temper soever your Armes be, to what purpose serve they you with this defect? This onely blot duskes the lustre of your glory. Nature has done surely well, to prodigallize up­on you thus, both her graces and fa­vours; she hath immortaliz'd you but by halfes. All your apparences [Page 25]are divine, but something within poiles all, each particular is a heel, by which Death may surprize you.

Shall I say then that you are A­chilles's, who will believe me, since your heads serve but as Buts to the hafes of Fortune? It is onely the con­science of a just Man is of proofe, against the stroak of Time and For­tune. To preach you in­vulnerable, a small scratch may thereon give me the lye. Truth more powerfull than flattery constraines me to call you by your name, for in remembrancing you that you are [...]ut men, I fuggest you to the life all the disasters, which accompany your life.

Thou hast much to doe, Man is so poor a thing that one can­not give him a name but it advan­tagious to kim. to make Panegyricks in praise of man, O Mercury Trymegistus, and to main­tain so confidently, that he is a great miracle, it must be then a miracle of misery, since Nature produceth no­thing so miserable as he is.

And thou Pythagoras, which hast had the fore-head to perswade us, that man was a mortal God, if thou hadst made Anatomie of his carkasse the stench of his silth, had soon made thee change this langnage. Plato thou reason'st well upon this subject, [Page 26]yet without sound consideration, then when with an enforcement o [...] spirit and eloquence, thou wouldst oblige us to believe, There is no tongue in Nature which can furnish us with termes strong e­nough to expresse the mise­ries of Man. that man is o [...] the race of the Gods: yes surely, since thy Gods are Gods of earth, the cause is matcht to the effect, for man is of the same matter. Plotinus, thou also didst not misse it, when in favour of man, thou said'st he was an abridg­ment of the wonders of the world, for since all its wonders heretofore so fa­mous are no more but dust and ashes man may hereof be the example with good reason.

O how much more expert is David in the knowledge of our condition, when he compares man, not onely to the dust, but to the dust which flies away, to show us, that, that little which he is, still flies away till it be nothing in the end.

But how glad am IO Lord, Memen­to homo quod ni­hil es, & in nihilù reverteris that I am but dust, to the end that I may fly towards heaven, for the earth I un­dervalue. How I am satisfied that [...] am but Ashes, that I may but be able to keep in my soule some little spark­le of thy love. What glory and [Page 27]what contentment too, is it to be devoured by wormes, since thou callest thy self a Worme? gnaw O Lord, Ego sum vermis & non ho­mo. Psal. 22.6. gnaw both my heart and in­ [...]rals. I offer thee them in prey, and regive me new ones, that may offend thee no more. I know well that my life flits away by little and little, but now agreeable is this flight unto me, since thou art its object. I see well that my Dayes slide away, and passe in continuall course. But O what consolation is it to be sensible of dy­ing at all houres, for to live eternally. [...] Verities; again, what ravishments [...]ave you to consolate the soules of [...]he most afflicted? I return to my subject.

We read of the Priests of the Gentiles, Humility is ever he [...]oured by all the world. that they writ letters every [...]eer to their Gods, upon the Ashes [...]f the Sacrifices, which they made [...]pon the top of Mount Olympus, & [...] believe that this was upon design, [...]at they might thus be better re­ceived, being written upon this [...]aper of humility. Let us fetch now [...]ome truth from this fanoy. Let us write every day to heaven upon the [Page 28]paper of our Ashes, all the parts of the body are as so many Charact­ers of dust wherein may be read the truth of our no­thingness. confessing tha [...] we are nothing else, and let u [...] make our sighs the faithfull mes­sengers of these letters, as the onely witnesses of our hearts. I will hide my self under the Ashes. O Lord, t [...] the end that thy Justice may no [...] see me, said David. What Curtain's this? This Soveraign Justice which makes it bright day in hell, cannot pierce the Ashes to find underneath a Sinner. No, no, for the vail has the vertue to reflect the beams of thi [...] revenging light within the source, which produced them.

Remember that I am nothing, Seest thou how Ahab humbleth himself. I wil not bring the evill in his days. 1 Kings 21, 29. [...] Lord, and that thou hast made m [...] of nothing, and every moment canst reduce me to something less [...] then nothing; cryes out Job, in hi [...] miseries. He finds no other inven­tion to appease the mild choller [...] his God, Recor­darequ [...] so quod sicut ar­gillam fecist [...] me & in pul­verem re­duces me. Job. 10 [...]9. then putting him in min [...] of his infinite greatnesse, and at the same time of the pitifull estate [...] whereunto he is reduced. Wh [...] should you take Arms against me [...] O Lord, (pursues he) when th [...] breath of your word is able [...] [Page 29]undo the same, Humility triumphs over all things. which it hath made me, Remember, O Remember, that I am but what the benigne influ­ence of your divine regards permits me to be, for on the instant that you shall cease to regard me, I shall cease to live.

Deck we then with Ashes our bo­dy of Dust, Men re­member thy begin­ning, for thou art not made of Fire like the Stars, nor of Ayre like the winds, but of mire, from whence it is thou soyls [...] all the world. He which can over come himself shail ne­ver be vanqui sht by & greater Capta in. and let us cover with a new earth our own, to make Ram­pirs of proof against the thunders of heaven. See you not how its all­powerfull Justice, finds limitation in the confession of our being no­thing. We need fear nothing, ac­knowledging that we are nothing. Well may the thunder make a hor­rid rumbling, yet the Hyssope out­praves it in its lowlinesse. Fear and humility ever abandon each others company. The onely means to tri­umph over all things, is to vanquish Ambition.

O Lord, I durst scarse believe, that I am, If thy providence alone were not the prop of my being. But since thy goodnesse hath drawn me from the Abysse of Nothing; [...]et thy grace cause me alwaies to [Page 31]keep the remembrance of my ori­ginall. Before Time was, I was Nothing, now Time is, I am yea Nothing. But what happinesse [...] it to be Nothing at all, since thou art All-things? for if I search my self in vain in my self, is it not sufficient that I am found in thee? I will then forget even mine owe name, and muse of nothing, but of the Chimera of my being, since as a Chimera it passeth away and vanisheth. What a joy is it to passe away continu­ally with all things, towards him that hath created all things? The onely consolation, that remains me in my passage, is that thou alone remainest firm and stable, so that without end tho [...] art the end of my carreere, and without bounds limitest the exten [...] of my course, as the onely object both of my rest and felicitie. Set me now upon return.

With what and ever to be ado­red lustre, Heaven changes the sighs of the Earth into tears, I mean its va­pours into dew. appears the love of God in his day, in the work of Man. Would not one say, that it seem he made him of earth, that he might strow thereon, the seeds both of his blessings and graces! O for­tunate Earth, which being dili­gently [Page 31]cultured, may bring forth the fruits of eternal happinesse! Since we are of Earth let us suf­fer this divine Sun of Love, to exhale the va­pours of our sighs for to metamor­phose the minto the tears of Repen­tance.

Boast thy self O Man, to be No­thing but Earth, since the heaven bedews the Earth continually. But if with a provoked eye, it lancheth out, sometimes its thunders upon it, her self doth afford hereof the matter. Live always Innocent, and thou shalt not know what 'tis to fear. Imploy thy self without cease, to measure the depth of the Abysle of thy nothingnesse; and though thou never pierce to the bottom hereof, thy pains shall not be un­profitable, because seeking thy self [...] thy basenesse, thou shalt alwaies recover thy self again much greater then thou art.

The Sun, We are all amo­rous of our selves not know­ing for what, for our de­fects are objects rather of hate then Love. this fair Planet of the Day, which with a continuall aspect, contemplates all created things, can­not make reflection of his beams to see himself, as if his mother Nature had apprehended in making him so glorious, that the Mirrour of his light, might not be metamorphosed into a fire of love, to render him a­morous of his own proper lustre.

But the Intellect, A Man cannot stumble ordinarily but through perverse­nesse, since rea­son enligh tens him in the ve­ry worst wayes. this Sun of our Soules, has a faculty with which it can both contemplate our of it self all things, and repeale again the same power to consider it selfe, which makes a man capable, not onely of the meditation of the miseries of the World, but also of that of the affli­ctions and troubles, which insepara­bly keeps him company to the grave.

We read of Moses, that God com­manded him to frame the * fore­front of the Tabernacle all of Mir­rours, The La­ver which was be­fore the Taberna­cle. Ex. 38.8. to the end, that those that should present themselves before his Altar, might view themselves in thi [...] posture of Prayer. O this excellent Mysterie! Mortals, it behooves you to view your selves in the Mirrour of your Ashes, if you would have your vowes heard.

God hath taught us an excellent way of Prayer, There is nothing assured in Life, but its conti­nuall — Death. Give us this day our daily bread. But why O Lord, teachest thou us not to ask thee our bread for to morrow, as well as for to day? O how good a reason is there hereof! This is because that life hath no as­surance of to morrow; besides that [Page 33]it is an excesse of grace, that we may be bold to crave of him, the bread of our nourishment for all a whole day, since every moment may be that of our Death. Reader, let this verity serve thee yet as a mirrour, It is not sufficient to muse of the nece­ssity of dying, but to consi­der also that eve­ry hure may be our ast. if thou would'st have thy praiers to pierce the heavens. This is not all, to know thy body is a Colosse of filth, which is trail'd along from one place to another, as it were by the last struggle of a Life alwaies lan­guishing. It behooves thee also to call to mind, that every instant may terminate the course of thy trouble­some carriere; and that this sudden retreat, constraines thee to bid Adieu for ever to all the things of the world, which thou cherishedst most Thoughts only worthy of a noble spirit!

I have eaten Ashes as bread, Psal. 102.9. Cinerem tanquam panem mandu­cabam. saies the Royall Prophet; but how is it possible? I conceive his thought. He entertained his soul with the remem­brance of the Ashes of his body, and this truth alone serv'd as object to his imagination, for to satisfie the appe­tite of his Soul. Lord give me both the same relish and desire, to repast [Page 34]my selfe still thus, A man to abase himselfe below that which he is, being so poor a thing of nothing. of dust and ashes, in remembrancing my self alwaies, that I am nothing else. O sweet re­membrance of my rottennesse, since it steads me for eternall nourishment of my Soule! O precious memorie of my Nothingnesse, since able to satis­fie the appetite of my heart! Let this be the daily bread, O Lord which thou hast taught me to ask thee, to the end, that all my desires together might be satiated with this dear nou­rishment. I recollect my self in this digression.

Having diverse times mused of the imbecillity and weaknesse of man, Si vitrei essemus, minus casus timere­mus. S. Aug. I am constrain'd to cry out with St. Augustine, What is there that can be more fraile in Nature? If we were of Glasse (pursues he) our condition might therein be better, for 2 Glasse carefully preserv'd, There is nothing more brit­tle than glasse yet man is more. may last long time, and yet what pain soever man takes to preserve himself, and under what shelter soever, he shrowds him­self, for covert to the storm, he breakes and is shattered of himself.

What reply you to these verities, Great Princes? Well may you now [Page 35]be atrogant; The fragillity of glasse cannot admit of comparison, with this of your nature; what seat will you give to your greatnesse? Man is fully mi­serable, since his life is the source of his mise­ries. and what foundation to your vanity? when the wind alone of your sighs, may shipwrack you upon the Sea of your own proper teares? what sur­names will you take upon you, for to make you be mistaken? That of Immortall would become you ill, since every part of your body, serves but as a But to the shafts of Death. Invincible, would also be no way proper, A man may doe every thing with vertue, without it nothing since upon the least touch of mishap, you are more worthy of pity than capable of defence. Would you be called Gods? your Idolaters would immolate you to their own laughter Tread under foot your Crownes, if rightly you will be crowned with them, you only thus render your selves worthy of those honours, Heaven cannot be acquired, but by the misprize of earth. which you misprize: for Glory con­sists not in the possessing it, but in the meriting; and the onely means to obtain it, is to pretend nothing at all to it.

How remarkeable is the custome [Page 36]of the Locrians at the Coronation of their Kings: they burnt before them a handfull of Tow, to represent unto them the instability of their gran­deurs, and the greedinesse of Time to destroy them. In effect, all the great­nesses of the Earth, All the grandeur of Kings is but as the blaze of flam­ing tow. are but as a bun­dlet of Tow; and then when Darius would make of them his treasure, Mis-hap set fire on them, and redu­ced them into Cinders, and when he had yet in his heart a desire to im­mortalize them, a new fire seaz'd his intrals by the heat of thirst, which burn'd him to the end to consume at once, both the cause, and the effect. So true it is, that the Glory of the world vanisheth away like Smoake, Great Kings, if you build a Throne of Majestie to the proof, both against Time and Fortune, He which esteems himselfe the least of all, is the grea­test. lay its foundati­on upon that of your miseries. Humi­lity takes her rise in lowlinesse, from the lowest footing, when she makes her flight into the heavens.

O how admirable is the Humility of Saint. Iohn Baptist! They would give him titles of Soveraignty, in ta­king him for the Messias: but call to [Page 37]your Memory, how with an ejacu­lation of Love and reverence, he precipitates himself both with heart and thought into the Abysse of his own Nothingnesse, Vox cla­mantis in deserto John. 1.23. there to admire in all humility, both Greatnesse & Majesty in his Throne. I am but a Voyce, saies he, which beat at the cares to enter into your hearts.

A Voyce, which rustles in a mo­ment, and passes away at the same instant; What Humility! Is there any thing which is lesse any thing than a Voyce? 'Tis a puffe of wind, which a fresh one carries I know not where since both lose themselves in the air, after its never so little agitation, Christus verbum, Johannes vox. with their gentle violence, 'Tis no­thing in effect, yet notwithstanding, the proper name of this great Pro­phet. They would elevate him, John. 1.27. and he abaseth himself so low, that he would render himself invisible as a Voyce, so much he feares to be taken for him, whose shoe-latchet, A Man is to be estimated in propor­tion to the under, value he makes of himself. he judgeth himself unworthy to unloose.

Lord, what are we also, but a little Wind enclosed in a handfull of Earth? to what can one compare us [Page 38]without attributing us too much va­nity. True it is, that we are the works of thy hands, but all other created things bear the same Title, but if thy bounty hath been willing to advantage our nature with many graces, proper and ordinated to it alone, these are so many witnesses which convince us, not to have de­serv'd them, since our very Ingrati­tude is yet a Recognizing of this Truth. Insomuch that as our Life is nothing but sinne, and sinne is a meer privation, The mest just man sinneth seven times a day. it may be maintai­ned that we are nothing else, and consequently nothing at all.

But how Proud am I, O Lord, every time I think thou hast ereated me of Earth, for this is a Principall, which drawes me alwaies to it selfe, by a right of propriety; from whence I cannot defend my selfe. What is it for a man to triumph hereof the world? the earth expects his spoile. All things seek their repose in their element. O how happy am I, to search mine in that of Dust and Ashes, whereof thou hast formed me? The Earth de­mands my Earth, and my body as a little Gullet, separated from its source, speeds by little and little, to [Page 39]the same source, from whence it had its beginning. And this that which impeaches me from gathering up my self, to take a higher flight. I should do bravely, to hoyse my selfe above my Center, when the assay of my Vanity, Pridehoy­ses up, onely to gives a fall. and the violence of my fall, are but the same thing. I give still downwards upon the side of my weaknesses, and the weight of my miserie, overbeares upon the arro­gance of my Ambition. A man no doubt may mis­know himselfe, yet the least hit of mishap teares the vaile of his hood winknesse O happy defect, and yet more happy the con­dition, which holds me alwaies en­chained to the dunghill of my Ori­ginall, since the links of this easie ser­vitude, are so many Mirrours which represent me that I am nothing, whensoever I imagine my self to be something. Let us change our Tone, without changing subject.

Ladies, Remember that you die every houre; behold, here a MIRROƲR WHICH FLATTERS NOT It shewes you both what you are, & such as you shall be. But if notwith­standing, you still admire your selves under an other visage, full of allure­ments, and sweets. This is but Death [Page 40]himself, A strang thing that death is still as neare us, at life, and yet we never thinke on it. who hides him under these faire apparences, to the end you may not discern him. It is true, you have gracefull Tresses of haire which co­ver your heads, and his is all Bald, but doe not you heed, how he pulls them off from yours by little every day, and makes those which he leave you, to turn White, to the end you may pull them out your selves?

It is true, your eyes have a spark­ling lustre, Time and Deathare the onely inexora­bles. and beauty; but of his is seen onely the hideous place, where Nature had seated them: But do you not consider, how with continual action, be Dusks the glory of this beauty; and in conclusion, puts to Eclipse these imaginary Pety-Suns.

It is true, your hue is of Lillies, and your mouth of Roses, upon his face is seen onely the stubs of these flowers: but call to mind, that he blasts this Lilly-teint, as well as Lil­lies themselves; and that the vermil­lion of this Rosie-mouth lasts but as Roses; and if yet you differ to day from him in something, you may re­semble him to morrow in all. I [Page 41]leave you to meditate of these truths.

Man is a true mirrour, which repre­sents to the natural all things, which are oppos'd unto it. Man is as one pi­cture with two faces and often the most naturall is falsest. If you turn it downward to the Earth, we can see within nothing but objects of Dust and Ashes: but if you turn him to the Heavens-ward, there is to be admi­red in it beauties, and graces purely celestiall. In effect, if we consider man in his mortall and perishable condition, hardly can one find any stay in this consieration, since he is nothing else but a Chimera, whose form every moment by little and little destroies, to reduce it to its first nothing. And indeed, not to lie to ye, man, is but a Puffe of wind, Man is nothing in him­selfe, yet compre­heods al things. since he lives by nothing else, is filled with nothing else, and dies onely by Pri­vation of it. But if you turn the Me­dall (I would say) the Mirrour of his Soule towards his Creator, there are seen nothing but gifts of Immor­tality, What though man be made of earth; he is more divine than mortall. but graces of a Soveraigne bounty, but favours of an absolute will. The heavens and the Stars ap­pear in this Crystalline mirrour, not by reflection of the object, but by a [Page 42]divine vertue proceeding from the Nature of his cause. Let us to the End.

Me thinks This Page returnes a­gain to day within the Chamber of Philip of Macedon, The slumber of vanities is a mor­tall ma­lady to the soule. and drawing the Curtain, cries out according to his ordinary.

Sir, Awake, and Remember that you are a Man: but why rouzes he him to think of Death, since sleep is its image? Alexander knew himselfe mortall by his sleeping; and in effect those which have said, that sleep was the Brother of Death, have drawn their reason of it, from their reci­procall resemblance. Awake then Great Kings; Not to ponder that you are mortall, your sleep is a trance of this, but rather that you are created for immortality. Remember you are Men. A man should not forget his heavenly beginning having heaven for a daily object. I will not say, subject to all the miseries of the Earth; but rather ca­pable of all the felicities of heaven. Remember that you are men; I will no say the shittle-cock of Time, and the But to all the shafts of Fortune, but rather victors over ages, and all sorts of miseries. Remember that you [Page 43]are men; I will not say any more con­ceiv'd in Corruption, brought forth by it, and also destroyed by it: But rather, I say, If a man should consider his worth by that which he cost, he would love him­selfe per­fectly. born for the glory of God, Living for to acquire it, and Dying for to possesse it. Remember that you are Men, I will say no more slaves of Sin, the Flesh, and the World: but rather free for resistance to the first, strong enough to vanquish the next, and more powerfull yet to give a Law to the third: A man may doe every good thing which he desires, since in his impu [...] issance his will is taken for the deed. Remember that you are men, I will no more say the pourtraict of Inconstancy, the object of every sort of ill, and the pasture of Wormes: But rather the Image of God, the subject of every sort of good, and the sole aliment of eternity, as created for it alone. Re­member that you are men, Man is sure a thing something divine, which is not seen even to it selfe. I will not say made of clay, animated with mis-hap, and metamorphosed anew into rottennesse; but rather made by the proper hand of God, animated by his bounty, and redeemed by his Grace.

I wonder at this, that they should call man a little world, since the least of his thoughts is able to sign out [Page 44]it's expansion beyond a thousand worlds. Though he be made of clay, the work: manship is yet all divine. True it is that he was made of Earth, but the Master which hath made him, having also drawn him­self in the middle of his worke (as did Phidias) renders him, more ad­mirable than the Heavens. One might also judge at first view, that the greatest part of the creatures have many more Prerogatives than he. But contrarily the heavens, the Stars, and all that nature hath most precions, have in no sort correspon­dence or equivalence to his gran­deurs: let us see the proof on't.

I grant that the Sea may make [...] admire equally both it's vastnesse of Empire, and efficacy of power, the least teare of repentance which a Man sheds is a thousand times more admirable, since it remounts even to the source of that grace, which pro­duc't it, and consequently beyond the Heavens. I grant that the Aire fils all, The heart of man is so vast, and spacious, that God onely can fill it. and its emense nature permits no vacuity, through the whole uni­verse. The heart of man carries him far higher, being never able to find satisfaction in it's desires, if its' Cre­arors-self, [Page 45]though without measure, be not its measure. Let the Fire al­waies greedy and ambitious, scale the heavens in apparence with con­tinual action by the vain attempts of its ejaculations; A man who loves God with all his heart, lives upon earth in the same fashion, as they live in heaven. The least sparkle of the fire of divine love wherewith man may be enflamed is so pure and so noble, that one cannot conceive an example of its perfection. Sup­pose the transparent heavens have no matter, than that of other for me, and they render themselves thus wonderfull in their simplicity, as in their course still equall, and still con­tinuall; the spirit of man is infinitely more excellent in its nature, and much more noble also in its actions, since it workes without selt-motion, but with a manner so divine, that its thoughts carry it every where with­out change of state or place. Bee it that the Sun all marvellous in him­selfe, The rea­son of man is a ray bea­ming from the Sun of Divi­nity. and his effects produceth no­thing but wonders. The Sun of rea­son, wherewith man is illuminate, is wholly miraculous, since it operates in a divine semblable manner: the vertue of other creatures vegetable, [Page 46]and sensitive is inseparably adjoy­ned also to the body of man, Man hath some ti­tles of Nobility, to which the very Angels themselvs cannot pretend. as its materiall: Insomuch that he con­taines in a degree of eminence above all the creatures of the world, more perfections himself alone, then all they together have ever possessed. And I shall well say more yet. That Man hath certain puissances of dis­position to elevate himself so high in his humility, that the Angels shall be below him.

But if I shall yet moreover poize Man, If man were a­gain to be sold, who could ransome him as he cost? in the ballance of the Crosse of his Saviour, and set him at the price of the blood, wherewith he was redeemed, which of the crea­tures, or rather, which of the angels will be so bold, to dispute the pree­minence?

