MAN is but a Lump of Clay Kneaded to­gether with Tears and would be the most dull and Phlegmatick thing imaginable, had not Nature, or rather the God of Nature, furnisht him with variety of passions; that as the change of Tides & several Winds preserve the Sea from putrifying, so these by a continual Agitation should keep him from drooping into a Lethargy of stupidity or idleness. To fancy to live wholly without Passions in this world, is a Romantick Dream of the Stoicks; but to endeavour to moderate and keep them in their right bounds, is the duty, and should be the business, of each real and prudent Christian.

Passions and Affections are necessary and useful Subjects provided they make no Insurrections, Mu­tinies or Rebellions to dethrone Reason, that just [Page 4] Queen Regent and Soveraign Monarch of the Mi­crocosme: Every man is such another Creature as the Poets Fancy wise Chiron, Tutor to the great Hero Achilles, to have been half a Man and half a Beast, only we should so far imitate that prudent Fiction, as to keep the manly part uppermost, and make the under-girdle Lusts, together with the irascible and concupiscible faculties, subservient to the dictates of the Rational part.

But amongst all the Passions, as there is none so pleasing and noble, so there is none so dangerous and violent as that of Love: It first surprizes us by stealing in at the eyes as gently as the Morning-dew into the Bosom of a Flower; but no sooner hath it got to the Heart, and taken possession of the Soul, but (like Nero after his peaceable Quinquennium) it turns absolute Tyrant on a sudden; ingrosses all our thoughts, puts the Brest upon the wrack, scorns the guidance of Reason, defies the advice of Friends, grows more violent by opposition, despises safety, braves dangers, embraces Ruine; and in a word, torments us with a thousand Inquietudes, which being more insufferable than death it self, hurries the afflicted Patient to Court that King of Terrors to put a period to his otherwise endless Misfortunes. Of the mischiefs arising from hence, all Histories are full, and every day surprizes with deplorable Tra­gedies; and we are sorry we have this unhappy oc­casion to encrease the number of those fatal Instances. The Story whereof is briefly thus:

[Page 5] A Gentleman (well descended, and of very good natural parts as well as acquired ones; of a sweet civil and obliging Temper; a kind of Disposition that more easily admits Loves Impressions, and continues them longer, and with a greater violence of Passion than any other) near seven years ago fell into the Ac­quaintance of a Lady, whose amiable Person and Qualities immediately kindled such Flames in his Brest, that it was impossible for him longer to main­tain his Liberty against such irresistible Charms: Those that ever were wounded with Cupids Darts (and few can wholly escape them; Love being a kind of Small Pox, which every body hath had, or else must expect) may partly imagine the Tumults and Con­fusions this new Guect soon made in his discomposed mind. To describe the Agonies of this amorous Feaver, or his passionate Complaints, would perhaps relish too much of the Romance for a Pamphlet, or possibly raise too great a Tempest of Grief in some kind sympathizing Souls, that languish now under the like disasters. Let it suffice to say, That he was too wise to be ignorant that the Cure must be sought from whence he received the Wound; and there­fore with a discreet Address endeavoured to unvail his Affection, and discover his passion to that Cruel Fair One which was the Cause of them.

'Tis an undoubted Truth, That we are generally too credulous and apt, out of a kind of self-flattery, to fancy that which we wish and hope for; Upon this score, perhaps, rather than any Encouragements given by her, he built some pretensions, which it may [Page 6] be she never intended him; and in this kind of un­setled state, their amorous Intrigue had now spun out a Thred of seven years length.

It must be confest that Ovids Receit, Ʋt Amoris A­ma; Love if then wouldst thou be beloved, is the best Philtre or Love-portion in the world; yet cannot it be denyed, That there may be some Cases wherein even this Charm cannot take place, there may be pre-ingagements a natural Aversion, or a thousand o­ther obstacles that may hinder from corresponding with every persons Addresses, though never so seri­ous and affectionate. What the Causes in this particu­lar Amour might be, we cannot certainly assign; His Person was proper, and one would think rather invi­ting than displeasing; his Humour excellently good and obliging; his Estate not contemptible, and his Practize (which was towards the Law) considerable; yet all these attractions it seems would not conquer or at least six this Ladies heart, but that (especially for a Twelve months space last past) she gave him some sleighting Disincouragements, which it seems he not being able to bear, has for a considerable time been liable to extravagant Melancholly Fits; and about two months since attempted to hang himself in the Balcony of the house where he lodged near Fleet­bridge, but was prevented by a Coachman that passing by espied him; since that he has several times bin with his Mistress, and lately gave her and some friends a Treat at a Tavern, where She not appearing so kind and Complaisant to him as he expected, He went home very discontented, and though he went in the [Page 7] day-time about his business since; yet he still seemed much troubled, and never appeared truly merry or satisfied.

Melancholly is no doubt, the properest Soil for the Devil to sow his Tares in, when Men abandon their Reason and forsake Gods Grace, that would re­strain them being hurried away with desperate passi­ons, till all the Soul is in an uproar; then this watch­ful and ever busie Enemy steps in, suggesting black thoughts of Despair, and advises a Man to be his own Executioner, aggravating the Miseries of our present Vexations, but concealing these endless Torments we run the hazard of, by such a precipitate dispatch, contrary no less to Nature than the Laws of God and Man.

Whether the Violence of his affectionate Passion had deprived him of the use of his Reason, so that he might be numbred amongst the Phrensical or Distra­cted, we cannot say, but this is too lamentably true, that on Friday the 12th of this instant June, 1674. He coming home to his Lodging, and being about ten a Clock at Night retired up to his Chamber, which was a fine large Room up four pair of Stairs, but forwards towards the Street, no body being with him, on a sudden opening the Casement, he violently cast himself headlong into Fleet-Street about the mid­dle of which he fell down, and broke his Head even to the Brain, besides bruising most dreadfully all parts of his Body. This sad unexpected Accident brought to­gether several People (then abroad in the Street) a­bout [Page 8] him, by whom he was taken up dead, but be­ing known and carried into his Lodging, and some means used, he came again to Life, but was never able to speak one word, and a little after midnight ex­pired.

We shall not forestall the Readers thoughts so far as to make tedious reflections on this sad & unhappy Accident, nor can we do it without difficulty or par­tiality; For what shall we blame the Coyness and Cruelty of Women, or the Folly and over fond­ness of Men? If it be hard measure for a man to have his passionate Affection sleighted; 'tis sure no less unjust