Great Kings Remember then, that you are Men: but more admirable in your governments, then the Sea in its vastnesse. A man makes himself above all things, if he under­value them with us isprize. Remember that you are Men, but also capable to pu­rifie the Ayre, by one onely sigh, though even that sigh be made of nothing else. Remember that you are Men, but a thousand, thousand [Page 47]times yet more noble then the Fire, since the Seraphins burn incessant­ly with those divine Fires, where­with your hearts may be enflamed. Man is an a­bridge­ment ra­ther of the marvels of heaven, than of the mira­cles of earth. Remember that you are Men: but more perfect then the Heavens, since they were not created, but to pour upon your heads their be­nigne influences. Remember that you are Men, but more marvellous without comparison, then the Sun; since your Reason is a divine light, which can never suffer Eclipse, but by opposition from a volutary de­pravednesse. Remember that you are Men; but also destin'd to command over all other living creatures. Re­member that you are Men: but also kneaded as it were, by the hand of one All-powerfull, If a max did often muse of the ends, for which he was crea­ted, he would therein set up, his rest from all the inquie­tudes of the world formed after his Image, and redeemed by his blood, what can one say more?

Unto what a point of Glory hast thou then elevated me, O sweet Saviour? in abasing thy self even to the grave. After thou hadst for­med me of earth, thou hast also taken the same form for to resom­ble me in all things. Thou I say, [Page 48]O my God, whose infinite great­nesse, cannot admit onely the very admiration of the Seraphins, but through the Traverse of the Vail, of their ordinary submissions. What prodigie of bountie is this! Cause me then O Lord, if it please thee, that I may estimate my self at the price which thou hast ransomed me for, and that in such sort, that I may live no more, but in loving thee, to die also one day of the same disposition. Let me be humbly-haughty, carrying the lineaments of thy resemblance, that I may al­waies follow thee, though not a­ble to imitate thee. This is that which I will continually implore thee for, untill thou hast heard my vows.

I advow now, The mag­nificence of man hath nei­ther bounds nor li­mits, since God is his end. O Mercury Tryme­gistus, that thou hast reason to pub­lish, that Man is a great miracle, since God himself hath been wil­ling to espouse his condition, [...] shew us in its miseries the miracles of his Love.

I confesse Pythagoras, that thou hast had no lesse ground to main­tain [Page 49]that Man was a mortall God, Though a man still fade away, he is yet a lively pourtray of im­mortality. since except this sweet necessitie, which subjects him to the Tombe, he has a thousand qualities in him all immortall. I should finally have been of advise with thee Plato then, when thou preachedst, every where, All the creatures are admi­rable, as the effects of a save­raign and indepen­dent cause: but man has attributes of an un­paralleld glory. that Man was of the race of the Gods, since a piece of work so rare, and so perfect, could not proceed but from a hand Omnipotent, I mean this Rivelet of admiration could not proceed but from a source most adorable. I am of thy opinion Plotinus, and henceforth will maintain every where with thee, that Man is an abridgement of the wonders of the world: The eight wonders of the world. Since that all the Univers together was created but for his service, and pleasure. Say we yet moreover, that those wonders of the world, so re­nowned, are but the works of his hands; so that also the actions of his spirit in divine Contemplation can take their Rise above the Sun, and beyond the heavens, and this too now in the chains of its servitude.

Great Kings, be it supposed that [Page 50]you are living pourtraits of Incon­stancy: Man flies a­way by little and little, from one part of himself, that he may en­tirely en­ter at once into himself. The perfection of your Nature lies in this defect of you powers, for this Vicissitude, which God hath rendred inseparable to your condition, is a pure grace o [...] his bounty since you wax old onely, that you may be exempted from the tyranny of Ages: since (I say) you die every moment, onely to make acquisition of that immor­tality, to which his love has destin'd you. This defest of incon­stancy is the per­fection of man; since he is chan­gable to day to be no more so to morrow.

O happy Inconstancy! if in chang­ing without cease, we approach the point of our soveraign felici­ty, whose foundations are im­moveable. O dear Vicissitude! [...] ­rowling without intervall in the du [...] of our originall, we approach b [...] little and little, to those Age of glory, which beyond all time assigne at our End, the beginning of a better Carreere. A man is onely happy in the per­petitall incon­stancy of his condi­tion. O Glorio [...] Death, since terminated at th [...] cruell instant, which separates [...] from Immortality.

It is true, I confesse it again Great Kings, that you are subject [Page 51]to all the sad accidents of your sub­jects; The greatest misery that can arrive to a man, is to offend God. But what happinesse is it, if these misfortunes are as so many severall waies, which conduct you into the Port. Be it granted, that you are nothing but Corruption in your birth, Misery in your Life, and a fresh infection in your Death: All these truths are as so many attri­butes of honour to you, since you disrobe your selves in the grave of all your noisomnesse, for to Deck your selves with the ornaments of Grace, of felicity and glory, which belongs in proper to your souls, as being created for the possession of all these Good Things.

Who can be able to dimension the greatnesse of Man; Heaven, Earth, Nature, the very Divels are admirers of the greatness. of man. since he who hath neither bounds nor limits would himself be the circumference of it? Would you have some know­edge of mans power? hear the com­mandement which Josuah made to the Sun, to stop in the middest of his carreere. Would you have witnesses of his strength? Samson presents you all the Philistins buried together un­der the ruines of the Temple, whose [Page 52]foundations he made to totter. Re­quire you some assurances of his cou­rage? Job offers you as many as he has sores upon his body. In fine, de­sire you some proofes of his happi­nesse. Heaven hath fewer of Stars, than of felicities to give him. Man may be what som­ever he will be. What name then shall we attribute him now, that may be capable to com­prehend all his glory? There is no other than this of man; John. 19.5. and Pilate did very worthily (no doubt) to turn it into mockage before the Jewes; Ecce homo. Behold the Man. he shews them a God under the vi­sage of a Man. Let the world also expose the miseries of Man in pub­licke; His Image of Earth is yet a­nimated with a divine spirit, The name Man is now much more no­ble than that of Angels. With what new rinds soe­ver a man be covered, he beares still in bi­forehead the marks of his Creator. which can never change Nature. We [...] may they tear his bark, the Inma [...] of it is of proofe against the stroke [...] of Fortune, as well as the gripes o [...] Death. The Man of Earth may turn into Earth; but the Man of heave [...] takes his flight alwaies into heaven. That Man I say, fickle and incon­stant, kneaded and shap't from dirt, with the water of his own tears may resolve, into the same matter: Bu [...] this stable and constant Man, crea­ted [Page 53]by an omnipotent hand, re­maines uncessantly the same, as in­capable of alteration.

Rouze then your selves from sleep great Princes, He that would alwaies muse of Eternitie, would with out doubt, acquire its glory. not for to remember Death, but rather to tepresent unto your selves that you are immortall, since Death hath no kind of Domi­nion over your Soules, which make the greatest, as being the Noblest part of you,

Awake then great Monarchs, not for to muse of this necessity, which drawes you every hour to the tomb but rather to consider, that you may exempt your selves from it, if your Actions be but as sacred as your Majesties.

Great PRINCES Awake, Man is a hidden treasure, whose worth God onely knowes. and per­mit me once more to remembrance You that you are Men, I meane the Master-pieces of the workes of God; since this divine work-Master hath in conclusion metamorphosed him­selfe into his own work, My seathe­red pen can fly no higher. Man one­ly is the ornament of the world.

Those which have propounded that Man was a new world, have found out proportionable relations, [Page 54]and great correspondencies of the one to the other, for the Earth is found in the matter where of he is formed, the Water in his teares, the Aire in his sighs, the Fire in his Love the Sun in his reason, and the Hea­vens in his imaginations. But the Earth subsists and he vaniseth, O Sweet vanishment! since he is lost in himself, that he may be found in his Creator, but the Earth remaines firm, and his dust flies away: O happy flight, since eternity is its aime! The Water, though it fleets away, yet returnes the same way, and retorts upon it's owne paces: Man may be said to be happy in being subject to all mi­shaps. But man contrarily being setled up­on the declining stoop of his ruine, rouls insensibly without intervall to the grave, his prison, O dear ruine! O sweet captivity! since the soul re­covers her freedome, Death is a grace rather than a paine. and this Se­pulture serves but as a Furnace to purifie his body. The Aire, although, it corrupt, is not for all that destroied the corruption of man destroies its materiall. O glorious destruction, since it steads him as a fresh disposi­tion to render him immortall. The [Page 55] Fire, though it fairely devoure all things, is yet preserved still it selfe, to reduce all the world into Ashes: But Man perceives himself to be de­voured by Time, without ability ever to resist it. Oh beneficiall Im­porence, since he finds his Triumph in his overthrow! the Sun causeth alwaies admiration in its ordinary lustre, The feli­citie of man in this world consists in the nece­ssity of death. but Mans reason is impaired in the course of Times. Oh wel­come impairement, since Time ruines it but onely in an Anger, knowing that it goes about to esta­blish its Empire, beyond both time and Ages. In fine, the Heavens may seem to wax old in their wandring course: How hap­py is man in decay­ing ever­more since he thus at last ren­ders him­selfe ex­empt from all the miseries which pursue him. they yet appear the same still every day, as they were a thou­sand yeares agon: man from mo­ment to moment differs from him­selfe, and every instant disrobes him somewhat of his Being. Oh delight­full Inconstancy, since all his chan­ges make but so many lines, which abut at the Center of his stability.

How mysterious is the Fable of Narcissus; the Poets would per­swade us, that He became self-ena­moured, A long life is a heavy burthen to the soul, since it muct ron­der an account of all its moments. [Page 56]viewing Himself in a Fountain. But I am astonish't, how one should become amorous of a dunghill, though covered with Snow or Flowers. A face cannot be formed without Eyes, Nose, and Mouth, and yet every of these parts make but a body of Misery, and Corruption as being all full of it.

This Fable intimates us the repre­sentment of a fairer truth, since it invites a man to gaze himself in the Fountain of his tears, thus to be­come amorous of himself, If a man could con­template the beau­ties of his soul in innocence he would alwais be surprized with its love. If a man would of­ten view himself in the tears of his repen­tance, he would soon be­come a true self­lover. not for the lineaments of dust and ashes, whereof his countenance is shap's, but rather of those beauties and graces, wherewith his soul is or­namented, and all these together make but a rivelet, which leads him to the admiration of that source from whence they took their ori­ginall.

Oh how David was a wise Nar­cissus! then when he made of his Tears a Mirrour, so to become enamour'd of himself, for he was so self-loving in his repentance, that in this He spent both daies and [Page 57]nights, with unparalled delights. All the vain ob­jects of the world are so many fountains of Narcis­sus, wher­in prying may ship­wrack them­selves.

But if Narcissus ship-wrack't him­self in the fountain of his self-fond­nesse; This great King was upon point to Abysse himself in the Sea of his tears, for their liquid Crystalline shewd him to himself so beautifull, that he burned with desire thus to drown himself.

Ladies view your selves in this Mirrour, since you are ordinatily slaves to your own self love. You will be fair at what price soever; see here is the means. The Cry­stall Mirrour of your tears flatter not, contemplate therein the beauty of this grace, which God hath gi­ven you to bewail your vanities, This is the onely ornament which can render you admirable. Tears are the faith­fullest. Mirrours of peni­tents. All those deceitfull Chrystals, which you wear hang'd at your Girdles, shew you but fained beauties whereof Art is the workmistrisse and cause, rather then your visages: Would ye be Idolaters of the Earth which vou tread on? your bodies are but of Dirt; but if you will have them endeared, where shall I find tearms [Page 58]to expresse their Noysomnesse? If Ladies would ake as much care of their souls as of their bodys, they would not hazard the losse both of one and to'ther. Leave to Death his Conquest, and to the Worms their heritage, and search your selves in that originall of Immortality, from whence your souls proceed, that your actions may correspond to the Noblenesse of that cause. This is the most profitable counsell which I can give You: It is time to end this Cha­pter.

Great Kings I serve you this Morning instead of a page to awake You, and remembrance You that you are Men: I mean, Subjects to Death, and consequently destinated to serve as a Prey to the Worms, The me­ditation of our nothing­ness is a soveraign remedy against vanity. a Shittle-cock to the sinds, and matter for to form an object of horror and astonishment to you altogether. Muze a little, that your life passeth away as a Dream; think a little that your thoughts are vain; consider at the same time, Men are so near of blood together, hat all bear the same name. that all that is yours passes and flies away. You are great, but this necessity of Dying equals you to the least of your subjects. Your powers are dreadfull, but a very hand-worm [Page 59]mocks at them: your riches are without number, but the most wretched of men carry as much into the grave as you. In fine, may all the pleasures of Life make a party in Yours, yet they are but so many Roses, whose prickles onely remain to you at the instant of Death. The horror which environs You, chaseth away your great­nesse, Man hath nothing so proper to him, as the misery to which he is born. the weaknesse which posses­seth you, renders unprofitable your absolute powers, and onely then in that shirt, which rests upon your back, are comprised all the treasures of your Coffers. Are not these verities of importance enough to break your sleep?

I awake you then for to remem­brance you this last time, If the earth be our mother, heaven, is our father. that you are Men: but destined to possesse the place of those evill Angels, whose Pride concaved the Abysses of Hell: that you are Men, but much more considerable for the government of your reason, then your Kingdom. That you are Men, but capable to acquire all the fe­licities of Heaven, if those of the [Page 60]Earth are by you disdained. That you are Men, but called to the inhe­ritance of an eternall Glory, if you have no pretence to any of this world.

Lastly, Though the body and soul together make up the man, there is yet as much dif­ference between the one and the others, as between the scab­berd and the sword that you are Men: but the living images of an infinite and om­nipotent one. Clear streames of immortality remount then to your eternall source, fair rayes of a Sun without Eclipse rejoyn your selves then to the body of his celestiall light. Perfect patterns of the divi­nity, unite your selves then to it, as to the independant cause of your Being. Well may the Earth quake under your feet, your wils are Keys to the gates of its abysses: should the Water or'e-whelm again all, Although the puis­sances of the soul, work not but by the senses, the effects in this point are more noble then the cause. your hopes cannot be shipwrack' [...]. That the Aire fils all things may be, but your expectations admit of some vacuum. Though the Fire devour all things; the object of your hopes is above its flames, let the heavens pour down in a throng, their malignant influences here be­low: your souls are under covert from their affaults. Let the Sun. ex­haling [Page 61]vapours make thereof thun­ders for your ruine: Man needs fear nothing, being ale­vated a­bove all. you are under the protection of him who ejacu­lates their flashes; insomuch that instead of hurting you, all things do you homage. The Earth sup­ports you, the Water refresheth you; the Air imbreaths you, Man could not be more happy then he is, since God is his last felicity. To die is proper to man. the Fire warms you; the Sun lights you, and Heaven attends you; the An­gels honour you, the Devils fear you, Nature obeyes you, and God himself gives himself to you to ob­lidge you to the like reciprocation. Is not this to possesse with advance­ment all the felicities which you can hope? I dare you to wish more.

Awake thy self then Reader, and let thy conscience and thy miserie each in its turn serve thee as a Page every morning to put thee in mind, That thou art a Man, I mean a pourtraict animated with Death, rather then with Life, since thou canst do nothing but die, but in this continuall dying, amid the throng of evils and pains which are enjoyned to thy condition; Con­sider also that thou art created to [Page 62]possesse an Eternity both of life and happinesse, How happy is man, thus to be able to be as much as he desires. and that all these infi­nite good things are exposed as an aim of honour and glory to the addresses of thy will; for if thou wilt, Paradise shall be thine, though Hell gape at thee; Heaven shall be thy share, it's delights thy Successi­on, and God alone thy Soveraign felicity.

THE MIRROUR WHICH FLATTERS NOT.
CHAP. II.

ARrogant spirits, The hor­ror and [...] misery of the grave, mkes the hair stand on end to the proudest. ambitious Hearts be silent, and lend an ear to the publick, cry of this Herald, who with a voice animated with horrour, and af­fright, as well as with compassion and truth, proclaimeth aloud, in the view of heaven and earth, and in the presence of a world of peo­ple: That, this Great SALADINE, magnificent Conquer [...]ur of Asia, and Monarch of the whole East, carries away to the grave for fruit of his vistories but onely a shirt, which covers the mould of his body, and even this scarp of linnen too, Fortune leaves him, but to give the Worms.

Absolute Kings, puissant Soveraigns, what will you reply to these dis­courses, for to you they are addrest? I doubt well, This necessity of dying, serves for tempera­ment to the vani­ty of the greatest Monarchs of the world. that shame, confusion and astonishment, bar your speech, and that this sensible object of your proper miseries, affects you so with ruth, to force from your bo­somes a thousand sighs. The great­est Monarch of the earth becomes at a clap so little, as not to be found, no, not in his miseries, for the wind begins already to carry away the dust whereof he was formed. The powerfullest King of the world, is reduc'd to such a point of weaknesse, that he cannot resist the worms, after vanquishment and subjugation of entire Nations. The richest Prince of the East, takes a glory of all his treasures, to carry away but onely a shirt to his Se­pulchre. What can you answer to these verities?

This famous Saladine, the terrour of men, the valour of the earth, and the wonder of the world, e­steems himself so happy, and so advantaged by fortune, in respect [Page 67]she leaves him this old ragge to cover his corruption, Man cannot complain of the world, since at his death he gives him a shirt, which at his birth, his mother Nature refused him. that he makes this favour, to be published with sound of trumpet in the midst of his Army, that none might be in doubt on't: what beyond this can be your pretentions? I grant you may be seated like Xerxes, upon a Throne all of massie gold, canopied with a glistering firmament of pre­cious stones; and that on what side soever you turn your menacing, regards, you see nothing but ob­jects humbled before your Royall Majesties. You never seat your selves upon these Thrones of mag­nificence, but as it were to take leave of the assembly, All the [...] speeches of Men are but discourses of adieu and leave taking, since [...] every day he marches straight forward toward Death. continuing still to give your last God-bwyes, like a man who is upon point to depart continually, since he dies every moment. Insomuch, that all this Pompe which accompanies you, and which gives shadow to the luster wherewith you are environ­ed, vanishes away with you, and all those who are its admirers, and idolaters, run the same fortune, be­ing of the same nature.

Be it from me granted, that the report of your glory, admits no va­cuity, no more than the aire doe, and that your name is as we known as the Sun, and more redoubted than the thunder, This voice of re­nown is but as the sound of a Bell, To what purpose doth the renown of a Man make a noyse in the world the noyse ceaseth, the re­now [...] pas­seth, which redoubles a noyse to its own detriment, to advertise those that doubt on it; and this name so fa­mous, and dreadfull, finding no memory here below to the proof of ages, buries it self at last, in the no­thingnesse of its beginning.

Be it again, that all the Gold of the Indies can be valued but to a part of your Estate, and that all the world together; possesse lesse trea­sure than you alone; what advan­tage think you to bear away, more than the most miserable of the world that in this you should be vain? En­joyes not he the same Sun which lights you? The tran­quillity of the mind and the health of body, are the onely riches of the world hath not he the same usage of the Elements, whereof you make use? But if you have more than he, a gloriousnesse of apparell, and a thousand other superfluous things (which are altogether estran­ged [Page 69]to vertue, as being imaginary goods, whose appearance alone is the onely foundation) he may an­swer you with Seneca, that with whatsoever coverture a man hides the shame of his nakednesse, he shall passe for well-clothed among wise men. And to come to the point; a man hath alwaies enough where with to follow his way, and to finish his voyage. The surplus is but a burden of cares, which are metamorphosed into so many bryars, when Death would discharge us of them. Besides Riches consist but in opinion, though their treasures be palpable and sensible. A man is Rich, equall to that which he beleeves himself to be. And though he hath nothing, He is the most rich, who is most content. this grace wherewith he is treasured to find rest in his miseries, is above all the Gold of the world.

What differrnce think you there is betwixt the Rich and the poore? both the one and the other, are e­qually pilgrims and travellers, and goe alike to the same place. Then, if the rich passe through the fairer way, they reencounter when they dye, all the thorns of those roses [Page 70]which they have past upon. All mor­tals toge­ther maze a dance of blind men, who in dan­cing run to death without seeing the way they passe. There is no arrivall to the Haven of the grave, without being tempested soo­ner or later, in the storm of those mi­series, which accompany u [...]. And methinks it is a comfort, to suffer in good time those evils, which we cannot avoid.

Rich-ones, how miserable doe I hold you, if the goods of the earth be your onely treasures I Rich-ones how unhappy are you, if your feli­cities be but of Gold, and Silver! Rich-ones, The trea­sure of good workes onely en­riches us eternally. how you compell my pity of your greatnesses, if you have no other titles than those of your Lord-ships! Rich-ones how fright­full onely at the houre of Death are your names, since the misery, wherein you are born, accompa­nyes you in the sepulchre.

True it is, that the Ayr of the re­gion where you dwell, may be very temperate, the seasons of it fair, and the lands fertile: but you consider not, that while you live, you often sigh back the air which you receive; that this sweet time, which smiles on you, entraines you in flying to the [Page 71]season of teares, and that very soon the dung-hill of your bodies shal perhaps render the lands yet more fertile. The con­tent of ri­ches is like an o­dor serous fume, but [...] passes, and so doth their enjoyment also, and there is all.

The Rich Men of the world have done nought but passe away with the ages, that gave them birth: you are born in this, and this very same goes away, and leads you with it, and all the rest of Men, without skilling what you are, or in what fashion you are vested, well may you possesse an infinite number of trea­sures; you must alwaies trot, and rise as soon in the morning as others: but if you play the slugs, and sleep too long, It is strange, whether we shift place and seat or no weyet run incessant­ly to Death. Death comes in the end to awake you, and interrupt your re­pose with an eternall disquiet. What will you say to this? The fable of Midas comprehends in it important verities; Apollo grants him all that he demands, he satiates the appetite of his unmeasurable ambition by the vertue which he gives to his touch, to be able to turn all things into gold. See him now rich for a day, his hands are as new philosophers­stones, which make the grossest, and [Page 72]most impure metals, change both nature and price, To what purpose is it to be environed with ri­ches? they are a strange kind of good, Whereof one can enjoy the usage but for a mo­ment one­ly he sees himselfe enrounded in a moment with so great a number of treasures, that he begins to apprehend the enjoyment of those goods, which he desired with so much passion; and from fear he comes to astonishment: then, when prest with hunger, all the Viands which he touches with his hands, lips, or tongue, are metamor­phosed into Gold. O inseparable a­mazement; from a mortall griefe, caused by a semblable regreet, that he could not limit his ambition, but to the desire of his own ruine!

Rich-men, you are as so many Midasses, since with all your trea­sures, you never importune heaven for any other thing, but to increase their number, to which effect you destinate your cares, your watching and your labours. But make no more imploring vows; behold your selves at last heard. The glistering of your riches dazles me, your greatnesses and magnificences give you cheere­full tincture; yet let us see the reverse of the Medall.

After your so many strong wishes for Gold and Silver, The cove­tous grow poor in measure as he growes rich, since in encrea­sing his treasures, encreases the fa­mine of his insa­tiable a­varice & thus of what be possesseth he enjoies nothing. their treasure remaines to you for to satiate, at least in dying, the unruled appetite of the ambition of your life. Riches I say environ you on all sides, after your so passionate covetize of them. But in this last instant, their possessi­on is the saddest object, which can be presented to your thoughts. And notwithstanding 'tis the onely nou­rishment which rests to you, amid the hunger which torments you un­cessantly, as if for punishment of part of your crimes, heaven did permit, that the instruments of your pleasure should also be the same of your pu­nishments, considering the great­nesse of your miseries, A Man carries away no­thing with him at his death, but either a regreet or else a satisfacti­on of an evill or a good life. by that of your unprofitable treasures: for after all you must die, and though you carry with you this desire, to bear away with you your riches into the tomb, they remain in your coffers, for to serve as witnesses to your heirs of the vanity of their enjoyment.

The Silke-wormes, which have so much trouble to spin out their mouths their little golden threads, [Page 74]think to stablish to themselves a shelter of honour, to the proof of all sorts of atteints, and on the contra­ry, they warp the web of their own ruin. Just so is it with the Rich ones of the world, who by an ingenious industry, To what effect is it to seek repose in this world it is ne­ver to be found but in God. employ all their assaies, to lay solide foundations here below of an immortall life, and yet all their actions cannot but terminate in an end contrary to their designes; since they search Eternity in the circles of Ages, alwaies in revoluti­on, and repose in the perpetuall in­stability of all worldly things. Inso­much, that they trouble themselves to suffer much, and all their cares and paines, are but as fresh sowings of See the ambiguity of the French word Souties, in the first Chapter. Marigolds, which dying in their gardens, respring in their hearts, there to die never. Behold the end of their journey-work.

Treasures, to what effect serve you me, if I must enter all naked into the grave? Pleasures, what becomes of your sweets, if my last sighs are but bitternesse? Grandeurs of this life, in what stéad you meif you cannot ex­empt me from the miseries of death?

LORD, I am rich enough in that I serve for an object of pity to thy adorable Providence, whose o're liberall boundry furnishes me for all my daies nourishment e­nough to passe them, what can I wish more? on what side somever I take my way to go the course of Death, Heaven is an ob­ject of consolati­on to the most mi­serable. I can never loose from view the heavens, which are the Gates of thy Palace. Insomuch, as if any thing fail me, I have but to strike there with my regards, thou art alwaies upon a ready watch, to succour the miserable. Supply me then, O LORD, if it please thee, with thy ordinary charities, and since that hope dies after me, I will rather cease to be, then to hope in thee. These are the strongest resolutions of my soul.

We read of the children of Israel, We beg of God every day new fa­vours and every day we ren­der our selves un­thankfully for those we have received. that having received of God an infinity of riches, at their coming out of the red Sea, by the wrack of their enemies, they made of their treasures, Idols, and joyning in this sort Idolatrie to Ingratitude, they erected altars to their brutalitie, [Page 76]since under relief of a brute beast, they represented their God.

But leave we there the children of Israel, and speak of the Father [...] of BABYLON, I mean those wicked rich ones of the world, to whom God hath done so great fa­vours, in heaping them with so many goods. Are not they every day convicted of Idolatry, in their unacknowledgement, since the cof­fers of their treasures are the Idols of their temples? Are we worthily Christi­ans, when idolatry is more fa­miliar to us then to infidels since we make idols of al the ob­jests of our pas­sions? More beasts then brutes, in their voluntary depra­vednesse; they offer incense to their brutish passions; and no otherwise able, but to erect them secret altars in their souls, they there sacrifice everie hour a thousand sighs to a [...] unsatiable abition. Insomuch, that the God of heaven is the God of their dissimulation, and the Calf of Gold, the God of their beleef, and opinion.

Say we then boldly, that the objects of our passions are Golden Calves to us, since our hearts be­come their Idolaters. One here will sigh for love of honours, as well as [Page 77]for his Mistresse, with designe to hazard a thousand lives, and as many souls, for the conquest of their vain felicities: and see here his ido­latry, making his God of these Chi­mera's of honour, which vanish away like a Dream, at the rouzing up of our reason.

Another there, What sol­ly is it, to seek repese in the world, which subsists onely in revolu­tion? will lose quite and clean, all the peace wherein he is of a quiet life, for to set up a rest purely imaginary in the amassement of treasures. And if heaven hearing his votes, with design to punish him, gives some favourable successe to his cares, and watchings, he be­comes an Idolater now indeed, an Idoloter of those goods, which as yet he adored but in hope, and renders himself miserable, sor ha­ving desired too ardently felicities, which onely bear the voice to be so, The goods of the earil are right evils, and at Death each one shall so experi­ment them. but their usage and possession may prove as dangerous upon the earth, as Rocks within the Sea.

One will have his heart wounded, and his Soul attained with a new trick of ambition, and as all his de­sires and thoughts are terminated [Page 78]to the objects of his designs, he is never in health, while the feaver of his passion is continuall. I leave you to consider of what ratiocination he can be capable, during the ma­lady of his spirit. All sorts of ways seem equally fair unto him, for to guide him unto the port whither he aspires, having no other aim but this to acquire, at what rate some­ever that good whereof he is in Quest; and of this Good, it is where­of he makes his Idoll, after a shame­full immolation of the best days of his Life, to the anxieties of its pos­session.

Another-will establish his repose in the turmoyle of the word, turning his spirit to all winds, to be under covert from the tempests of fortune. Blinde as he is, he follows this Goddesse with the hoodwinckt eyes. Wavering as he is, he aspires but after the savours of this incon­stant Deity, of which he is secretly an idolater, but if perchance she ele­vate him very high, there is no more hazard of his fall, the laws of this necessitie are inviolable, and [Page 79]one cannot avoid the rigour of them, if not avoiding their ser­vitude. Insomuch, that after he hath sneak't himself a long time a­mongst the grandeurs of the earth, he finds himself enlabirinthed in the miseries, wherein he is born with­out possessing anie thing in propri­tie, but the usance of a puffe of wind, which enters once again at last into his entrals, to force thence the last sigh. And thus he becomes the Vi­ctime of the Idoll of his passions, without purifying nevertheless from the sacrifice of his life the soyl of those offerings, which he hath made upon the altars of Vanity. Be­hold the sad issue of this Dedalean labyrinth, If the fruition of all the world to­gether were to be sold, it were not wort so much b trouble a to open s the mouth onely to [...] say, I will not buy it wherein so manie of the world take pleasure to intricate themselves in.

O how Rich is he, LORD, who hath thy love and fear for his trea­sure? O how happy is he, who hath for object of felicity the contempt of these things of the world! O how Contented is he, who thinks alwaies of eternall delights! To have ma­nie riches for a hundred years, is [Page 79]not this to possesse at the end of that term a Good, which is as good, as never to have been. Taste gree­dily the sweets of everie sort of prosperitie, during the raign of a long life; is it not readie to die by little and little for grief to abandon them since in flying away, they intrain us into the grave. To pant continually for joy in the presence of a thousand pleasures is it not to prepare in one's breast, the matter of as manie griefs? A wick­ed rich Man is much a­stonisht at his Death, to have his conscience void of good works, and his coffers ful of mony, since with all the gold of the world, he cannot purchase the grace of the least re­pentance. since everie con­tentment is a disposition to a kind of martyrdom, by the necessarie and infallible privation of its sweets, whereof while we taste on't, it me­naceth us. In fine, to have all things at wish, is it not to possesse vain businesses since the world has nothing else to offer us? The riches which Fortune gives and takes away again when she will, can never enrich a Man, it behooves him to seek his treasure in the mines of his conscience, so to be under co­vert from sin; for otherwise he runs the same hazard, as of the goods which he possesses, I mean [Page 80]in their decay, to loose himself with them. The prosperities of the earth, are once more fresh flowers of the garden, fair to the eye, and of good sent, but 'tis to much pur­pose to gather them, and make nose-gaies; in holding them one holds nothing, because their fragi­litie renders them so slipperie, that they 'scape both from our eies and hands, and though their slight be be slow, one day onely is all their durance. The pleasures of the world are of the same nature, I grant they may have some agreeablenesse to charm our senses, yet t' were too vain to vaunt of their possession, though one en joyes them, for so much as they slip a way, The ar­rivall of pleasures annunci­ates us alwaies their spe­edie de­parture. & vanish without cease from our eies, like the always flitting water trills. Their sway hath so short limits, that each moment may be the term on't. Solid contentments are onely found in heaven, and the onely means to relish them beyond all sweets, is continually to Muze on them, for having alwaies our spirit arrested upon meditation of an object so delicious, our thoughts [Page 82]draw thence by their vertue this e­fficacy, to ravish us with joy. I re­turn to my first proposition.

That the greatest Monarch of the world, The good or ill which we doe, accompa­nies us to the grave. after possession of all things to his wish, and having led a thou­sand times fortune her selfe in tri­umph, upon the territories of his Empire should in conclusion be ex­posed all naked in his Shirt, at the end of his carreere, to serve for a prey to the wormes, and a shittlecock to the winds, certes a man must needs be very insensible, not to be toucht with affright at these truth [...].

Great Kings, The mis­prizall of riches, is the onely treasure of life. if you have not other Mines of Gold more precious than those of the India's; you shall die as poor as you were born: and as tearer were the first witnesses of your mise­ry, sighs shall be the last of your po­verty, carrying with you this regreet into the grave, to have possessed all things, If we would acquire Heaven, we ought to have to pre­ [...]nce to Eatrh. and now to find your selves in estate of enjoying nothing.

Great Kings, if you have no other marks of soveraignty, but this of the large extent of your territories, the tribute which your subjects shall ren­der [Page 83]you at the end of the journall, shall be very little, since the long spaces of your Empire shall be boun­ded with sevenfoot.

Great Kings, if you have no other treasures than those of the rent of your Demeanes, all those goods are false, and the regreet of their priva­tion too true. But if you doubt of this yet, The rents of vertues demeanes are not subject to fortune. consult the dumb oracle of the Ashes of your Ancestours, and the truth will answer for them, that they never have had any thing more pro­per to them than misery, nothing more sensible than disasters, and that with all the riches which they have enjoyed during life, they have not been able to procure at the houre of Death, more than that peice of linnen, wherein they are inveloped.

Great Kings, True va­lour hath no other objest, but the con­quest of eternall things. if you have no other Philosopher-stone but this, the con­quest which your valour may make, all your greatnesse, and all your riches, shall be enclosed in the coffins, wherein you shall be buried. For, all that Fortune shall give you to day, death shall take from you to morrow, and the day after, one may count [Page 84]you in the rank of the most misera­ble. I will again change tone.

What a contagious malady in this age, wherein we are; is this passion of amassing treasures! All the world would be rich, as if Paradise were bought with ready money, If one knew the perill of being rich be would onely be in love with po­vertie. and that the commerce of our safety were a publick Banke, where the most cove­tous render themselves the most happy. Every one makes bravado of his acquists, and poyzeth his felici­ties to the ballance of his riches, be­ing never able to be otherwise con­tent, but in reference to the measure of what he is estated in.

There one will assume a pride to have ten thousand Acres of wood, whose revenue, We may call man a tree, whose root is-the im­mortall soule, and the fruits which it beares are of the same na­ture, ei­ther for glory or punish­ment. nourisheth his passi­ons, and entertaines his pleasures. Insomuch, that he considers not that these trees are laden but with the fruit of these world-miseries; and of all togethet he shall bear away, but the branch of one onely, which shall serve very soon for a Bier to his carkasse. See in what consists the pro­fit of his rents, after their account made.

Another will be rich onely in me­dows, and changing his hay into Gold which is but Earth, he fills therewith his coffers. But Foole, that he is, he thinks not that his life is a Medow his body the hay thereof and time the Mower, The world is a Me­dow, and all the objects which therein we ad­mire, are flowers, which fade eve­ry houre. who by his example makes publick traffick of the same merchandize, changing by little & little the hay of his body into Earth. And is not this to be very ingenious to cheat a mans selfe?

Anothers aime is onely to be rich in buildings, some the countrey, some the city, and assuming vanity from the number, as well as the magnificenee of his Pallaces, he be­leeves that they are so many San­ctuaries of proof, against the stroakes of fortune, or the thunders of heaven. What a folly is this, to esteem ones selfe happy, for having diverse cab­bins upon earth, to put himselfe under convert from the raine, and wind; during the short journey of life? The raine ceases, the wind is past, and life dies, and then the tem­pest of a thousand eternall anguishes comes to entertain him, without [Page 86]possibility of discovery, even from hope, one onely port of safety. To be onely rich then, in aedifices, is to be rich in castles of paper and cards, such as little children lodge their pety cares in.

To what purpose steads it us to be richly lodged, We must build up­on the un­shakeable foundati­ons of eternitie, if a man would be sheltered from all sorts of stormes. if every houre of the day may be that of our departure? Men trouble themselves to build houses of pleasure, but the pleasures fade away, and we also, and these houses remain for witnesses of our folly, and for sensible objects of sor­row, and griefe, in that cruell nece­ssity to which we are reduced to a­bandon them. It is to be considered that we are born to be travellers and Pilgrims & as such, are we constraind to march alwaies straight to the gis [...] of Death, Though we saythe Sun sets every night, yet it rests not: and so Man, though he lay him­selfe to sleep, rests not from hisvoyage to Earth. without ever resting, or be­ing able to find repose even in repose it selfe. To what then are all these magnificent Pallaces, when our one­ly retreat beats on to the grave? To what end are all this great number of structures, when we are all in the way, and point to end our voyage? O how well is he housed, that lodg­eth [Page 87]his hope in God, and laies the foundations of his habitation upon Eternity! A good conscience is the ri­chest house that one can have.

Another designes his treasures in numerous Shippings, traficking with all winds, in spight of stormes and tempests: but be it granted a perpe­tuall calm as heart could wish, and imagine we, (as himselfe does) that he shall fish with Fortunes nets, all the Pearles of the Ocean; what can he doe at the end with all his ventures? if he truck them away, he can gain but stuffe of the same price, if he sell them, he does but change white purified earth for yellow, which the Sun purifies as well within the mines what will he doe now with this new merchandize, or this his gold? be­hold him alwaies in trouble to dis­charge himself of so many burdens. If gold were potable, he might per­haps nourish himselfe therewith for a while; but as Midas could not do it in the fable, he will never bring it to passe in the verity: he must needs keep watch then day and night to the guard of his riches; and well [Page 88]may he keep sentinell, Death comes to rob him of them, since at his go­ing out of the world she takes them away from him. What appearance is there, that the treasures of the Sea should be able to make a man rich, since the possession of all the world together cannot doe it. The trea­sure of good workes, is eternall riches. A hundred thousand ships are but a hundred thousand shuttle-cockes for the wind and a hundred thousand objects of shipwrack. Suppose they arrive to the Port, the life of their Master is alwaies among rocks, for 'tis a kind of ship, which cannot arrive at other shore, but at the banke of the grave. And I leave you to consider what danger he may run, Our life is a Ship, which loosing from the Haven, to the cradle at the moment of our birth, ne­ver comes ashore a­gain, till it run a­ground upon the grave. if there the storm of his avaricious passion cast him. The sand-blind-sighted may foresee his ruine, and the most judi­cious will beleeve it infallible. Be­hold in fine a man rich to much purpose, that would have drain'd by his ambition, the bottomlesse depths of the Ocean, and now to find him­selfe in the end of his carreere, in the abysses of hell, having an Eternitie of evils for recompence of an age of [Page 89]anxieties, which he hath suffered during his life.

Lord, if I would be rich in wood, let it be in that of thy Crosse, & from henceforth let its fruits be my reve­nues, and my rents. If I would tra­ffick in meads; Let the meditation of the hay of my life, be my onely pro­fit. If I set my selfe to build houses, He which puts his trust in God, is the richest of the world, how poor soever he be. let it be rather for my soul than for my body, and in such sort, that my good workes may be the stones, & the purity of my conscience the foundation. And lastly, If I would travell the seas to goe to the conquest of their trea­sures: let my teares be the waves thereof, and my sighs the winds, and thy grace alone, the onely object of my riches.

Make me then rich, O LORD, if it please thee, by the onely mis­prise of all the treasures of the Earth, and teach this secret language to my heart, It is already sufficient enjoyment of rest and quiet to set up ones rest in God onely. never to speak but of thee in its desires, nor of other then thy self in its hopes, since of thee a­lone, and in thee onely lies the ful­nesse of its perfect felicity and sove­ [...]aign repose. Let us not rest our [Page 90]selves in so fair a way.

I cannot comprehend the design of these curious Spirits, who go seeking the Philosophers-stone in that Spitle, where an infinite num­ber of their companions are dead of regreet to have so ill imployed their time. They put all they have to the quest of that which never was, and burning with desire to acquire wealth, they reduce all their own into cinders, and their lungs also with vehement puffing, without gaining other recompence at the end of their labours, The love of God is the only Philoso­pher-stone, since by it a man may ac­quire e­ternal [...] treasures. but this, now to know their folly: but the Sun sets, the candle goes out, the bed of buriall is prepared, there must be their Enter at the Exit of so manie unprofitable pains. To what purpose serves it now, to know they are fools, having no more time to be wise.

What cruell Maladie of spirit is it to sacrifice both ones body and soul in and unluckie alymbick, for to nourish a vain ambition, whose irre­gular appetite can never be satisfi­ed? Is not this to take pleasure in [Page 91]kindling the fire which consumes us? to burn perpetually with desire of being rich in this world, An incli­nation to­ward the misprize of Earth, is a pre­sage of the get­ting of Heaven. and yet get nothing by it: And then to burn again eternally in hell, without pos­sibility to quench the ardour of those revenging flames: is not this to warp ones-self the web of a fate, the most miserable that ever was?

Produce we then of nothing the creation of this Philosopher-stone, and grant we it made at present to the hearts of the most ambitious. I am content that from the miracles of this Metamorphosis they make us see the marvels of a new gallery of silver, like to that which bare NERO to the Capitoll. I am con­tent that they make pendant at the point of a needle, as SEMIR A­MIS, the price of twentie mil­lions of gold. I am content that after the example of Atabi­li, King of Peru. The World is aptly compared to the Sea, since as the storms of this, so are the miseries of that, and like flitting billows ever rol­ling so are all the objects which we here ad­mire. Atabalipas, they pave their halls with Saphirs. I am pleas'd, that imitating Cyrus, they enround their gardens with perches of gold. I am content, that the Dryades of their fountains be composed of the same materiall, [Page 92]following the magnificences of Ce­sar. I am content that they erect with Pompey an Amphitheater all covered with plates of Gold. I am content they build a Palace of Ivo­ry, there to lodge another Melaus, or a Louvre of Christall to receive therein an other Drusus, and let (I am content still) this Louvre be ornamented with court-cupboards of Pearls equall to those of Scaurus, and with coffers of the same price as that of Darius. To what will all this come to in the end? What may be the reverse of all these medals? The scortching heat of Time, and the Suns-beams have melted this gallery of silver, its admirers are vanisht, and its proprietie. Even Rome it self hath run the like fate, and though it subsist yet, 'tis but onely in name, 'Tis a Rule without excepti­on, that all that it inclu­ded in the revolution of Time, is subject to change. its ruins mourn at this day the death of its glory. That so Precious Pendant of Semiramis could not be exempt from a kind of Death, though it were inanimate. I mean that in its insensibilitie, it hath received the attaints of this Vicissitude, which alters and de­stroies [Page 93]all things, since it now ap­peares no more to our eies. All those Saphir-paved halls are passed away, though Art had enchained them in beautifull Workemanships. They have had otherwise a glittering lu­stre, like the Sun; but this Planet jealous of them, hath refused in the end its clearenesse, so much as to their ruines; insomuch that they are vanished in obscurity. These gardens environed with rails of gold, have (like others) divers Spring-times, to renew their growth, but one Winter alone was enough to make them die. Those Dryades which enrich these fountains are fled upon their own water-trils, and scarce remains us their remembrance. That proud Amphitheater of Pompey could not en­ternize it self, but in the memorie of men, and yet we scarce know what they say, Meditate here a little, how oft the face of the Earth hath been varied since its first crea­tion. when they speak on't. That Ivorie Palace of Melaus goes for a fable in histories, being buried in the Abysses of non­entitie. That famous Louvre of Christall having been bustled a­gainst by Time is broken, and shi­vered [Page 94]into so manie peeces, There it is othing so certain in the world, as its un­certainty. that not so much as the verie dust on't subsist, but in the confus'd Idea of things, which have been other-while. All those high cup-boards of Pearl, Fui, & nihil am­plius. and all those coffers of great price have indeed had an ap­pearance like lightning, but the thunder-bolt of inconstancy hath reduc't them into ashes, and the memorie of them is preserv'd in ours, but as a dream, since in effect it is no more at all.

But if the precious wonders of past ages; have done nothing but passo away together, with their admirers and owners, is it not credible, that those covetous rich ones, did run the same fortune with all the treasures of their Philosopher-stone, and at the end of their carreere, what de­vice could they take but this very same of SALADINE, since of all their riches, there remaines them at their Death, but onely a poor Shirt, * I have been, saies this great Monarch and behold, here's all.

Why, Rich-ones of the World, do you trouble your selves so much, to [Page 95]establish your glory here below, for to perswade us at the end of the journall onely this, That you have been? An atome has the same ad­vantage, for this creating power, which we adore, after he had taken it out of the abysses of nothing, wherein you also were buried, made it to subsist in nature. Be it that you have been the greatest on Earth, Yet thus is it a blessed­nesse of our con­dition, thus to escape by little and little the miseries which are incident unto us. yet now the fair light of your fair daies, is extinguish'd for ever. The Sun of your glory is ccclips't, and in an eter­nall West. And that your fate which interloomed the web of your great­nesses, together with your lives, lies entomb'd with your Ashes, to shew us that these are the onely unhallow­ed reliques which your Ambition could leave us.

You have been then otherwhile the onely Minions of Fortune, like Demetrius, but he and you are now no more any thing, not so much as a handfull of Ashes; for lesse than with an Infinite power, 'twere im­possible to any, to reunite into a body, the parcels of the Dust, where­of your Carkasses were formed, be­hold [Page 96]in what consists at this day, the foundation of your past glorie.

You have bin then otherwhile the same as SALADINE the onely Monarch of the East, and have possest (as he) treasures without number, If vertue eternize not our memory, our life passeth away like the wind, without leaving any trace. and honours without parallel: But (as He) also you have done nothing else but passe away, and like him again you have not been able to hide your wretched­nesse, but under a Scarp of Linnen, whereof the Worms have repasted, to manifest you to all the World.

In fine, you have been other-while the wonders of our daies, but now you are the horrour of this present, for the onely thought o [...] the dung-heap of your Ashes po [...] ­sons my spirit, so delicate i'st, and [...] leave farther provocation to the in credulous, if they be willing to [...] stronger witnesses of it, but let [...] now leave persouall reflections, an [...] trouble we not the repose of Church­yardes.

I grant that you may be at th [...] instant that I speak unto you, so ri [...] and happie, that you cannot wi [...] more of Fortune, nor She able [...] [Page 97]offer you more: He which esteems himself rich and happy in this world, knows not the nature of world­ly happi­nesse and riches. Yet thus ought you to consider where you are, who you are, and what are the goods which you possesse. You are in the World, where all things flie away, and 'tis in this way of flying away, that you read these verities: my meaning is, you dwel upon the same earth, whereof you are formed, and consequently you lodge upon yo [...]r buriall-places, whose en­trances will be open at all mo­ments. To say whoyou are, I am a­shamed, in calling you by your proper names, for to remem­brance you your miseries: Cor­ruption conceaves you, Horrour infants you, Blood nourishes you, infection accompanies you in the Coffin. There is nothing so con­stantly present with us, as our miseries, since al­ways we are mise­rable e­nough at best. The treasures which you enjoy are but Chimeras of great­nesse and apparitions of glorie, whereof living you make ex­periment, and dying you perfect­ly know the truth on't.

To what end then can stead you your present felicities, since at present you scarce enjoy them [Page 98]at all? for even at this veric inst [...] another, which is but newly up­on passe, robs you of part of them, and even thus giving you hi [...] of the cosenage of his compani­ons, cheates you too, as well as they; and thus they do altoge­ther to your lives, as well as your contentments; in ravishing these, they intrain the others: then what remonstrance can you ex­hibit of esteeming your sel [...]es happy for past felicities, and which you have not enjoyed but in way of depart? And if this condition be agreeable unto you, still there is a necessitie of setting up your rest at the end of the carreere, and there it is, where I attend to contribute to your vain way­lings, as manie resentments o [...] Pitie. How much bet­ter it is to be so hap­py in fish­ing, as to angle for grace, in the tears of peni­tence? Take we another track without losing our selves.

How ingenious was that fa­mous Queen of Egypt, to deceive with good grace her Lover. S [...] caused underhand dead fishes to be ensnared to the hook of An­tonie, as often as the toy took his [Page 99]to go a fishing, to the end to make him some sport by those pleasant deceits. May we not say that Ambition doth the same? for when we cast our hooks into this vast Ocean of the vanities, of the world, we fish but Dead things without soul, whose acquirement countervailes not a moment of the Time, w ^ch we employ to attain it.

Had I all the goodliest fardles of the world laded on my back; I mean, had I acquir'd all the ho­nours, wherewith fortune can tickle an ambitious soul, should I thence become greater of body? my growing time is past, 'Tis to no purpose to be passio­rate for such goods as a man may loose, and the world can give no better. would my Spirit thence become more excellent? these objects are too weak to ennoble her Powers. Should I thence become more vertuous? Vertue looks for no sa­ [...]isfaction out of it self. Should I thence be more esteemed of the world? This is but the glorie of a wind, which doth but passe a­way. What happinesse what contentment, or what utilitie, would remain me then, that I [Page 110]might be at rest? A Man must not suffer himself thus to be fool'd All honours can be but a burden to an innocent soul, for so much as they are continuall objects o [...] vanitie, which stir up the passion and onely serve but for nourish­ment to them in their violences to hurrie them into all sorts o [...] extremities. And after all, the necessitie of dying, which makes an inseparable accident in our condition, gloomes the glittering of all this vain glorie, which envi­rons us. In the anguishes o [...] Death, a man dreams not of the grandeurs of his life, 'Tis an irkssome remem­brance of past hap­pinesse & being eve [...] and anon upon point to depart finds himself often afflicted m [...] with those good things which [...] possesseth, measuring alreadie the depth of the fall by the height [...] the place whither he is exalted.

Galba. He which found Fortune at [...] gate, found no naile to stay he wheele: But if Shee on the one [...] takes a pleasure to ruine Empire to destroy realmes, and to preci­pitate her favourites: Death on [...] [Page 101] other side pardons no body, alters the temperament of all sorts of humours, perverts the order of every kind of habitude, and not content yet to beat down all these great Colosses of Vanity, which would be taken for the worlds wonders, calls to the sharing of their ruine the elements, thus to bury their materials in their first abysses, where she hath designed the place of their entombment.

What can a Mau then find con­stant in the world, Al things passe a­way, and by their way tell us that we must do so too. where constan­cy doth no where reside? Time, Fortune, Death, our passions, and a thousand other stumbling blocks shall never speak oher language to us but of our miseries, and yet we will suffer our selves like A­LEXANDER to be voyc'd [...]mmortall. Our prosperities, our grandeurs, our very delights them­selves, shall tell us, as they passe, a word in our ear, that we ought not to trust them, and yet for all this, we will never sigh but after them. Be it then at last for very regreet, to have vented to the wind [Page 102]so many vain sighs, for Chimeras of sweets, whereof the remem­brance cannot be but full of bit­ternesse.

Vain honours of the world, No secu­rity of pleasure, to enjoy such things as may every moment be lost. tempt me no more: your allurements are powerfull, but too weak to van­quish me. I deride your wreaths of Laurell, there growes more on' [...] in my garden then you can give me. If you offer me esteem, and reputation among men, what should I doe with your presents? Time devoures every day the like of them; and yet more precious. I undervalue all such Good-things, as it can take away again from me.

Deceit full greatnesses of the Earth, cease to pursue me, you shall never catch me, your charms have given some hits to my heart, Worldly Greatne­sses are but like Masking [...] cloathes, which serve him and the other but for that time. but not to my soule, your sweets have touch my senses, but not my spirit; what have you to offer me, which can satisfie me? Time and Fortune lend you all the Scepters and Crownes which you borrow, and as you are not the owners, they take them [Page 103]away again when they will, and not when it pleaseth you. So then, I will have no Scepters for an hour nor no Crownes for a day. If I have desire to raigne, 'tis beyond Time; that I may thus be under shelter from the inconstancy of Ages. Trouble not your selves to follow me. This world is a masse of mire, upon which a man may make im­presse of all sorts of Characters, but not hinder Time to deface the draught at any time. Ambitious Spirits, fair leave have you to draw the Stell of your designes upon this ready prim'd cloth: Some few yeares wipe out all. Some ages carry away all, and the remembrance of your follies is onely immortall in your soules, by the eternall regreet which re­maines you of them.

SCIPIO made design to con­quer Carthage, and after he had cast the project thereof upon mould, he afterwards took the body of this shadow, and saw the effect of his desires: But may not one say, that the Trophies of his [Page 104]valour have been cast in rubbidg within that masse of dirt, whereof the world is composed, since all the marks thereof are effaced? Carthage it felfe though it never had life, could not avoid its death. Time hath buried it so deep under its own ruines, that we seek in vain the place of its Tomb. I leave you to ruminate, if its subduer were himself able to resist the assaults of this Tyrannie.

If ALEXANDER had sent his thoughts into heaven, there to seek a new world, as well as his desires on earth there to find one, he had not lost his time; but as he did amuze himself to engrave the history of his ambition and tri­umphs upon the same masse of clay, There is more glo­ry to de­spise the world, than to conquer it: for after its conquest, a man knower not what to doe with it. which he had conquered; he writ upon water, and all the characters on't are defaced. The Realms which he subdued, have lost some of them their names, & of this Triumpher there remaines us but the Idea as of a dream, since men are ready to require Security even of his Memory, for the won­ders [Page 105]which it preacheth to us of him

May we not then again justly a­vow, that of all the conditions, to which a man may be advanced without the aid of vertue, either by Nature or Fortune, there is none more infortunate, then to be to these a favorite, norany more miserable than to a Great-one? All those who en­gage themselvs to the service of fortune, are ill paid; and of this, every day gives us experience. This inconstant goddess hath a thousand favours to lend, but to give, none but haltars poysons, pomards and precipices. 'Tis a fine thing to see Hannibal begging his bread even in view of Scipio, after he had called in question the price of the worlds Empire-dome. Is it not an object worthy of compassion, to consider Nicias upon his knees before Gil­lippus, to beg his own and the A­thenians lives, after he had in a manner commanded the winds at Sea, and Fortune ashore, in a government soveraignly absolute, who will not have the same resen­tments of pity, reading the histo­ry of Crassus, then when by excesse of disaster he surviv'd both his glory and reputation, constrained [Page 106]to assist at the funerals of his owne renowne, All those who hound af­ter for­tune, are well plea­sed to be deceived, since her deceits are so wel knowne. and undergoe the hard conditions of his enemies, atten­ding death to free him from servi­tude? Will you have no regreet, to see enslaved under the tyranny of the Kings of Egypt, the great Agesilaus, whose valour was the onely wonder of his Time? What will you say to the deplorable Fate of Cumenes, to whom Fortune ha­ving offered so often Empires, gives him nothing in the end, but chaines, so to die in capti­vitie?

You see at what price Men have bought the favours of this Goddesse, when manie times the severity of a happy life produceth the storm of an unfortunate Death. You may judge also at the same time, of what Nature are these heights of honour, when of­ten the Greatest at Sun-rise, finds themselves at the end of the Day, the most miserable. And suppose Fortune meddle not with them, to what extremity of misery think you is a man reduc't at the [Page 107]hour of his departure? All his Grandeurs, though yet present, are but as past felicities, he en­joys no more the goods which he possesses, greess onely appertain to him in proper, and of what magnificence so'ere he is envi­roned, I wonder not if rich men be afraid of death, since to them it is more dreadfull then to any. this object shows him but the image of a funerall pomp, his bed already Emblemes the Se­pulcher, the Sheets his winding linnen, wherein he must be in­veloped. So that if he yet conceit himself Great, 'tis onely in mise­ry. Since all that he see [...], heares, touches, smells, and tasts, sensi­bly perswades him nothing else.

Give Resurrection in your thoughts, to great Alexander, and then again conceive him at last gaspe, and now consider in this deplorable estate, Fortune sells eve­ry day the gtory of the world to any that will, but none but fools are her chap­men. wherein he finds himself involv'd upon his funerall couch, to what can stead him all the grandeurs of his life past, they being also past with it. I grant that all the Earth be his: yet you see how the little load of that of his body weighs so [Page 108]heavy on his soul, that it is upon point to fall groveling under the burden. I grant that all the glo­rie of the world belongs to him in proper, he enjoys nothing but his miseries. I yeeld moreover, that all Mankinde may be his subjects: yet this absolute sove­raignty, is not exempt from the servitude of pain. Be it, that with the onely thunder of his voice he makes the Earth to tremble: yet he himself cannot hold from shaking at the noise of his own sighs. I grant in fine, that all the Kings of the world render him homage: yet he is still the tribu­tary of Death.

O grandeurs! since you flie away without cease, what are you but a little wind? and should I be an Idolater of a little tossed Ayre, Omnis motus tendit ad quietem. and which onely moves but to vanish to its repose?

O greatnesse! since you do but passe away, what name should I give you but that of a dream? A­las, why should I passe my life in your pursuite, still dreaming after you?

O worldly greatnesses, since you bid Adieu to all the world with­out being able to stay your selves one onely moment; Adieu then, your allurements have none for me, your sweets are bitter to my taste, and your pleasures afford me none. I cannot run after that which flies: I can have no love for things which passe away; worldly Greatne­sses are but chil­drens tri­fles, every wise man despises them. and fince the world hath nothing else, 'tis a long while that I have bidden adieu to it. It had promi­sed me much, and though it had given me nothing, yet cannot I reproach it, finding my self yet too rich by reason of its hardnesse. But I return to the point.

Men of the World would per­swade us, that it is impossible to find any quiet in it, to say, The onely means to be content is to settle the con­science in peace. a firm setling of Spirit, wherein a man may be content in his condition, without ever wishing any other thing. And for my part, I judge nothing to be more easie, if we leave to reason its absolute power. What impossibility can there be, to regulate a mans will to Gods? [Page 110]And what contradiction in't, to live upon earth of the pure bene­dictions of heaven? What greater riches can a man wish then this, to be able to undergo the De­crees of his Fate, without mur­muring and complaint? If Riches consisted onely in Gold, Dia­monds, Pearls, or such like things of like raritie, those which have not of them, might count them­selves miserable. But every man carries his treasure in his consci­ence. He which lives without just scandall, lives happily; and and who can complain of a hap­py life?

But if to have the hap of these felicities of this life, Riches are of use to human life, but not of ne­cessity, for with­out them a man may live content. a man judge presently, that he ought of ne­cecessity to have a great number of riches: This is to enslave him­self to his own opinion, abound­ing in his proper sense, and condemning reason: for being of the contrary part. I know well that a man is naturally swayed to love himself more then all things of the world, and that this [Page 111]love proceeds from the passion of our interest, seeking with much care and pain, all that may con­tribute to our contentments; and whereas Riches seem to be Nur­ses of them, this consequence is incident to be drawn, that with­out them is no contented living. But at first dash, When Reason reigns, the passions obey. it is necessary to distinguish this love into Natu­rall and Brutall, and believe, that with the illumination of reason, we may purifie the relishes of the first, even to the point of rendring them innocent, without depart­ing from our interests, and conse­quently the enjoyment of our pleasures, giving them for object, the establishment of our setled content, in misprision of all those things of the world, which may destroy it.

As for this brutish Love, which estranging us from God, sepa­rates us also from our selves; the passion of it becomes so strong by our weaknesse, that without a speciall grace we grow old in this malady of Spirit of contenting [Page 112]our Senses, rather then obeying our Reason, making a new God of the Treasures of the Earth. But in conclusion, these Gods abandon our bodies to the Worms, and our souls to the De­vils. And for all their riches, the greatest Great ones can onely purchase a glorious Sepulture. Is not this a great advantage, and a goodly consolation?

Maintain we boldly, He whose will sub­mits to Gods will, lives ever content. that a man may find quietnes of life in all sorts of conditions, with the onely rich­nesse of a tractable Soul, resign'd to take the time as it comes, & as God sends it, without ever argu­ing with his providence. There is no affliction, whereto our Soul can­not give us asswage. The Spi­rit of a Man will bear his infirmity. There is no ill whereto it self is not capable to furnish us a remedy. A man, how miserable somever, may find his contentment amidst his miseries, if he lives for his soul more then for his bodies behalf. God makes us to be born where he will, and of what Parents he pleases: if the poorness of our birth [Page 113]accompany us even to death, he hath so ordained it; what can else do but let him so do? Can he be accounted miserable, that obey's with good grace his so­veraigns decrees?

O, 'Tis a greater danger to be very rich, then viry poor: for riches often makes men lose their way, but po­verty keeps 'em in the straight path. how is it far more easie to undergo the burthen of much poverty then of great riches! For a man extreamly poor, is troubled with no thoughts more impor­tant, then onely how to find means to passe his life in the au­sterities whereto he is already habituated, without repining af­ter other fortune, as being e­stranged equally both from his knowledge and reach; in which respects, he may well be stil'd happy. But a man very rich, dreams of nothing but to eter­nize the continuance of his days (although his fancy be in vain) instead of letting them quietly slide away; insomuch, that being possest with no passion more then love of life, he thinks alwaies to live, and never to die. But Death comes ere he thinks on't, and [Page 114]taking from him all to his very shirt, Death cannot be said to deceive any body, for it is infallible, and yet the world complaint of it. constrains him to confesse, that riches are onely profitable by misprision, since by the contempt a man makes of them, he may become the richest of the world.

O what a sensible pleasure 'tis to be Rich, say worldly men al­waies! but I would fain know, in what consists this content­ment? what satisfaction can there be had to possesse much treasure, knowing what an infinite num­ber of our companions are re­duc'd to the last point of pover­ty? Some in Hospitals, where they he in straw, over whelmed with a thousand fresh griefs. O­thers at the corner of a street, where a piece of a Dung-hill serves them at once, both for bed and board. Some again in Dungeons, where horrour and afright, hunger and despair tyrannize equally over their un­fortunate spirits. And others in some Desert, to which ill fate has confined them, to make their ills remedilesse, as being far re­moved [Page 115]from all sorts of succours. How with the knowledge of these truths, There is no empti­nesse in nature, for mise­ries fill al a man shall be able to relish greedily the vain sweets of worldly riches, it must needs be for want of reason or pity, and consequently to be altogether bru­tish or insensible. I shall have (suppose) a hundred thousand crownes in rents, and all this re­venue shall serve but to nourish my body and its pleasures, with­out considering, that a hundred thousand poor soules sigh under the heavy burden of their mise­ries every Day: and yet men shall esteem me happy in being rich in this fate. O how dangerous are the treasures, which produce these feli­cities!

Is it possible, It is a brave ge­nerositie, to be sen­sible of othermens miseries. that the Great-ones of the world doe not thinke at all in the middle of their Feasts, of the extream poverty of an infinite number of persons, and that in themselves they do not reason se­cretly in this sort. What? in this instant that we satiate the appe­tite of our senses, with all that na­ture [Page 116]hath produced most delicious for their entertain; a million and many more poor soules, are redu­ced to this extremitie, as not to have one onely crumb of bread. And in this serious thought what relish can they find in their best­cook'd cates, and in their sweetest condiment? does not this impor­tant consideration, mingle a little bitternesse? But if their spirits estrange themselves from these meditations, and fasten to objects more agreeable. O how hard of di­gestion is the second service of their collation! He which cannot love his neighbour, hath no love for himselfe.

To speak ingenuously, every time when I consider in that condition exempt from want, wherein God hath given me birth, and where­in his goodnesse (which is no o­ther than himselfe) keeps me still alive. I say, when I consider the misery to which the greatest part of the world is reduced, I cannot be weary of blessing this adorable Providence, which grants me to see from the haven, the tempests [Page 117]wherein so many spirits are tossed which grace to me alone (me thinks) is all extraordinary to see my selfe under shelter, All in God is a­dorable, and all incom­prehensi­ble; we must then adore, & be silent. from so many evils, wherewith so many persons are afflicted. By what meanes could I deserve, before the Creation of all things, that this soveraigne Creator should designe me from the Abysses of nothing, to give me Being, and a being moreover of grace, making me to be born in a Golden age, in a Chri­stian Kingdome, and in a City of the Catholike Faith, for to be in­structed and brought up as I have been in the onely Religion, wherein a man may find his Sal­vation? and with all these bene­fits, moreover, to elevate me a­bove the temptations of poverty & misery.

Are not these most pure favours which would require of this Eter­nall ONE, (who hath bestowed them me) the tearm of an Eter­nity, that I might be able to ar­rive to some small condigne ac­knowledgment of them? The [Page 118]most miserable wretch of the world, wherein did he differ from me in way of merit of some por­tion of these favours, which he possesseth not; since that before time was; he and I were nothing at all, and yet from all eternitie God hath bestowed these things on me in precedencie, rather than on him? At least (say I) it did behoove me, that since the first moment, I was capable of reason; I had employed all those of my life past in the continuall meditati­on of so many, and so great bene­fits, whereof to reach the reason 'twere to find the bottoms of the Abysses of this infinite mercy, to which I remain infinitely indebt­ed? And comming to the point, ought not I in this preheminence of mine contribute all my power to the succour of him, who enjoy­eth not my happinesse, to the end, thus to deserve in a manner, The nea­rest way from Earth to He aven is by Cha­ritie. some partie of them under the favour of merits from this great God, who onely gives reward to those good actions, which he makes me do. [Page 119]Can I refuse to be charitable to him, who onely begs some good of me, but to render me worthy of that, which I have received from heaven? I shall have al things to my wish amidst my pleasures, when Death it selfe is dease to his plaints, in extremitie of his paines And shall not I give him some sort of consolation, either in good office, or in pity, being thereunto obliged by yet more powerfull reasons?

Great-ones of the World, Earthly greatnesse it the least gift of Heaven. you are more miserable then these miserable ones, even in the mid'st of your felicities, if the recite of their evils give you not some touch. You have riches more then they, but God hath given you these, but to cheer their poverty. As well also, though they now are yours, shall they take leave of you, at the Even of your depart, and if of them you carry any thing away, it shall be onely the interests of that which you have lent these Poor-ones.

Great worldly-ones, how is your [Page 120]sate worthy of compassion rather then Envy, if you have no other Paradise then your riches?

Grandees of the World, how soon will the source of your contentments dry up, if onely your treasures give it spring-head?

Great worldly-ones! He whose hopes are onely on the world, must needs at last de­spair. of how short endurance shall be your prospe­rities, though an Age should be limit to their course, since at the end of that tearm you must die eternally, and die in a pain al­waies living. Suggest to your selves often these importancies. Visit and turn over the leaf to read more of them.

When I consider the great number of Emperours, Kings, Princes, and Lords, which have governed the World, and the Battels which they have given for its conquests, since the mo­ment of its creation, I remain all amaz'd not able to find bound [...] nor measure in this amuzement. How many severall Masters may a man imagine then, that the [Page 121]World hath had? Hours, Days, Years, and Ages may well be diffe­rent, but the world is still the same. and how ma­ny times conquered, dividing it into divers Empires, Kingdoms, and Lordships? Well, yet the World hath still remained the same, and in the same place still: but its Emperours, Kings, Prin­ces, and Lords, are vanished a­way, one at the heels of other, and all their conquests have ser­ved them onely as matter of Passe-time, since all their com­bats & battels, have had no other price of Victory, but upon the same earth, where their glory and bodies remain together enterred.

O goodly childish sport, to amuze themselves about conquer­ing some little point within the limits, wherewith the Universe is bounded! Ask but Alexander what he hath done with the booties of his Conquest. When he had taken away all, he had yet nothing, and of himself now remains there nothing at all. Ambition, behold the reverse of thy Medall.

LORD, Preserve to me al­waies, [Page 122](if it please) this humour wherein I now find my self, Why should any love the world, which de­ceives all that trust in it? to misprize all the things of the world, and It too with passion. Give me a heart wavering and inconstant, to this end, that it may uncessantly change from all worldly Love, till it be subjected to the sweet Empire of thy Love. Render, render evermore my spirit unquiet, untill that it hath found its repose in thee alone, the foundations of such a rest are unremoveable. I will give for nothing all my pretentions on earth, for thereto pretend I no­thing at all. Heaven onely is my mark and aim. Now you shall see soon the end of the Chapter.

How was it possible that the glory of those brave Romans of sormer time, These wise worldly ones have had no other re­compence of their folly, but such a blast of Fames Trump. could any way ar­rive to that point (though they aimd at it) whereto the renown of Rome it self could never attain? What a folly was it, that they sought immortality amid'st this inconstancy of Ages, where Death onely was in his Kingdom, for [Page 123]they assisted every day, at the funerall of their renowned com­panions, and after they had seen their bodies reduced into ashes, they might with the same eye, more over, contemplate their shadows, I mean their statues, metamorphosed into dust, and all their reputation served but as a wind to bear them away into an infinity of Abysses, since as a Wind, being nothing else, it flies away with these heaps of ruin, so far both from the eye, and all memory, that in the end, there is no more thought on't.

In effect, all these great men of the World did see buried every moment the hope of this vain glory, whereof their ambition was alwaies labouring to make acquist; and yet not one of them for all this, flipt back; as if they took a pride in their vanities, and the folly of them were heredita­ry. Ambiti­on never elevates, but to give a greater fall. CAESAR had seen the death of Pompey, and with him all the glory of his renown, and Pompey, had seen buried in the tomb of [Page 124] Time, and Oblivion, the renown of that great Scipio, whose valour more redoubted then the thunder had made the Eearth tremble so oft. Scipio in his turn might have read the Epitaph, which despair, shame, and disaster had graven in letters of Gold upon the Se­pulture of Hannibal, and Han­nibal might have learn't to know by the unconstancy of the Age, wherein he liv'd, before he made experiment of them, the mis­fortunes, and miseries, which are inseparable to our condition. And yet notwithstanding, all of them stumbled one after other, upon one and the same Stumbling­stone.

I am not come into Persia, The rich­est of the world at last is found as poor as the poor­est com­panion. for the conquest of treasures, said Alexander to Parmenio: take thou all the riches, and leave me all the glory: but after good calcu­lation, neither of them both had any thing at all. These riches remained in the world still, to which they properly appertain­ed, and this vain-glory saw its [Page 125]lover die, without it self being seen. Insomuch that after so great conquests, the worms have con­quered this great Monarch, and as the dunghill of his ashes ha's no sort of correspondence with this so samous name of A­lexander, which otherwhile he bore, tis not to be said, what he hath been, seeing what he is now, I mean his present wretched­nesses efface every day the me­mory of his past greatnesses.

Ambitious spirits, though you should conquer a thousand worlds, as he did this one, you should not be a whit richer for all these conquests. The Earth is still as it was, it never changes nature. All her honours are not worth one tear of repentance: all its glory is not to be prized with one sigh of contrition. I grant that the noise of your renown may resound through the four corners of the Universe: That of SALADINE which went round it all, could not exempt him from the mishaps of life, nor [Page 126]miseries of Death. After he had encoffered all the riches of the East, yet finds he himself so poor for all that, hardly can he take along with him so much as a Shirt.

Embalm then the Air which you breath, with a thousand Odours, be Served in Plate of Gold, Lie in Ivory, Swim in Honours, and lastly, let all your actions glitter with magnificence; 'Tis the greatest horror of death, to render account of all the moments of life. the last mo­ment of your life shall be judge of all those, which have preceded it: then shall you be able at your Death, to tell me the worth of this vain glory, whereof you have been Idolaters, and after your Death, you shall resent the pains of an eternall regreet, having now no more opportunity to re­pent you to any effect.

Believe me, all is but Vanity, Honours, Glory, Riches, Praise, E­steem, Reputation, All this is but smoak during Life, and after Death, nothing at all. The Grands of the world have made a little more noyse then others by the [Page 127]way. But this Noyse is ceas'd, their light is extinguish't, their memory buried. And if men speak of them sometimes, the an­swer is returned with a shake of the head, intimating no more words of them, since such a Law of silence, Time hath imposed hereon. Seek your glory in God, and your Honour in the contempt of this earthy Honour, if you will enternize your renown, in the perpesuity of Ages. I have no more to say to you, after these truths.

THE MIRROUR WHICH FLATTERS NOT.
CHAP. III.

O How glorious is the Tri­umph over Death? O how brave is the Vistory over a Mans life! You see how this great Adri­an. Monarch triumphs to day over that proud Trium­pher Death, after the happy van­quishment of his passions. He enters into his Empire by the Port of his Tomb, thus to raign du­ring his life, like a man that dies every moment; he celebrates himself his own Funerals, and is led in Triumph to his Sepul­cher to learn to die generously. What a glory's this to over-awe That, which commands the whole [Page 131]world? what Courage is this, to assail and combate That, which none could ever yet resist? and what a power is it to tame That which never yet yielded? Echo her self hath not rebounds enow to resound aloud the wonders of this Victory.

This is not the Triumph of Alexander, when he made his entry into Babylon, mounted up­on a Chariot as rich as the Indies, and more glistering then the Sun.

In this we see no other riches, but the rich contempt, which ought to be made of them; no other lustre, but of Vertue.

This is not the Triumph of Caesar then, when be was drawn unto the Capitoll by forty Ele­phants, after he had won twenty four battels. In this we see nought else but a funerall pomp, but yet so glorious, that Death her self serves for a Trophy to it.

This is not the Triumph of Epaminondas, where the glorious lustre of the magnificence sham'd the splendour of the day, which [Page 132]yet lent its light to it. The mar­vels which appear'd in this here, seem'd as celebrating in black the Exequies of all the other braveries of the world, since nothing can be seen more admi­rable then this.

This is not the Triumph of Aurelian where all the graces are led captive with Zenobia. To tri­umph o­ver vice, is the no­blest Trophie. In this are to be seen no other captives but the world, and all its vanities, and their defeat is the richest Crown of the Victor.

This is not the Triumph of that pompous Queen of Egypt entring into Cilicia, where she rays'd admiration to her self in a Galley of unutrerable value, but in this we contemplate the more then human industry of a Pilote, who from the mid'st of the storms and tempest of the world, recovers happily to the Port, the ship of his life, though yet but in the way to approach to it.

In fine, this is not the Triumph of Sesostris, whose stately Cha­riot [Page 133]four Kings drew. Passions are the onely slaves of this, and Death being here vanquisht, this honour remains immortall, and the name of the Triumpher.

Say we then once again, All the glory of men van­isheth a­way with them. O how glorious a Triumph is this, over Death! O how brave is the vi­ctory over our selves! and the onely means thus to vanquish a mans­self, is to bury his ambition before his body be ensepulchred, prepa­ring neverthelesse the tomb of both; to the end, that the con­tinuall remembrances of Death, may serve for temperament and moderation to the delights of life.

We read of Paulus Aemilius, that returning to Rome laden with wreaths of Laurell, after the fa­mous victory over the Persians; he made his entrance of triumph with so great pomp and magni­ficence, that the Sun seemed to rouz it self many times, as if upon design to contemplate these won­ders.

Pompy desirous to expose to the [Page 134]view of day, all the magnificent presents, which Fortune had gi­ven him in his last conquests, en­tred now the third time in Tri­umph into the City of Rome, where the noise of his valour made as many Idolaters, as ad­mirers, gaining hearts, and now conquering soules, as well as be­fore Realms and Provinces: But it seems, that the glory, which ac­companied him in this action had this defect, not to be sufficiently worthily known, even of those that were witnesles of it, as sur­passing by much, all that they could possibly expresse of it.

There was seen advanced be­fore his charriot, Vanitie! is a dan­gerous e­nemy, it flatters, onely to surprize. in ostentation, a Checker-worke composed of two sorts of precious stones, whose beauty set them beyond all price: But yet (me thinks) their spark­ling might have in good time been a light to him, if by a feeling of fore-sight, touching the incon­stancie of his fortune, he had cau­sed to have been graven thereon the history of his mishaps. There [Page 135]was admired in sequell; a Statue of the Moon, all of Gold, in form of a Crescent, and I am astonisht, that this Image of change and Vicissitude, made him not foresee the deturning of the Wheele, I mean the storme, that was to suc­ceed the calme of his happinesse. He caused moreover to be carri­ed before him a great number of Vessels of Gold, never thinking that Death might soon replenish some part of them with his ashes. There was seen to follow a moun­tain all of Gold, upon which were all sorts of animals, and many Trees of the same matter, and this mountaine was enrounded with a Vine, whose golden glit­tering dazled the eies of all that considered its wonders. This proud Triumpher was the Orpheus which to the Lyrick sound of his renown, Ambiti­on is an incurable disease of the soule, if in good time it be nor lookt too. attracted this mountaine, these Animals, these Trees, this Vine. But as Orpheus, so him also, For­tune destinated a Prey to the fury of Bacchinals, I mean the Eunuchs which put him to Death. Three [Page 136]Statues of gold, first Jupiters, then Mars, and then of Pallas, came after. These were his Gods and his Goddesse: what succours could he expect from these Deities, which had no subsistence, but in statue, and the copy of whose por­traict had no principall? There was had in admiration moreover, thirty garlands all of gold, A man had need to have an excel­lent me­morie, not to forget himselfe among his ho­nours. and Pearles: but these Crownes were too weighty for his head, from whence it came to passe, that he tell under the burden. A golden Chappell followed after, dedica­ted to the Muses, upon which was a great Horologe of the same ma­terials. And as the Index still tur­ned, ought not he to have consi­dered, that the houre of his tri­umphing began to passe away, and that of his overthrow would presently sound, being sequell to the Lawes of that vicissitude, to which Face hath subjected all things? His statue of gold enricht with diamonds, and pearls where­of nor he himselfe, nor he that enwrought them, knew the value [Page 137]followed in its course, and in fine, this his shadow, was more happy than the true body, as having never been scuffled with, but by time, and the other was vanquisht with miserie. Then appeared the great Pompey, seated upon a throne where he and Fortune seemed to give lawes to the whole world, [...]or his triumphall Charriot was [...]o richly glorious, so magnificent [...]n rarities, so splendide in new, and ne're-before-seen wonders, that a ravishment surprized mens [...]pirits, elevating them at once [...]rom admiration to extasie, not giving them leasure to make re­lection upon the present realties. Be it our constant meditati­on, of the incon­stancie to which all worldly things are subjected. But this Triumphall Charriot still [...]owled about, and though the Triumpher remained seated in his place, yet his Fortune turned about likewise. Insomuch that in going to the Capitoll, he ap­proacht by little and little to the [...]ank, where his life and happinesse were equally interred.

In fine, for the fulnesse of glory, These proper names of the con­quests, [Page 138]which he had made, were read in golden Characters: See Pli­ny's Nat. Historie, 7 Book, 26 Chap­ter. Pride is the passi­on of fooles: for what a sense-lessenesse is it, to be proud, ha­ving so many mi­series a­bout us, which are incident to mortal man. The Kingdome of Pontus, Armenia Cappadocia, Paphlagonia, Medea Colchis, the Hiberians, the Alba­nians, Syria, Cilicia, Mesopotamia, Phoenicia, Palestina, Judea, Arabia, and the Rovers of all the Seas. Who can be comparable to this proud Conquerour? and yet (I say it) having conquered and sub­jugated the greatest part of the Earth, Fate permits him not so much, as to expire upon it, and the Sea yet more treacherous, prepares him shipwrack in mid'st of the Port.

What resemblance, and what correspondence can there be now between this Triumph so sumptu­ous, so stately, and magnificent and that, whose presentation show you, How poor is the va­nity of man, ha­ving no other grounds but hu­mane frailtie? where lowlinesse, hum­lity and misery hold the first rank and possesse the highest places. Assuredly the difference is grea [...] but yet this inequalitie here is glo­rious, since it brings along with it the price of that vertue, where [Page 139]of Pompey despised the conquest. He in his Triumph, raised won­der to the beauty of those two great precious stones. But the Sepulchrall Marbles, which ap­peared in this of ADRIAN, were of another estimate, because pru­dence values them above all price, putting them to that employment, to which she had destinated them. Again, if he expose to view in vessels of gold, Mountaines, Ani­mals, Trees, Vines, Statues of the same matter; This Herse covered with black, which serves for orna­ment to this Funerall Pomp, con­taines yet much more treasure, since the contempt of all together [...] graven therein. He makes osten­tation of his statue of gold, enricht with Pearles: but our Monarch [...]akes as much glory without [...]hem, shewing in his own bare Pourtraict, the originall of his [...]iseries. Except the crown of vertue all other are sub­ject to change. That proud conquerour [...]ad a thousand Garlands and [...]olden Coronets, as a novell Trophy: But ours here crownes himselfe with Cypresse during his [Page 140]carreere of life, to merit those palmes which await him in the end. In fine, Pompey is the Idoll of heatts, and soules, and his Tri­umphall Chariot serves as an Al­tar, where he receives the vower and Sacrifices: But this-Prince, in­stead of causing Idolaters, during the sway of his Majestie, immo­lates himselfe up to the view of Heaven, and Earth, dying alrea­dy in his own Funerals, and suffe­ring himselfe to be as it were bu­ried by the continuall object which dwels with him of Death and his Tombe. But if Pompey lastly boast himselfe to have conquered an infinite number of Realmes, of all the world together: Adrian. Th [...] Man having never had worse ene­mies than his passions, hath sought no other glory but to overcome them, and in their defeat, a Ma [...] may well be stil'd the conquerour of Conquerours; for the Coro [...] wreaths of this Triumph, fear [...] not the Suns extremity, nor th [...] Ages inconstancie. We must passer farther.

Isidore, All the objests of Vanity are so many en­emies, against which we ought to be always in arms. and Tranquillus, do as­sure us, that to carry away the glory of a Triumph, it was ne­cessarily required to vanquish five thousand enemies, or gain five victories, as it is reported of Caesar. The consent of the Senate was also to be had. And the Con­querour was to be clothed in Purple, and Crowned with Lau­rell, holding a Scepter in his hand, and in this sort he was conducted to the Capitoll of Ju­piter, where some famous Orator made a Panegyricke of his prow­esse.

What better Allegory can we draw from these prophane truths, [...]hen this of the Victory, which we [...]ught to have of our five Senses as of five thousand enemies) whose defeat is necessary to our riumph. These are the five Vi­ [...]tories, which he must gain, that would acquire such Trophies, Still to wage war against our passi­ons, is the way to live in peace. whose glory is taken away, nei­ther by time nor Death.

This consent of the Senate is the Authority of our reason, which [Page 142]alone gives value and esteem to our actions, and 'tis of her that we may learn the means in obey­ing her to command over ou [...] passions, and by the conquest o [...] of this sway, triumph over our selves, which is the bravest Vi­ctory of the World.

These Scepters and Crownes are so many marks of Soveraign­ty, which remain us in propriety after subjection of so many fierce enemies, Heaven is the Capitoll, whither our good works conduct us in triumph, and where the voice of Angels serves for Ora­tours to publish the glory of our deeds, whose renown remains eternall.

These great Roman Captains which made love to vertue though without perfect know­ledge of it, 'Tis not all, to love Virtue, 'Tis the practice have sought for honour and glory in the overthrow of their enemies, but they could ne­ver find the shadows of solid Ho­nour, which thus they sought; from whence it came to passe, that they have fashioned to them­selves [Page 143]diverse Chimera's, for to repast their fancy too greedy of these cheating objects. Nor that there is no glory in a Conquest: but 'twas their ambition led them along in Triumph, amidst their own Triumphing.

What honour had Caesar born away, if he had joyned to his Trophies the slavery of Cleopatra? he had exposed to view a Ca­ptive Queen, who otherwhile had subjected him to her Love­dominion. He tri­umphs with an ill grace, [...]'rewhom his vice triumph. But if the fortune of the war had delivered him this Princesse, the fate of Love would have given, even himself into her hands. Insomuch, that the Death of Cleopatra immortalliz'd the renown of Caesar.

Asdrubal, according to Iustin, triumphed four times in Carthage, [...]ut this famous Theater of honour where glory it self had appeared [...]o often upon its Throne, serves [...]n conclusion for a Trophy to [...] Conquerour, insomuch, that it [...]uried at once the renown, and [...]emory, even of those that had [Page 144]presented themselves triumphant personages.

To day Memphis is all-Trium­phant, and on the morrow this proud City is reduced to slavery. To day the report of its glory makes the world shake, and on the morrow Travellers seek for it upon its own site, but finde it not. O goodly triumph! O fearfull overthrow! What continuall re­volution of the wheel! Marcellus shews himself at point of day up­on a magnificent Chariot of Tri­umph, and at Sun-set his glory and his life finish equally their car­reere. I mean, in the twinckling of an eye, Fortune takes away from him all those Laurel-wreaths which she had given him, and leaves him nothing at his death, It may be some con­solation in all our miseries, to see all else have their changes, as well as we. hut the regreet of having liv'd too-long.

Marius triump hed diverse times, but with what tempests was the Ship of his fortune entertained? Behold him now elevated upon the highest Throne of Honour but if you turn but your head [Page 145]you shall see him all naked in his shirt, half-buried under the mire of a common Sink, where the light of the day troubles him, not being able to endure the Sun, a witnesse of his misfortunes. Be­hold him first, I say, in all abun­dance of Greatnesse, and Sove­raignty, whereof the splendour dazles the world; but stay a little, and you shall hear pronounc'd the sentence of his death, being abandoned even of himself, ha­ving no more hope of safety.

How pompeous and celebrious was the Triumph of Lucullus? In which, he rais'd admiration to the magnificence of an hundred Gallies all-armed in the Prow; a thousand Chariots charged with Pikes, Halberts [...], and Corselets, whose shocking rumbles sounded so high, it frighted the admirers, though they celebrated the Fe­tivall of the Victorie. The number of Vessels of Gold, and other Ornaments of the Triumph, was without number. The Statue of Mithridates also of Gold, six [Page 146]foot high, with the Target all covered with precious Stones, serv'd anew to the Triumph. And of this Glory all the world together was an adorer; for the renown of the Conquerour had diverse times surrounded the Uni­verse.

But, what shame after so much glory! Great Men cannot commit little faults. What infamy after so great honour! Lucullus, victorious over so many Empires, is found in fine subjected under the domi­nion of his pleasures: his valour ha's made may slaves every, where, and yet his sottishnesse ren­ders hm in the end slave to his own passions. Insomuch, that af­ter he had exalted the splendour of Rome's beauty, by his brave actions, worthy-admiration, he again blouzeth it's lustre by his excessive deboshes, all black with vice. And now 'tis in vain to seek for Lucullus triumphant, since he is onely to be found over­thrown in reputation, in which he survives; thus rendring him­self doubly miserable.

We read of Epaminondas, Plutar­chu, in Apoph­theg. Reg. & Imp. Tr [...]lis sollicitus­ (que) circum ivit ur­bem. that returning victorious from the Louctrians, he received with re­greet the Present of the honour of Triumph, which the Senate had prepared him, apprehending e­vermore the deturne of the Wheele: so that the next morrow after the Festivall, he took on him mour­ning habit, to prepare himselfe betimes to suffer the change of his fortune.

It is remark't in the history of Demetrius that entring in Triumph into Athens, the people cast flow­ers, and an infinite number of golden Globes up and down the [...]treets, for a sign of a sumptuous [...]ongratulation. But what signe of Vicissitude and frailty, We are but as so many flowers planted by Nature in the garden of the Earth, & onely Death ga­thers us. could there [...]e more apparent, than this, which these flowers represented, [...]nce there is nothing more fraile a Nature than they? And these [...]alles shewed also by their round, [...]nd still rouling figure, that the Glory whereof they were the [...]mbole, and Hieroglyphick, could [...]ot be firm, and stable according [Page 148]as Truth it selfe soon after pub­lished by a sudden change, which rendred the fate of this Vi­ctor deplorable.

Consider a little upon the same subject, what revolutions hath the Ball of Empire made since the first Monarch, In like respect also we are as Bowles, for still we rowle along to the grave. let it fall at his Death is it not credible, that it hath [...]u [...] over diverse times the circuit of the Universe, and its figure in­structs us, that in the inconstancy which is proper to all created things, it will still rowle incessant­ly from one to another; without ever staying, since its Center is n [...] where at all? For so long as the world shall endure, a continual vicissitude will be its foundation And what meanes can there be [...] find a seat upon the earth, which may be sheltered from inconstan­cy which reigns soveraignly an [...] necessarily, as essentiall to a [...] whatsomever subsists here below I have not been far, behold me up [...] returne.

Tertullian assures us, that in t [...] Triumphs of the Romans, the [...] [Page 149]was a man waged to cry aloud to the Triumpher,

Plinie passeth farther yet, Worldly honours are so many temptati­om, to make us idelatrize ou [...] selvs. and tells us, that they were accusto­med to put an iron ring upon the Conquerours finger, in sign of ser­vitude, as if silently to intimate unto him, that he was besides him­selfe, by an excesse of vanity in this amplitude of honour, wherein he saw himselfe elevated above his companions. And upon the same subject, a great number of Historians do adde, that about the Charriot of the Triumpher, there were two men assigned, the one carrying a Deaths-head, the other the Image of a Peacock, and both continually crying, Vanitie is a dan­gerous enemie, since it betraies us while it seemes to oblige us, by the compla­ceace which it gives us, REMEMBER THAT THOU ART A MAN.

Certainly, vanity makes great Prize of us, then when we are ele­vated to some eminent degree of honour. And though our heads be but as of dead-mens, for we are dying uncessantly, and our mise­ries resemble us to those Images of [Page 150] Peacocks, which cannot bear uptrain but upon ugly Feet: Yet our blind­nesse is so great, and this Selfe-love so extream, that men are dazled with too much splendour and ama [...] becomes slave to himselfe by lo­ving himself with too much passion Greatness and prosperity never let themselves bepossest, but to take grea­ter possession of us. And as they have allurements to charme us, and sweets to ravish us; a Man had need implore the succour of Divine grace, if he would escape their pleasing tyrannie, and not thing but flight from them, or contempt, can give us weapons to resist them. Let us still return to the point.

We read of Judas Macchabens, that returning victorious from Ga­lilee, the people conducted him to the Temple, by a way all tapistred with flowers. Abraham after he had vanquished five Kings, was received in Triumph into Salem, now called Hierusalem.

Iudith received the honour of Triumph by the destruction of [Page 151] Holofernes, and all the people of Bethulia laden with Palme, to make her triumphall wreaths, cried out in her favour, Behold the glory of Hierusalem, and the joy of all her Nation.

Joseph shews himself in Triumph also upon the Chariot of Pharaoh, Gen. 41.41, 42. &c. who puts his royall Ring upon his finger, gives him his chain of gold and makes him publickly, to be acknowledged for the second per­son of Egypt.

David triumphs over Goliah, with a magnificence worthy of his victory, and the Virgins chant to his glory, Saul hath killed his thousands and David his ten thou­sands. 1. Sam. 18.7.

Mordecai also had his turne of Triumph, mounted upon the horse of Ahasuerus, and had his praises Heraldized by Haman, in these termes: Thus shall it be done to the man, Esther 6.1 [...]. whom the King will ho­nour

All these triumphs are worthy of admiration, I avouch it: but the Triumph over our selves, is worthy [Page 152]astonishment, as having to com­bate our passions, and conse quent­ly the winning'st enemies of the world, I say, the winning'st, or the pleasing'st, since they guard them­selves onely with such kind of weapons, whose hurtings make us often sigh rather for joy than grief.

Certainly, the Victory of reason over all the revolten faculties of our soules, merits alone the ho­nour of a Triumph; and what advantage soever a man hath over his enemies, he himselfe is yet still vanquisht, if his vices be not subdued. I pursue my designe.

They which have enthronized Vertue in their breasts, have laid their foundations upon the ruines of their passions, to testifie to us, that a Man cannot be vertuous with their predominancy. And after essay of diverse meanes upon designe to vanquish them, I have found none more powerfull, than this, The Meditation of Death, but if any doubt this, the tryall on it will be profitable for him.

How is it possible that a Man should let himselfe be mastered with the passion of Revenge, if he but muze of that Vengeance, which his sins may draw downe every moment upon his head, as being every houre in estate to dic? He shall hear rumble in his eares the thunder of Divine Justice, by the continuall murmur of his sighs, which advertize him of the approaches of Death. What cou­rage can he have to avenge him­selfe, being upon point himselfe to suffer the torment of eternall ven­geance?

Thou that art Vindicative, wilt thou then quench the ardour of thy Choller, feele thine own pulse, and consider that this pety slow feaver, wherewith thou art stor­med, leads thee by little and little into the grave.

Who can be Ambitious, It is more honour for a man to avenge himselfe [...] of his choler, than of his enemie. if mu­sing of Death, since he must quit all with his life? Let us ponder a while the fate of those arrogant spirits, which have mused them­selves to conquer the vain great­nesses [Page 154]of the Earth. What hath been in fine their share at the end of the carriere? They have had nothing but unprofitable regreets to have so ill emploied their time, finding themselves so poor with all their treasure, as if they had been born the wretched'st of the world. Thou Ambitious-one, wilt thou be cured of the disease of thy Passion, think each houre of the day, that that which thou now hearest strike, may be thy Last.

Who would sigh for prophane love, Mortall frailtie brings blemish to the fairest visages, and mightily takes from their opi­nion be­ing well conside­red. after these objects of dust, and ashes, if he often considered, that he himselfe is made of nothing else, and that this noysome and corruptive matter seeks nothing more, than abysses of the grave, there to hide within its loath som­nesse, in effect who would give his flesh a prey to pleasures, if he would consider that the wormes do in expectation, make their fees thereof already. The meditation of Death, serves for temperament to all sorts of delights. And if a Man be [Page 155]capable of love in this muze, it cannot be other than of his Salva­tion, since this object is eternall, but all others of the world perish­able. Infortunate Lovers search the solace of your immodest pa­ssions in the Anatomy of the subject whereof you are Idolarers. Be assistant at that dead view. Thinke of your own Death. Behold you are cured.

What wretched rich man would be so much in love with his trea­sures, He which considers of that wretchednesse which is adjunct to Death, easily mispriseth the riches of this life. if he would consider, that Death robs him from them every day, making him die continually, and that at the end of the term of his life, he carries along with him but the good, or the evill which he hath done, to be either recompenc'd or punish'd, but with a glory or a punishment, whereof Eternitie a­lone must terminate the continu­ance? Covetous Misers, the onely meanes for you to be so no more, is to celebrate your own funerals, by your Meditations, and often to consider the Account, not of your riches, but that which you must [Page 156]render one day of their fruition, since your Salvation depends thereon.

Who, in fine, would make a God of his Belly, seeking with passion all the delights, which may tickle the sense of Taste, it he represented to himself the mi­series of the body, which he takes so much pains to nourish, and the rigour of those inviolable decrees, which destinate him a prey to the worms, and the re­mains of their leavings to rot­tennesse? This consideration would be capable to make him loose both appetite, and desire, at the same time, to nourish so delicate­ly his carkasse, O souls all of flesh, repasting your selves with no­thing else, there is no invention to make you change nature, but this, to Hear your selves dye by the noise of your sighs, to See your selves dye by the wrinkles which furrow every day upon your vi­sages, and to Feele your selves dye by the beatings of your pulse, which indexeth this your hectic [Page 157]feaver, wherewith you are mor­tally attainted. This is a Proba­tum-remedy, the experience there­of is not dangerous.

May not a man then maintain with much reason, If a man should forget all things else but the mise­ries of his condition, this last were enough to exercise the vast­est me­mory. that the thought of Death alone is capable to cure our souls of the disease of their passions in doseing them both the means, and the Vertue to triumph over them. But if of this you desire an example, call to minde that, which I have pro­posed you in the beginning of the Chapter. How marvellous is it that a great Mornarch, who is able to maintain all manner of pleasure in his heart, with all the delights which acompany it; cele­brates himselfe his Funeralls in midst of his carriere of life, be­ginning to raign at the end of his raign, since that last object is al­ways present before his eyes. His Passions do assail him, but he vanquisheth them, they give him combate, but he leads them in triumph, and buryes them alto­gether in the Tomb, which he [Page 158]prepares himself. Consider a lit­tle the glory which is relucent in this action.

We read of the Kings of Ara­bia, that they triumphed upon Dromidaries, the Kings of Persia upon Elephants, of Croatia upon Bulls, the Romans upon horses, and yet 'tis remarkt of Nero, that be made himself be drawn in Triumph by four Hermaphro­dite Mares. Camillus by four white Horses. Mark Antony by four Lions, Aurelian by four Harts, Caesar by forty Elephants Heliogabulus by four Doggs.

Moreover, the Poets do assure us, that the triumphant Charriot of Baccus was drawn by Tygers, Neptunes by Fishes, of Thetis by Dolphins, Diana's, This Va­nity is a most con­tagious malady, and the onely pre­servative, is the re­mem­brance of Death. by Harts, of Venus by Doves, Iuno's by Pea­cocks.

All these objects of pomp, and magnificence, whereof hi­stories, and Fables would enter­nize the vanity, have for all that done nothing but passe away, and though a little remembrance [Page 159]of them stay with us; 'tis but the memoriall of a Chimera, and of a fantasme, since it preaches no­thing else to us, but the ruin, and non-entity, of that which hath been otherwhile. O how glorious a Triumph is it, These things rumina­ted on, will make us wise. when we our selves are encharioted over our passions now enslaved and sub­jected under the Empire of Reason? There is nothing so glo­rious, there 'is nothing so mag­nificent: For these Dromidaries, these Elephants, these Bulis, these Horses, these Hermaphrodite Mares, these Lyons, Stags, and Tygres afore-mentioned, are but brute beasts, which draw along in traine after them others as as bruitish as themselves, as suf­fering themselves to be transpor­ted with vanity, which onely reduceth them to this beastly­semblant vanity. Let us turn our face unto another side.

SA [...]LLIC [...]S in his EN­NEADS, actively peswades us to believe, that the Christians of Aethiopia do carry in their pro­cessions, [Page 160]great vessels full of ashes, Let the fire of Divine Love glow up­on our ashes. to emblematize apparently the frailty of our nature. But may not we say upon too much reason, that we are earthen vessels full of ashes; and what object more sensibly can be presented before our eyes, to shew us the truth of our miseries, then this of our selves? From Earth is our pro­duction, and the same serves us with nourishment, and for se­pulture also, as if ashamed the Sun should afford his light to out wretchednesse.

Make we then every day Fu­nerall processions, or at least visit in meditation every hour our Tomb, as the place where our bodies must take so long abode. Celebrate we our selves our own Funerals, The thought of our end is a soveraign remedy against our pas­sions. and invite to our exe­quies Ambition, Avarice, Pride, Choller, Luxury, Gluttony, and all the other Passions, where with we may be attainted, to the end to be Conquerours, even by our own proper defeat: For when a Man yeelds to the Meditation of [Page 161] Death, then reason commands sense; All obey to this apprehen­sion of frailty, and feeblenesse. Pleasures by little and little a­bandon us, the sweets of life seem sowr, and we can find no other quiet, but in the hope of that, which Truth it self hath promised us, after so much trou­ble.

Proud Spirits: be ye Spectators of this Funeral Pomp, which this great Monarch celebrates to day: He in­vites the Heaven and the Earth to his Exequies, since in their view he accompanies his pourtray­ed Skeleton unto the Tomb: his Body conducts thither its shadow, the originall the painted figure in attendance, till a Metamorphosis be made both of one and t'other. O glorious action! where the Li­ving takes a pride to appear Dead, as dying already by his own choice, as well as necessity. O glorious action! where the Trium­pher takes a glory in the appear­ance of his overthrow. O glorious action! where all the honour [Page 162]depends upon the contempt of the worlds honour. O glorious action! where Garlands of Cypresse dispute the preheminence with Laurell and Palme. O glorious action! where the Conquerour under-going the Laws of Nature, elevates himself above it, making his puissance to be admired, in his voluntary weaknesse. But I engage my self too far in't.

Herodotus remarks, that the Queen Semiramis made her Se­pulcher be erected upon the en­trances of the principall Gate of the Baby­lon. City, to the end, that this sad object of wretchednesse might serve for a Schoole-master to pas­sengers, to teach them the Art, to know themselves. O blessed Lesson is that, which the Tombs can af­foord us. O gracions Science is that, which they instruct us!

Strabo testifies, No better Schoole then the Church­yard. that the Per­sians made Pipes of dead-mens bones, which they used at Fe­stivals; to the end, that the sad harmony which issued thence, might temper the excesse of joy. [Page 163]But may not we say our Lungs to be to us such kind of Whistles, and that our dolorus sighs, which produce thence the harmony, are capable to moderate the violence of our contentments? A strange thing it is, that all the animated objects, which are affected by our senses, bear the image of Death, and yet we never think but of Life. Let our eyes but fair­ly turn their regards on all sides, All that lives, they may see dies; and what ha's no life, passes away before 'em. Our eares are tick­led with the sweet harmony of Voices, or Instruments, or Ta­bors, or Trumpets: But these sonnds are but Organs spirited with blasts, whose borrowed wind is lost, when the motion ceaseth; and there behold the Faile of their life. And for Instruments, The ob­jest of our no­thingnesse ha's a grace and allure­ment ca­pable to ravish the best spirits.'tis true they warble delightfully, yet their melody is often dolefull to the mind, when it considers that it proceeds from certain guts of dead beasts, which Art hath so contrived. Tabors being [Page 164]of the same nature, must also necessary produce the same ef­fects and Trumpets also do but sob in our ears, since their clangor is forced onely by the violence of a blast of sighs: Our Taste cannot satiate the hunger of its appetite, but with dead and breathlesse things: and all our other senses are subject to the same necessity. Insomuch, Death is ever pre­sent, and at hand, to our heart, but still ab­sent from our: me­mory. that Death environs us on all sides, though we be al­ways her own, and yet we never think on't, but in extremities: as if we were onely to learn at the last instant, that we are Mortall, and the hard experience which we make on't, were the onely Lesson, which by Nature is given us.

LORD render me capable, if it please thee, of this Science, which may effectually teach me the Art, to know my self; to the end, that this knowledge may represent to me alwayes the reality of my wretchednesse. Make me that I may see my self, may understand and feel my self to die every mo­ment: but so, that I may see it with [Page 165]the eyes of my heart, perceive it with the eyes of my soul, and feel it, by the sense of my conscience, therein to find my repose and safety. I know well, that Nature mourns uncessantly the death of its works, which are devoured every hourby time; and though no where thus can I see but Sadnesse it self, yet ne'rethelesse remain I insensible of the horrour of these objects; and though they be terrible, my spi­rit not is afrighted. Render me therefore, if it please thee, render me fearfull, and make me even to tremble in thinking of it, since the thought of it is so important, suffer me not to live a kind of Death, without meditating of that life which is exempt from Death, and whereof Eternity is the Limit. All my votes do termi­nate at this, and all my wishes, which I addresse to thy bounty, that I may one day see the ef­fects of my hopes. Let us ad­vance on our first proposition.

O how celebrious, and glorious is the Triumph over our selves! Let [Page 166]us leave the Laurels, A Mnn hath no greater enemy than him­selfe, and Palmes to those famous Conquerours of Sea and Land. Their Crownes are now metamorphosed into dust, their renowne into wind, them­selves into corruption, and for a surplusage of mishap after the con­quest of the whole World, they die in the miseries, whereunto they were born.

Cyrus could not bound his am­bition lesse, than to the vast ex­tention of the Universe; and yet a Tomyris simple woman onely prescrib'd him an allay, and placed his head in the range of his owne Trophies, Arthomides plaies Iupiter upon Earth, his pourtraict is the onely Idoll of his subjects: There is nothing more vain, than Vaine­glory: tis a body without soule or life, ha­ving no subsist­ance, but in imagi­nation. and yet one turne of the wheele casts him a sacrifice upon the same altar, which he had erected to his glory his life glistering with triumphs, but his death in such a ruine, clou­ded even the memory of his name All those stately Triumphers, of whom Antiquity trumpets-out wonders, have had no other re­compence of their labours, but [Page 167]this vain conceipt, that one day men would talke of them. But what felicity is it to be praised in this world, to which they are dead, and tormented in the other, wher­in they live even yet, and ever. I care very little, that men should talke of me after my Death, the esteem of men is of so small importance, that I would not buy it so deare, as with a wish onely. It behooves to search reputation in the puritie of the conscience, if a man would have the glory of it last for ever. The renown of a good man is much greater, than that of Caesar or A­lexander; for this hath no other foundation, than the soyle where it was sowed, and where the goodliest things display them­selves like flowers, and like flow­ers also have but a morning-flourish: But the other having for a firme stay Eternitie, The re­nown of a good man one­ly lasts alwaies. this object enno­bleth it to perfection, and thus desiring nothing else but heaven, it remaines to us at the end for recompence.

Blondus in his Treatise of Rome, [Page 168]in its triumphant glory, reckons up three hundred and twenty tri­umphs, all remarkable: but where are now these pompes, these mag­nificences, this infinite number of Trophies, and a thousand other ornaments, which ratled out their glory. Where are I say these con­querours? where are their slaves? their Idolaters, their admirers? These pomps have but flash't like lightning, and so passed away with the day, that accompanied their lustre. These mngnificences have been but seen; It is some comfort yet to a wise man though himselfe fade away, to see that all things else do so too. and so took their passage in flight. These trophies being onely bravadoes of the time, times inconstancy made them va­nish in an instant, and all those o­ther ornaments made but ostenta­tion of their continuall vicissitude, as being an inseparable accident of their nature. These vanquishers onely had the name on't, since Death led them away also in tri­umph, for all their triumphings. Their captives were rather slaves of the miseries whereunto they were born, than so by the absolute [Page 169]power of him who captived them. Their idolaters have been im­molated to the fury of years, which spare none; and their ad­mirerers have incurred the same fate with the subject, which they admired: Insomuch, that of all together, remains nothing but a faint remembrance, which as it waxeth old, is effac't by little and little out of memory, and scarcely will it subsist so much in the imagination, as to be in the end buried among fables. Since Eternity onely tri­umphs over Time, we should only strive to attain that. Behold here the Anatomy of the glory of the world, see the true portraict of its false Image. Con­template, meditate, you will avouch with me, that All is full of va­nity.

O how stately and magnifi­cent is the Triumph of Ages! what trophies may a man see at their ever-rowling Chariot! what Conquerours are not in the num­ber of their subjection? what soveraign power can resist their violence? what newer Triumph [...]en this of years? Who can give [Page 170]in account the number of their victories, and lesse the captives which Death serves in for their trophies? What newer triumph again evermore then of moneths, of days, of hours, & moments? For consider to your self, how many Kings, Princes, and Lords, die in one age in all the places of the world. All these vanquishers are vanquisht, and led in triumph to the grave. Every Year makes its conquest apart, gives battell, and carries away the victory over so many, A righte­ous man onely stands exempt [...] from the terror of death. and so many men, that hardly can one conceive so la­mentable a truth; Months, Days, Hours, and Moments, triumph in their courses; who can num­ber all those who died yesterday out-right, or are dead to day? Nay more, how many die at this hour, and at this very instant, that I entertain you with this dis­course. And all these defeats of mortality mark out to us the Tri­umphs, whereof time onely bears away the glory: But let us not pretend to share in't, 'tis not wor­thy [Page 171]our Ambition. Let Ages, A good consci­ence is ever un­der shelter from all the in­constant tempests of Age. Years, Moneths, Days, Hours, and Moments, triumph over us: Ver­tue always limits their puissance, and with it we may prescribe a bound to all these Triumphants. Fair leave may they take to rui­nate out-ward beauty, but that of innocence is of proof 'gainst all their strokes. Well may they impair outward graces; but those of heaven contemn their assaults. No doubt they may change the visage of all the marvels of Art, and miracles of Nature: Our Resolution is a rock in midst of all their storms, and may remain alwayes it self without under­going other rules then its own. So that thus we may lead Time it self along in triumph, if we live for nothing more then for Eternity.

I scorn the Tyranny of Ages, He which lives for eiernity, dreads no death. my aim is beyond 'em all. I despise the power of years, my Ambition raigns already out of their reach. Let Months, Days, Hours, and Moments, entrail all things a­long [Page 172]with them; I for my part, franchise their carreere, since my scope is much more farther yet. Let them triumph fully, my very defeat shall lead them in tri­umph at the end of their term, for the eternity whither I aspire, al­ready assigns out their tomb. Let us stay no longer in so cragged a way.

The Emperour Trajan caused his Sepulcher to be enfram'd in the midst of Rome's greatest place, as upon a stately Theater, on which his successors were to act their parts. Every man dies for himself; Serius aut citius metam propera­mus ad u­nam. sooner or later we must arrive to the place, to which un­cessantly we walk. Be it to morrow, or to day, at the end of the term all is equall. Nor old nor yong can mark the difference in their course, being arrived to the end of their carreere, for a hundred Ages when past, and one instant make but the same thing. 'Tis onely necessary to muze of our last gist in the grave, since thither we run till we are out of breath, from moment to moment.

The Trojans would have the burying-places of their Princes to be in the most remarkable places of the City, Places of buriall are sad Theaters, where every day are acted none but Tragedies to the end, that this sad object might serve as a fixt Memento to remembrance them, that the Tragedy, which had been acted by these yesterday, might again be represented by some other to day.

The Philosophers know that objects move the faculties, and that according to the quality of their impressions, they work upon the spirits, which contemplate them. Let us say now, that of all the direfull objects, which are presented to our eyes, there is none more powerfull over our apprehensions, then this of the Meditation of Death, and the hor­rour of the grave. The most couragious yeeld themselves to these assaults, the most valiant resist not their violences. All droop at approach of an enemy so redoubtable. But our defeat, it rightly carried, is more glori­ous then our Triumph. What [Page 174]successe is this, by being over­come, to bear away the crown of victory? such submission is a mark of Soveraignty.

Petrus Gregorius tells us of the Emperour Charls the fifth, If the meditati­on of death make not a sinner change his life, nothing will do it. that he caused his winding head-kercher to be carried before him for a standard in all his Armies, six years before he died, to the end, that the continuall object of his greatnesse, might not be too powerfull to tempt him to mis­conceive himself.

We do the same every day, without thinking on it, for our shirts are in a manner as so many winding sheets, which we carry always with us in all places where we go: But if this sad object be not enough to moderate our am­bition, and rebate our vanity, this voluntary is inseparable from pain, we must needs undergo the Law, 'Tis best to let Death be welcome. to us, since 'tis inevitable which we impose upon our selves.

LORD suffer me not, if it please thee, so far to mistake my self, as never to come to the point [Page 175]of meditating of this blessed De­cree, which thou hast imposed on me, to die one day. But illu­minate my spirit with the light of thy grace, which may stead me as a Pharos, to shew me the haven of the grave, where the ship of my life must put ashore. Make me also, if it please thee, to be ignorant of all things else, but the knowledge to live well, that I may also dye so; and thus, let the miseries which accompa­ny me, the mishaps that follow me, and all the other afflictions which thy goodnesse hath sub­jected me to, be the ordinay ob­jects of my thoughts, to the end, that I stray not from the way of my salvation. And now have I no other passion, but to see the effects of these prayers. Let us go to the end.

Those that have averred, that the world is to us an hostile Ar­my, composed of so many Soul­diers as there are objects in na­ture, capable to agitate the power of our passions, had very [Page 176]good reasons to defend the truth of their Thesis. These objects of it make war against us conti­nually, with all the assaults, in­ventions, and stratagems of a cruel enemy. Beauty, that assaults our souls, by the way of our eyes, with as much cunning as force; for at first view, it amuseth the Sence with admiration, by a slight of complacence, to which its sweets and allurements insensibly engage it. Afterwards the Sen­sus Communis, receiving the fair Species of the Idea of this fair ene­my, presents them to the Fancy, the Fancy to the Ʋnderstanding, which after it hath examined them according to its capacity, offers them to the Will, which by a natural apprehension finds it self obliged to love the subject from whence these amiables do pro­ceed. And now then it is the Cue of Reason, either to con­demn or authorize this love; but most often that becomes charm­ed it self, and we vanquish't. Not that Reason is not sufficient­ly [Page 177]strong and powerful, Our pas­sions are the flat­teringest enemies of the world, for they assault us with those semblant satisfa­ctions to us, as may seem most a­greeable; and thus they are most [...]o be feared. but whereas its force and vertue de­pends meerly upon grace, the contempt which ordinarily it makes of this, renders both alike unprofitable. This is that which obliges us in all these conflicts, to implore the help of heaven, ra­ther then to trust upon our strengths, and evermore to have a jealous eye to this our subtile enemy, which yet can never get other advantage upon us, then that which our wretchlesness suf­fers it to acquire.

The very fairest objects of the world, We can­not justly complain of our de­feat, since it is vo­luntary. may well inforce admi­ration, but not love, since love cannot be formed in our hearts, but by a powerful reflexion of the amiable qualities which are found in the subject, and in this it is necessary, that the understand­ing do operate, and the will con­sent. And this cannot be done without a free deliberation, which we absolutely authorize. Insomuch, that we cannot be o­vercome, if we rush not into it [Page 178]with desire of our own over­throw. And this not so neither, as if there were no trouble in the resistance; but rather it is a way to acquire much more glory in the victory over beateous objects, by the power of reason. which is more troublesome and difficult, then that which one gets over an enemy by force of armes. But the honour also surpasseth always the difficulty, The re­wards which God hath prepared after all our trou­bles, do infinitely surpass our de­serts. and what pain soever a man can possibly take, the prize and crown at last can admit of no comparison.

We must then bravely com­bate those proud beauties, which make publick profession to en­chain our hearts in irons, and put our souls upon the rack, and let them see, to their confusion, that the natural Magick of their charmes is to us a new Art of Lo­gick, which informes us to make Arguments, both to give for granted their power, and yet destroy their force. Fair leave have they to expose to view their blandishments, and graces: the [Page 179]light of Reason produceth a live­lyer Day, whose luster duskes the midday-splendour; for by the aid of this light a man may see, that all their quaintnesses are but dawbings, their delicacies but ar­tifice, and their attractives but onely composed by distillatories. And how can one Idolatrize them then, after meditational presentment of these verities? Behold the onely means to pre­scribe a rule over these Sove­raigns, who would impose it on the whole world. He com­mands best, that can obey reason. Not that this kind of combate requires force of courage, but rather of prudence, after first a misprise of them to fly away, and not to put the vi­ctory into hazard.

There are yet other enemies, which render themselves as re­doutable as the former, such are Ambition, riches, &c. what means is there to resist them, or to speak better, to vanquish them? they have no less allurements, and sweets, then the beauties afore­spoken of, and though the force [Page 180]of them be different, they cease not nevertheless, to excite and move the passions with all sort of violence.

Ambition ha's its particular de­licacies, and charmes, to ravish mens hearts, and soveraignize, over their souls; and I beleeve, that its Empire extends it self far beyond that of Love: for all the world is not capable of this latter passion, but of the other every man has a smatch from that de­fect, from our original, where with a man is tainted. Vanity is bred and born with us, but it is in our choise, whether to let it ever keep us com­pany. And this pas­sion is so much the more to be seared, as it is natural, and grow­ing up with us in measure as we grow our selves. The means to vanquish it, is to study to know ones-self, and thus plainly to see the frailty of our foundation.

What Ambition can a man have, that knowes the number of the greatest part of the miseries and mishaps which accompany his life! To what can he pre­tend, being not able to dispose of one onely moment? Nay, [Page 181]what can he wish for beyond himself, since for any long time together, It is the best My­stery of all hu­mane Trade, to learn to die daily, and in this Vo­cation they that are a­ctive ap­prentises, are Ma­sters. he has not strength e­nough to look down to his own feet? What high aim can he give his designs, since all his thoughts, his desires, and hopes, have their limited scope beyond his power, as depending upon the Future, whereof he cannot dis­pose. All lyes then in this, to know our selves, that is, to con­sider the certainties thus sensible, both of our defects & infirmities.

The Passion for Riches is al­wayes extreme, allowing no mo­derations in our hearts. It is a kind of hydropick malady, wherein thirst increaseth the more one drinks. A rich man of ten thousand pounds a year, wisheth thirty thousand, and if perhaps he see the effects of his desires, he soon conceives new ones, being never able to find con­tent in the enjoiment of the goods which he already possesseth.

That temperament of spirit, which Philosophy teacheth us to [Page 182]live content in, The true knowledg of Vertae, would soon insi­nuate its love. whatsomever con­dition a man is in, is a vertue so chast, that it suffers it self to be possest by no body in this age, wherein we are; not that a man cannot enjoy it, but it is to be sought in the purity of the con­science, rather then in the world, where it is unknown but onely barely in name.

This greedy passion of heap­ing treasure upon treasure, is so proper to our criminal and cor­rupt nature, that a man cannot guard himself from it, without a special help from Heaven. Since that robbery, which our first Pa­rents made in the terrestrial Para­dise, all our thoughts and hopes are so thievish, that they would rob the future of those goods, which we wish for then, making no esteem of those which wee already possess; our hearts sigh uncessantly with impatience, in at­tendance of a new acquist. What remedy now is there to cure so contagious a malady, whose in­sensible dolour makes us often [Page 183]contemn a remedy? Poverty of spirit is the greatest riches. what means I say, to triumph over a passion so strong and puissant, and to which our nature it self lends a hand? It is certainly an action of study, where reason with time must get the advantage. It is necessary to consider every time that this desire to amass riches, doth press and force us; what shall we do with all these trea­sures, after we have heapt them up? To leave them to our heirs, it is to make them rich with our own loss, which they too perhaps will laugh at, in the possession. It is, I say, to damn our selves for others profit, as if we had never lived for our selves. To carry them into the grave with us, is to have laboured for formes; what shall then become on them? We must of necessity leave 'embehind. It is the best pro­vidence in this world, to lay up treasures for the other. O cruel necessity! but yet most sweet and pleasing in its continual meditation, since it teaches us to under-value all that may be lost.

There are a great number of other Passions, which may master [Page 184]us with the same violence, accor­ding to the disposition of the pre­dominating humour which pos­sesseth us; such are Choler, Envy, Detraction, &c. but with the on­ly force of Reason, assisted with the usual grace, which concurs in all good actions, we may easi­ly be able to triumph over them.

We read of Pyrander King of Egypt, that being one day in choler against one of his slaves, he heard a clap of thunder so ter­rible, that he became suddenly quite appeased; as if he had had this thought, that the gods were angry with his fury, since they cla­moured louder then he. Let us have often the same thoughts, but with more truth and illumi­nation, every time that this blind passion would exercise over us its tyranny. My meaning is, that in the violentest heat of our cho­ler, we lend an ear of imagina­tion to the noise of the thunder of divine Justice, that thus we may be appeased at the same [Page 185]time, It is a good me­thed, first to fear God, then to love him. for what ground have we to be armed with fury, against our neighbours, when heaven is anima­ted with just vengeance against our selves?

The Passion of Envy as black as hell, and the most criminal of all together proceeds from an in­venomed mischievousness, to which nature contributes nothing at all. It is a devillish passion, Envious men are most their own enemies, and rob them­selves of their own quiet. whose fury and rage keeps the soul in fetters, and whose thievish jealousy robs away the goods of others in a hounding after them, and yet possesses none of them. What means is there then to vanquish this untameable vice? No other but this, to consider the Justice of that adorable Providence which imparts never its favours and graces, but with weight and measure. God cannot do but justly, since his Justice is no other then himself. Then if this man have 10000 pounds a year, and I but a 100, whereof can I complain? shall I doubt the reason from Reason it self? shall I accuse [Page 186]Justice of injustice? To take for granted that the Soveraign of all does what he will, and the Al­mighty what he pleaseth, I will alwayes relye to that ballance which God bears in his hand, and by which himself weigheth his actions to the poize of his will, and consequently to the measure of his Justice. What objection can be made against this truth?

Envious Maligner, The en­vious man is nover is health, tortured with the Hectick Feaver of this ever­burning passion. adore that, which thou canst not comprehend, and then instead of pining for the good, which thou enjoiest not; give thanks to Heaven for those which thou possessest, and how small soever they be, they are ever great enough to amuze thee all thy life-long to the study of thankful acknowledgment.

The Passion of Detraction is easily overcome by a fresh consi­deration of our own proper de­fects, for of all the Vices whereof we accuse one another, our hearts may convince us. If I call a man thief, am not I a greater thief then he, since against the Lawes of [Page 187]charity, I rob him of his honour by this injury? Suppose he be a false villain, yet in calling him by this name, I betray the se­cret, which his fault should in cha­rity impose upon me. But if he be nothing so; It is more impor­tant to learn to bold ones peace, then to hold up the talk. loe I my self am now a Traytor both at once of his reputation, and mine own conscience. There is no fault more unpardonable, then this of Obloquie, and in regard that for a just expiation of the crime, it is fitting that the tongue which did the hurt, should give the re­medy.

Thou Detractour, if thou canst not moderate thy passion, speak ill onely of thy self, Study thine own vices, Meditate thine own faults, and Accuse thy self of them before Heaven, which is already witness of thy crimes; and by this way of reproching, thou shalt obtain one day to be praised eternally. Behold me now at the end of the Chapter.

After all these particular reme­dies with which a man may learn [Page 188]easily to resist the tyranny of the Passions, He that often mu­zes of Death, will eve­ry day learn to live well. there is none more so­veraign then this of the Medita­tion of Death. All the rest abbut at this onely, as the most autho­rized, by daily experience.

Great Kings, suffer your selves to be led in triumph by your own thoughts to the grave, and by the way consider how your greatnesses, your riches, your delights, and all the magnifi­cence of your Court, follow you step by step, being brought a­long by the same fate, whose ab­solute Tyranny spares none. And since you may dye every hour, think at the least sometimes of this truth, to the end that that hour of your lifes dyall surprize you not. Much good do it you to nourish up your selves delicious­ly, yet all these Viands where with you repast your selves are empoiso­ned, as containing in them the Calidi­tas, Frigidi­tas, Humidi­tas, Siccitas. four contrary qualities, whose discord puts into skirmish your humours, and this battel is an in­fallible presage of your over­throw: [Page 189]well may you chase a­way Melancholy, by vertue of fresh pleasures, these very content­ments cheat away your life, for though you think of nothing but how to pass away the time, it passes ere you think on it, and Death comes before you have for­seen his arrival. Well may you cocker up your bodies, content your senses, and satiate the appe­tite of your desires: Pleasures make us grow old as well is griefs. the Taper of your life has its limited course, as well as that of the day. Every man pursues his carreere, accor­ding to the inviolable Lawes of Heaven, which hath assigned them out at once, both the way, Fata vo­lentem ducunt, nolen­tem tra­hunt. and the bounds. Suffer Time to lead you by the hand to the Tomb, for fear he hale you thither. But in dying muze at least of that Life, which never shall have end. All the felicities which you have possest, are vanished with the flower of your age, and all those which you will yet enjoy, will flye away with the rest. What will remain with you then, at [Page 190]the last instant of your life, Those pleasures cost very dear, which are worth nothing but re­pentance. but an irksome remembrance, to have tasted a thousand pleasures, which are past, and to have lost so many means of having had others which would have lasted eter­nally. Disinvest your selves then, for one hour every day, of all your greatness, and in the pre­sence of your own selves, mean­ing in review of all your miseries, and mishaps, which are proper to you, confess the truth of your nullity, and of your corruption; by this search you shall recover your selves, and by this confession thus shall you Triumph over your selves.

THE MIRROUR WHICH FLATTERS NOT.
CHAP. IV.

WHat a horrid spectacle is this? what a fright­ful object? See you not this great number of Dead Mens sculls, which heaped one upon another, make a mountain of horrour, and affright, whose baleful, and contagious umbrage, insensibly invites our bodies on to the grave. What a victory is this over these? but what an in­humanity? what a defeat? but what a butchery? May we not say, that sury and rage, have as­sassinated, even Natures-self, and that we now alone remain in the world, to celebrate its funerals by [Page 194]our lamentations, and regreets. Fathers, Mothers, Children, No­bles, Death is a severe Iudge, and par­dons none. and Plebeians, Kings, and their subjects are all pell-mell in this stacke of rotten wood, which Time like a covert, but burning fire consumes by little and little, not able to suffer, that ashes should be exalted above dust.

Proud Spirits, behold here the dreadful reverse of the medall. All these sad objects of mortality, and yet actively animated, with horrour and affright, by their own silence enjoin the same to you thus to amuze your Spirits in the contemplation of their deplorable ruines. If you be rich, See here those, who have possessed the greatest treasures of the world, are not now worth the marrow of their own bones, whereof the worms have already shared the spoil. If you be happy; The greatest savourities of for­tune, are reduced to the same noisomness as you see the filth that enrounds them. If you be va­liant, Hector, and Achilles, are [Page 195]thus here overcome, behold the shamefull marks of their over­throw. If you be men of Science, Here lyes the most learned of the world. 'Tis the Epitaph on their tomb, Read it.

I grant more-over, Death may be contemn­ed, but not a­voided. you may be the greatest Princes of the earth. An infinite number of your companions are buried un­der these corrupted ruins. Sup­pose in fine, that your Sove­raignty did extend it self over all the Empire of the world; A thou­sand and a thousand too of your semblables, have now nothing more their own, then that cor­ruption, which devours, even to the very bones.

Ambitious Heart, see here a Mirrour which flatters not, since it represents to the life the realty of thy miseries. Well maist thou perhaps pretend the conquest of the Universe; even those, who have born away that universall Crown, are now crowned, but with dust, and ashes.

Covetous wretch, behold the [Page 196]book of thy accounts, 'Tis no wonder the Miser ne're thinks of Death, his thoughts are onely taken up for this Life. calculate all that is due to thee, after pay­ment of thy debts: learn yet after all this, that thy soul is already morgaged to devils, thy body to worms, and thus, notwithstand­ing all thy treasures, there will not abide with thee one hair up­on thy head, one tooth in thy chops, nor one drop of blood in thy veynes, nor ne're so little marrow in thy bones, nay the very memory of thy being, would be extinguish't if thy crimes did not render it eternall, both here, and in the torments of hell.

Proud arrogant man, measure with thy bristled brows, Pride is but like the noone­flourish of a flows or, which at Sunset perisheth. the di­latation of the earth, Brave with thy menacing regards the hea­vens, and the stars. These mole­hills of rottennesse, whereof thy carkasse is shap't, prepare toward the tomb of thy vanity. Seneca Epist. Quotidie morimur, quotidie enim de­mitur aliqua par, vitae. These are the shades of Death insepa­rable from thy body, since it dies every hour. If thou elevate thy self to day, even to the clouds; to morrow thou shalt be debased [Page 197]to nothing. But if thou doubt of this truth, behold here a thou­sand witnesses which have made experience of it.

Luxurious Wanton, give thy body a prey to voluptuousnesse; deny nothing to thy pleasures, but yet consider the horrour, and dreadfunesse of that Metamorpho­sis, when thy flesh shall be turned to filth, and even that to worms, and those still to fresh ones, which shall devour even thy coffin, and so efface the very last marks of thy Sepulture.

How remarkable is the answer of Diogenes to Alexander? What art thou musing on, Cynicke, says this Monarch to him one day, having found him in a Charnell­yard, I amuze my self here (an­swers he) in search of thy father Philips bones among this great number, which thou see'st; but my labour is in vain, for one dif­fers not from another.

Great Kings, the discusse of this answer, may serve you now as a fresh instruction, to insinuate [Page 198]to you the knowledge of your selves. You walk in triumph to the Tomb, followed with all the train of your ordinary magnifi­cences: but by being arrived at this Port, blown thither with the continuall gale of your sighs, your pomp vanisheth away, your Royall Majesty abandons you, your greatnesse gives you the last A­dieu, and this your mortall fall equalls you now, to all that were below you. The dunghill of your body, hath no preeminence above others, unlesse it be in a worse degree of rottennesse, of being of a matter more disposed to corruption: But if you doubt of this truth, Corrup­rio opti­mi pes­sima behold and contemplate the de­plorable estate, to which are re­duced your semblables. Their bald scalps have now no other Crown, then the circle of horrour, which environs them; their dis­incarnated hands hold now no o­ther Scepter but a pile of worms, and all these wretchednesses to­gether, give them to see a strange change, from what they were in [Page 199]all the glories of their Court. The seri­out medi­tation of his mise­rable con­dition, 'tis capable to make any man wise. These palpable and sensible ob­jects, are witnesses not to be ex­cepted against. Let then your souls submit to the experiment of your senses.

But what a Prodigy of wonders here! do I not see, the great Army of Xerxes, reduced and metamorphosed into a hand full of dust? All that world of men in those days, which with its um­bragious body, covered a great part of the earth, shades not so much as a foot on't with its pre­sence. Be never weary of thinking of these important truths.

Seneca in the Tragedy of Her­cules brings in Alcmena, In Her­cule Oetaeo. Ecce, vix totam Hercules Comple­vit ur­nam, quam leve est pondus mihi, C [...] ­totus aether pondus incubuit leve? with grievous lamentation, bearing in an urn, the ashes of that great Monster-Tamer; And to this es­fect makes her speak; Behold, how easily I carry him in my hand, who bore the Heavens upon his shoulders. The sense of these words, ought to engage our spirits to a deep meditation upon the vanity of things, which seem to us most [Page 200]durable. All those great Mo­narchs who sought an immortali­ty in their victories and triumphs, have mist that, and found Death at last, the enjoyment of their Crownes and splendours, being buried in the same Tomb with their bodies. See here then a new subject of astonishment.

The Mathematicians give this Axiome, The warld is a Game at Chesse, where every of the Set ha [...]s his particular Name and Place de­signed: but the Game done, all the pieces are pellmel­l [...]d into the Bagg: and even so are all mortals into the grave. All lines drawn from the Center to the Circumference are equall, Kings and Princes, abate your haughtinesse, your subjects march fellow-like with you to the Center of the grave. If life gave you preheminence; Death gives them now equality. There is now no place of affecta­tion, or range to be disputed: the heap of your ashes, and their dust, make together but one hil­lock of mould whose infection is a horrour to me. I am now of hu­mour not to flatter you a whit.

We read of the Ethiopians, that they buried their Kings in a kind of Lestall: and I conceive there­of no other reason, then accord­ing [Page 201]to the nature of the subject, they joyned by this actiotion, the shadow and the substance, the effect with the cause, the stream with its source; for what other thing are we then a masse of mire, dried and bak'd by the fire of life; but scattered again and dis­solv'd by the Winter of Death; and in that last putrefaction, to which Death reduceth us, the filth of our bodies falls to the dirt of the earth, as to its center, for so being conceived incor­ruption, let us not think strange to be buried in rottennesse.

Earth, dust, and ashes, 'Tis well men hide them­selves af­ter death in the Earth, or the enclo­sure of Tombs, their sulth and noy­somnesse would else be too discovert. remain still the same, be it in a vessell of gold, or in a coffin of wood, or in a Mausolean Tomb of marble. Great Kings, well may you cover your wretchednesse, with a magnifi­cent Sepulcher, they will for all this not altar condition, the noy­somenesse of your bones is never without the abhorment, and pu­trefaction proper to them. And if (suppose) their masse be re­duced into dust, and the wind [Page 202]carry it away, the very wings of the wind are laden with rotten­nesse, and can scatter nothing else in a thousand places, where ere they fall. I will a little strag­gle out of the way without loosing my aim.

Fabius Paulus reports, that upon the Tomb of Isocrates, there was a Syren seated upon a Ram, and holding a Harp in her hand. And this gave to understand, This famons Orator charmed mens souls through their ears, by the sound of his admirable eloquence. But whereas no me­lodious air was heard from the mute Harp of this Syren, it was required of the Spectators, How un­sufferable is the va­nity of men, who even upon their Tombs, will have the dis­play of their vain­glory. to take for granted in imagination, the harmony of her sweet touches, as embleme of the sweetnesse of this great Orators voice: But Death imposeth silence on both, and thus remained they a sad sight, both in object, and mysteries con­tained under; since now of these passages remains no more but a weak remembrance, and whereof [Page 203]Time by little and little, effaceth even the Ideas.

Johannes Baptista Fontanus relates that upon the Sepulcher of Q. Mar­tius there was 'graven a Ram sup­ported upon the two fore-feet, & a Hare dead by its side. The Ram represented the generosity of this great Captain in all combats, and the dead Hare, his vanquisht ene­mies: But what honour now re­mains him after their defeat? This vanquisher of an infinite number of miserable wretches, is at the last overcome with his own mi­series. Though Triumphant in a thousand combats, one marble stone now contains all his trophies. and glory. O deplorable fate! to have but seven foot-earth, after conquest of the greatest part of the earth.

Plutarch assures us, that upon the Tomb of Alexander, there was represented in Emblem Asia, and Europe, appearing vanquisht, and in the chains of their capti­vity, with this mot, which served as a fresh Trophy, The victory of [Page 204]Alexander. O poor victory O sorry triumph! for where are now its Laurels, and Palms? This great Monarch conquered the whole world, but being never able to conquer his ambition, This in the end, hath taken away all the glory, which it made him acquire. Great Princes, advance then on to the conquest of the Universe, The mis­prise of the world is more glorious then all its ho­nour but I advertise you one thing, All those that are return­ed from the same action, have much repented themselvs, to have taken so great pains for so small a matter. Le jeu ne vant pas la chandelle The Game's not worth the Candle, as the Proverb. But if you love to Conquer, and triumph; your passions will fur­nish you with such subjects every hour. Let's once see the end of our carriere.

We read of Cyrus, that he caused to be engraven these words upon the stone of his Mo­nument, HERE LYES THE CONQƲEROƲR OF THE PERSIANS: But what excesse of mishap could [Page 205]have reduced so great a Mo­narch to such an excesse of wretchednesse, must it be said? Here Lyes, of one that lately stood so triumphant? Would he have men admire his past glory in view of that vault, where he was enterred? would he have men adore the magnificences of his Life upon the same Altar, where Death exhibits him as a victim? Is not this a vanity more worthy of compassion, than envy?

The History of the life of The­mistocles was to be read upon the marble of his Sepulcher, but 'twas forgotten, there to depaint also the story of his Death. Be­hold the high deeds of Themistocles, 'Tis but a poor sa­tisfaction to have for re­compence of so much pains, but the esten­tation of a glorious Sepul­cher. this was the inscription. But to us it may be of importance to consider, that although the wonders, which he had done, were onely graven upon the port of his Monument, yet for all that, they also made their entry into it, and followed the fate of their authour: so that now rests no­thing of Themistocles, but Name, [Page 206]for of all that he hath done, the wind hath carried away the glo­ry, and the small remembrance on't, which sticks by us, is but a pourtraict of vanity.

There was represented upon the Tomb of Joshua, the Sun with this inscription. Sun stand thou still upon Gibeon. Josh. 10.12. True it is, the Sun stood still in the mid'st of his carreere, to give full Tri­umph to this great Captain over his enemies: But after they were overthrown, this Planet jealous of his glory conducts him also to his grave, as not enduring to see any thing upon earth, as durable as it self. There is no course swister, then that of Life to Death. So true it is, that all things here flit away, with the swiftness of a Torrent; though their flight to us seem much more slow.

The Epitaph, which some Sit fides penes Autho­rem. writings report us of Adam, has not so much splendour and magnificence, as the others. He is Dead, sayes his Epitaph, speaking onely of him. O ex­cellent Epitaph! Men shall say [Page 207]no more of you one day, Great Kings. Well may you with Q. Martius come off victorious from all combats, and enter in triumph into Cities with Alexander. Well may you cause to be insculp't the History of your Acts, upon the marble of your Sepulchers, like as Themistocles; & well may you Sub­poena the Sun for a witness of the reality of your triumphs, like Joshuah: Yet for all this, men shall say no more of you, then was said of ADAM, HE IS DEAD. They are dead, and there is all.

The Epitaph of David compo­sed by some, from consequence of Scripture, is worthy remark: Here lyes the invincible Monarch, who in his child-hood overcame Bears, in his adolescency Lions, in his youth Gyants, and in his age him­self. Travellour envy not his repose, for thou art in the way to it thy self. These words are express in a neer regard to the sense of those, which are couched in Scripture upon this subject, and I [Page 208]thereto can add no more then this discourse of my astonishment, and rapture.

What! so great a Prince as David, favoured by heaven, and redoubted upon earth, and so endowed by Nature, shall he glympse out a little but like a flash of lightning, and pass away like a puffe of wind? where then shall a man find constancy and assurance? Incon­stancy is the onely founda­tion of created things. What can be the site and foundation of all these our new wonders of the world, whose beauty seems to contest for luster with the very Sun? O LORD, to me it is a most agreeable consolation, to see in my race to the tomb, how all things follow me. I am well apayd, that there is nothing here below durable, but thy Word alone, since this makes me hope for an Eter­nity, which shall never be subject to the inconstancy of times. Let all things LORD change with me, and thus I love this change for in rowling along, from time to time toward the grave, I still [Page 209]approach towards thee, and conse­quently to my soveraign repose, and last selicity. Let us follow our first traces.

The first Epitaph which was was put upon Tombes, was that of the fair Rachel, as is partly remark't from Scripture, and Borchardus assures us it was a Py­ramide, which Jacob erected, Gen. 35.20. sustained upon a dozen precious stones, with this inscrip­tion, HERE LYES BEAƲTY AND LOVE.

Ladies, let your sweetness and blandishments now change lan­guage, and let them tell us no more that you are fair, since Beauty is buried in the Tomb of the fair Rachel: But if you make bravado of your crisped hairs, whose glistering charms dazle the eyes, and captivate mens souls at once: Her bright locks dis­persed into a thousand golden wreaths, had the power to en­chain mens hearts, and yet her [Page 210]vertue was to despise this power. But for all this, Ladies, if you be fair to day, there is a to­morrow when you shall not. notwithstanding Nature was never able to exempt from rottenness this M [...]stris, or Master-piece of the works of her hands. Suppose that Majesty it self, has no better Mirrour then from the cleer reflections of your ivory fore-heads: Rachels was so perfect, that it is in vain to seek terms to express its, accurate­ness, and yet now it is nothing but ashes, if so much.

Let your Eyes (suppose) be more cleer and beatiful then the Sun, able to make a rape upon mens liberties, and enamourate the sternest hearts; those of Rachel were so admirable and bewitching, that she her self re­doubted their force and power. Looking her self in a Mirrour, All the tenures of bodily perfe­ctions are held of time, whose in­constancy steals a­way with them eve­ry mo­ment. her own eyes enflamed her, and of this pleasing heat, she appre­hended the influence, being her self even tempted to desire it: But for all this, those two spark­ling wonders, quickned with Natures sweetest, and most a­miable [Page 211]graces, are now no­thing but rottenness and corrup­tion.

Be your Cheeks half Lilyes, half Roses, your lips Carnation-Gilly-flowers, your teeth Orient Pearl, your bosome purest Ala­baster, and all these lovely parts enlivened with a spirit divine: fair Rachel possest all these perfe­ctions soveraignly, and more then ever you saw, or wisht, as elevated above your know­ledg. But (O mishap) she herself, in whom all these rare beauties were united, and assembled, is now no more ought at all; Every thing fades sooner in us, then vanity and sin. or if she be somewhat, it can be but a little dust, and earth, and ashes, which the worms keep possession of in deposite. O fearful metamorphosis.

Ladies, will you yet presume your selves fair, after you have thus now assisted in imagina­tion and thought, to the fune­rals of Beauty it self after you have read, I say, the Epitaph, which Truth it self hath written [Page 212]upon her Sepulture. I grant you have a thousand sweets, and graces: yet now at least confess ye, that these blandish­ments are but of so thin aerial worths, that the wind carries them away, as if they were composed of nought else; for scarcely have they birth, but you see them decay, and then the misprise, that each one makes of them, renders them more capable to produce pitty then love.

It is remarked in the life of the happy Francis Borgia, of the Society of the Jesuites, that being engaged in the world to seek a fortune, although the greatness of his birth, and me­rits, were of very great con­sideration; the Emperour Charles the fifth committed to his charge the dead body of his dear Spouse, to be conducted and carried to the Sepulcher of her ancestouts, which he undertook, holding for an excess of ho­nour the commandement which [Page 213]he had received, and the par­ticular choise which his Ma­jesty had made of his person. But then, when being arrived to the place, where were to be performed the last Exequies of this Princess, they were de­sirous to visit the corps, ac­cording to the ordinary for­malities accustomed to be pra­ctised in an action so impor­tant. Never was seen so much horrour, and dismay, There is no object more af­frightful then mor­tal mise­ry, but the daily habit of our sad experien­ces, takes away the horrour. But O the worm of con­science is to weak soules much more dreadful, then those which de­vour the body. as upon overture of the Coffin, on the countenances of the Spectators. They look for the body of this Princess in his presence, and it is not to be found, for none can know it; her visage here­tofore full of blandishments, and all the graces, both of Ma­jesty, and sweetnesse is now but a heap of filth, whereof the worm [...] in swarms, and still encreafing, keep the Court of guard upon the putrefaction. And the rest of her body is still a fresh stock for these ver­mine, who have now already [Page 214]reasonably welll satisfied their hunger with this prey.

Even those that enwrapped this Princess in her winding lin­nen, dare not maintain 'twas she, and he to whose care the body was deposited, knowes not what to say, finding him­self so confounded, and asto­nished with so suddain and af­frightful a Metamorphosis, that he streight resolved at that in­stant, to quit the world, and devest himself of all his great­nesses, since they are not able to exempt the body from cor­ruption.

Ladies, suffer your selves to be no more surprised by vanity, you see to what extremity of horrour and misery, are re­duceable your allurements and charmes. All beauties but of vertue are still changing. The greatest Prin­cess of the world, and one of the fairest as hath been, being now fallen from her Imperial Throne into the grave, not one of her attendants can retain any knowledge of her in so short a [Page 215]space. The worms having effa­ced the lineaments of her re­semblance, have inveloped it so deep into corruption, that no where is it to be found else being but Rottenness. Reader, render up thy self to the hits of a Truth sa sensible.

It is reported of Semiramis, that she caused to be put upon her Tomb this Inscription. The King that shall have need of mo­ney, shall find within this Se­pulcher as much as he would have in it. And sometime after, King Darius transported with a violent passion of Avarice, cau­sed this Sepulcher to be opened; but found within no other riches, [...]hen of so much gold as was necessarily employed, in the engraving of these words. Co­vetous wretch, It is an insolence to the priviled­ges of na­ture, to trouble the repose of the Dead. which comest to disturbe the repose of the dead, satiate thy greedy passion upon the treasure of my miseries, since this object is powerful enough to make thee undervalue all the riches of the world.

You that are Covetous, Enter often, at least in Meditation, into Tombes; visit to such effect the Church-yards, and you shall find therein more riches then you wish for, considering the horrour of that rorten earth, wherein your semblables are enterred, you will reason without doubt thus;

To what purpose at last will stead me all the treasures, which I amass up in my coffers, if the very richest of the world be but earth, and ashes before my eyes? What shall I do at the hour of my death, with all the goods which I now possesse, if even my body be a prey destinated to worms and rottennesse?

LORD, I aime at nothing of this world, but that glory alone, which a man may acquire by the contempt of it, but as it is a glory, whereof the acquisition depends of thy grace, All our hopes de­pend from grace, nothing from our selves more then my force; give me the Courage, if it pease thee, to surmount all the tempta­tions, which shall oppose them­selves against my design of Vi­ctory, [Page 217]to the end, that my vows may be heard, and my pains re­compensed. I return to my self.

When I consider, that all the world together, is but as it were a Caemitary or Church-yard, wherein every hour of the day, some wretchednesse, or other, brings to the grave those whom such their miserable condition hath destroyed, I have no more passionate desire of life, since evils and troubles are proprieta­ries of it rather then we. He which meditates of ano­thers mans death, puts him­self in mind of his own, since we are all slaves to to the same fate Who can keep account of the number of per­sons, that expire at this very mo­ment, that I am now speaking to you, or the different deaths, which terminate the course of their carreere? All is universally dreadfull, and yet we quake not, either in horrour, or astonish­ment.

A Walke into Church-yards, & Charnels, though it be sad and melancholly, by reason of the dolefull objects there obvious, hath yet neverthelesse something in it agreeable to content good [Page 217]souls, In many of the Church­yards of France, are thou­sands of dead mens skuls and bones, pi­led up, as at S. In­nocents at Paris, S. Croix at Orle­ans, &c. Medita­tion upon the vani­ties of life is a piece of serious felicitie before death. in the contemplation of those very objects, which they there finde. How often have I taken pleasure to consider a great number of Deadmens sculls ar­ranged one in pile upon another with this conceit of the vanity, and arrogance, wherewith other­while they have been filled? Some have had no other care but of their Hair, employing the greatest part of their time, either to frizle or to empouder them; and represent un­to your selves by the way, what recompence now betides them for all their pains. Others all full of ambition, had no other aims but at Coronall wreaths, consider a little in this their misery, the inju­stice of their pretentions.

I ha' remark't in sequell how a little worm did gnaw the arm of some late Samson, reducing thus all his force to an object of com­passion, and wretchednesse, since that arm heretofore so strong, and dreadfull, had not now force enough to resist a little worm. Reader muze often of these truths, [Page 218]and thou shalt finde therein more joy then sadnesse.

Typotius reports of Iohn Duke of Cleveland, that to testifie the frailty of our nature and the mi­series of our condition, he had taken the Emblem of a Lilly, with this device.

Hodie hoc, cras nihil. Hodie Lilium, Cras Ni­hilum. It flour­ishes to day, to morrow 'tis no­thing.

Great Kings, Even those things which seem most durable, have in effest but a morn­ing prime like flowers. your life is like this Lily, it appears like this flower, at Sunrise with glittering and pomp, but at noon its vivacity and lustre begin to fade, and at the end of the day it vanisheth away with it, and scarce its be­ing is remembred.

We read in Apianus of Pompy, that after he had triumphed o­ver three parts of the world, he carried nothing away with him to the grave, but these words, Hic situs est magnus Pompeius, Pompey is here buried with all his pomp.

O World, how poor art thou, since thou hast but such a thing [Page 220]of nought to give? O Fortune, how miserable art thou, when thy favorites are exposed to pub­lick view, as objects of compassi­on? Let him trust in them who will, a man shall never be able to escape their tromperies, but by despiting their favours.

Here lyes Hannibal: Behold all the honour, which posterity ren­dred to the memory of so great a Captain. Time is as inexio­nable. as Death, and nei­ther of them spare any. And Time, even jea­lous of the glory of his name, though not able to bury it in the Abysses of Oblivion, hath yet devoured the very marble of his Sepulcher. Are not these things truths worthy to raise astonish­ment?

'Tis remark't in Suetonius, of one of the Roman Emperours, that being now at last gaspe, and as it were at a bay with Death, he cryed out in excesse of asto­nishment; Fui omnia, sed ni­hil expedit: I have been all in all, but now it nothing helpeth me. I have tasted all the pleasures of all the greatnesse of the world, [Page 221]but the sweetes are changed into sowres, and onely their bitter disgust stayes with me.

Experiment all the delights of the Earth, Great Kings, the distast will ever at last onely remain to your mouths, and sorrowes to your hearts, and if these do no good on you, a thousand eternall punishments will possesse your souls. Represent to your selves, that all the felicities of Life, are of the same nature as that is, That decaies every moment, and they flit away without cease. Content­ments. cause in their pri­vation as extreme discon­tents. The contentments which men receive here below, are like the pleasures of the Chace, which are onely rellish't running. I draw to an end.

Belon in his Monuments of the Kings of Egypt, sayes, that they were enterred with such a splen­dour of pomp and magnificence, that even those who had diverse times before been admirers of it, were for all that often in doubt, whether the people went to place the corps in the Throne again, [Page 221]rather then in their Sepulcher. O how ill to the eyes is the lustre of this sad kind of honour! For if vanity be insupportable barely of it self, these excesses of it, put the spirits upon the rack.

Diodorus Siculus, speaking of the Tomb which Alexander caus­ed to be erected, for his favorite Ephestion, assures that the mag­nificences, which were there to be admired, were beyond as well all value, as example, Marble, Brasse, Gold, and Pearl, were pro­fusely offered to most cunning Artisans, to frame thereof such works wherein sadnesse and com­passion, might be so naturally re­presented, that they might affect the whole world with the like. Diamonds, Rubies, and all other precious stones, were there em­ployed, under the Image of a Sun, A Man should never be angry with his hard' fates the de­crees on [...]t are invio­lable. Moon, and Stars. It seems this Monarch blinded with Love, thought to hold the Planets cap­tive in the glorious enchainments of those fair Master-pieces, as if he would revenge himself of [Page 222] them for their maligne influences, which they had powred upon the head of his dear Ephestion. But this conceit was vain, for the same stars, whose captivity he ostented upon this Tomb, con­ducted him also by little and little to his grave.

The Romans transported with passion, to honour the memory of the Dictator Sylla, caused his statue to be framed of a prodigious height, all composed of perfumes, and cast it into the funerall pile, where his body, whereof this was also but a shadow, was to be burnt to ashes: Being desirous by this action, to give to understand, that as the odour of his statue dis­perst it self through all the City of Rome, the much more odori­ferous savour of his peculiar ver­tues would spred it self through all the world. But to go to the rigour of the litterall sense, it is credible, they had not cast in this aromaticall statue into the stack, but onely to temper the excesse of the stench of the body, [Page 224]which was to be consumed with it. And I proceed to imagine beside, that the odour of this statue, the cinders of his body, and all the glory of the actions of Sylla, had all the same fate, since the winde triumph't over them altogether. Behold the reverse of the Medall of Vanity,

'Tis remark't in the life of the Emperour Severus, by the report of DION, that he made to be set at the gate of his Palace an Ʋrne of marble, and as ost as he went in or out, he was accustom­ed to say, laying his hand on it; Behold the Case that shall enclose him, whom all the world could not contain.

Great Kings, have often the same thoughts in your souls, if you have not the like discourses in your mouths, the smallest ves­sel of earth is too great for the ashes of your bodies, which shall remain of them, after the worms have well fed on them: for the wretch­ednesse of your human condition, reduceth you at last to so small a [Page 225]thing, that you are nothing at all. But if I must give a name to those grains of corrupted dust, which are made of your deplorable re­mains, Man onely is considera­ble in respest of his noble actions. I shall call them the Idea's of a dream, since the memory of your being can passe for no other together with the time. Behold a fresh subject of entertain.

Some of our Ethnick Histori­ans report to us, that the Troglo­dites buried their kindred and friends, with the tone of joyfull cries, and acclamations of mirth.

The Lothophagi cast them into the Sea, choosing rather to have them eaten of fishes in the water, then of worms in the earth.

The Scythians did cat the bo­dies of their friends, in sign of amity, insomuch that the living were the Sepulcher of the dead. The Hircanians cast the bodies of of their kindred to the Dogges. The Massagetes exposed them as a prey to all manner of ravenous beasts.

The Lydians dryed them in the Sun, and after reduced them to [Page 225]powders, to the end the wind might carry them away.

Amongst all the customes, which were practised amongst these strange Nations, I finde none more commendable then the first, of the Troglodites looking for no hell, they had good reason to celebrate the funerall of their friends and kindred, with laugh­ter and acclamations of cheer­fulnesse, rather then with tears, and lamentations.

For though that Life be grant­ed us by divine favour, There is more con­tentment to die then to live, if we consider the end, for which man was created. yet we enjoy it but as a punishment, since it is no other then a continuall correction of our continuall offences. Besides the sad accidents which accompany it inseparably, even to the grave are so numerous, that a man may justly be very glad at the end of his journey, The body of Man being made of earth is subject to earth; but the soul holds one­ly of its soveraign Creator. to see himself discharged of so pon­derons a burthen. Not that I here condemn the tears, which we are accustomed to shed, at the death of our nearest friends, for these are ressentments of grief, [Page 226]whereof Nature authorizeth the first violences. But neither do I blame the vertue of those spirits, who never discover alteration up­on any rencounter of the mishaps, and miseries of the world, how extreme soever they be. The li­ving are more to be bemo­ned then the dead, they be­ing still ith' mid­d'st of this lifes tempest, but these are alrea­dy arri­ved to their Port. And what disaster is it to see dye, either our kindred or friends, since all the world together, and Nature it self, can do nothing else. What reason then can a man have to call himself miserable, for being destinated to celebrate the funerals of those, whom he loves best, since the divine Providence, hath soveraignly established this order, & since moreover in this carreere of Death, to which all the world speeds, the Present on't, being not distinguish't but by Time, it will appear when all is come to the upshot, that one hath lived as long as another, since all ages though different during their continuance, are equall then when they are past. Change we the discourse

I advow once again, There is no remedy more soveraign to cure [Page 228]the passion of arrogance, then this of the consideration of Caemitaries, and Tombs. The most vain­glorious and ambitious are forced to yield themselves at the as­saults of these sad objects. For a spirit never so brave and valou­rous, To what purpose is Courage against those perils, which connot be avoided cannot but be astonish't, when he sees at his feet the bones and dust of an infinite number of persons, who were as valiant as he, what thoughts can he have but of submission, and humility, considering that one part of him­self is already reduced into dust and filth? I say a part of himself, since he himself is but a piece of the same matter, which now serves him for object, and to the same last point will be extended one day the line of his life.

When Virgil tells us of the fate of Priam, Aencid. lib. 2. Jacet in­gens li­tore truncus Avulsum que humeris caput, & sine nomine corpus. he brings in Aeneas astonish'c at it, that so great a Monarch should leave to posteri­ty no other Monument of his greatnesse, but a Tronck of flesh, a head separated from the shoul­ders and a carkasse, without name: or shape.

Great Kings, He which makes himself rightly sensible of his miseries is partly in way to be exem­pted from their ty­ranny. This truth is a Mirrour which flatters not. Gaze here often in these meditations, and you will surely at length consider, that All is full of vanity, and that this glory of the world, whereof you are so strongly I do­laters, is but a Phantasie, and Chimera, to which your imagi­nations give that beauty, which charms you, and that delicacy, which ravishes you. What think you is it, to be the greatest of the world? 'Tis an honour, whereof misery and inconstancy are the foundations, for all the felicities which can arrive us, are of the same nature as we are, and con­sequently, as miserable as our condition, and as changing. This Earth whereon you live, is the lodging of the dead, what eternity believe you to find in it? Eternity of honours, riches, and content­ments? there was never any but in imagination, and this Idea, which we have of them, is but a reflection from the lightning of Truth, wherewith heaven illu­minates [Page 229] noble souls, There is nothing eternall in this world but this scope of truth thus to guide them to the search of the true source of all, by the aide of these small rivolets. It is time to finish this work.

I have made appear to you in the first Chapter, the particular study which a man ought to take, Seneca. to come to the Hoc jubet illa Pythicis oraculis adscripta vox. Nosce Te. Knowledge of himself, wherein lyes the accom­plishment of perfection. And herein the precept is, The Consi­deration of the miseries, which are destinated to our Nature, as be­ing so many objects capable enough, to force up the power of our reason, to give credence to the resentments of frailty, which are proper to us. But this is not all to be meerely sensible of our wretchednesse. Serious Conside­ration must often renew the Ideas of them in our souls, more then the hard experience of them. And this to the end, that vanity, to which we are too incident, He that searches into him­self shall not loose his labour may not surprize us, during the inter­vals of a meditation, so impor­tant. We must often dive into [Page 230]our selves, and seek in the truth of our nothingnesse, some light to make us thus to know our selves. Afterwards making a rise a little higher, it is necessary to consider the End, for which we were crea­ated, and in this consideration to employ all the powers of the se­verall faculties of our souls, to the generous design of getting pos­session of that glory. Behold the Corollary of my first Argument, or Chapter.

The second instructs us a new means, to resist powerfully the hits of the vanities of the world, from the example of the wretch­ednes of Sala­diae. of one of the greatest Mo­narchs of the world. Fortune had refused him nothing, because she meant to take all from him, Poverty and Riches depend upon opi­nion, and a noble soul is above his fortune in what condition soever he be. for in the height of his glory he finds himself reduced to the poornesse of his shirt onely, which is all he carries with him into the grave. And this makes us sensibly per­ceive that the greatnesses of the earth are Goods, as good as e­stranged from human nature, [Page 232]since in this mortall and perishing condition we can onely possesse their usance, and the term of this possession is of so short endurance that we see as soon the end as the beginning. Reader represent unto thy self, how thou shalt be dealt with at thy death, both by Fortune and the world, Et quae veneraris, & quae despicis unus ex­aequabit cinis. Sen. since the Minion of this blind Goddesse, and the greatest of the Universe is exposed all naked in his shirt in sight of all his subjects to be given in prey to the worms, as well as the most mi­serable of the Earth.

The Third Chapter, where Life leads Death in Triumph teaches us the Art to vanquish this untamable, The hor­rour of Death, is purely in the we ak­nesse of imagina­tion. by considering its weaknesse: for in effect, if Death be but a privation, 'tis to be de­prived of reason and judgement, to give it a being, since it cannot subsist but in our impaired ima­ginations. The fantasme of an Idea is it, whose very form is immateriall, as having no other subsistence, I say but that which the weaknesse of our spirit gives [Page 233]it. And again, to come to the most important point; Let this be the close of the recapitulation, Sen. that you may have means not to stand in fear on't; Incer­tum est, quo te loco mors expectet: itaque tu illam om i loco ex­pecta. Muze on it alwayes, looke for it in all places, and over­coming your selves, you shall triumph over it. Never did an un­blemisht life fear Death.

The last Chapter, where the ob­ject of Caemiteries, and Sepulchers, is laid before your eyes, may now again serve for the lact touch, since it is a Theater, where you must play the Tragedy of your lives. All this great number of Actors, Hodie mihi Cras tibi. Think on that, Rea­der, it may be thy turn to mor­row. whose bones and ashes you see there, have every one plaid their part, and it may be, that the hour will soon Knell, that you must act yours. Reader, live ever in this providence, a Man cannot too soon resolve to do that well, which howsoever must be done of ne­cessity. God Grant, that these last lines may once again reproach thee, the bad estate of thy Con­science; delay not too long this Check to thy self, least too late the [Page 233] regreets be then in vain. Momen­tum est unde pendet aeternitas Thy sal­vation is fastened to an instant, consider the infinite number of them, which are already slip't a­way, when perhaps at that mo­ment, thou wert in estate (if dying) to incurre the punishment of a second Death, and that eternall. If thou trust to thy youth, put thy head out of the window, and thou shalt see carried to the grave some not so old as thy self. If thou relye upon the health, which thou now enjoyest, Saepe optimus status corporis periculo­sissimus. Hip. Sera ni­mis vita est cra­stina, vive hodie. 'tis but a false-going dyall. The calm of a perfect health, hath oftentimes ushured the Tempest of a suddain Death. What hop'st thou for? hope is deceitfull; what stayest thou for. A wise man ought never to defer till to morrow, what should he done to day. Lastly, what desirest thou? The peace of consci­ence is the only desirable good. Go on then right sorward, thou canst not misse the way which I have chalk't thee.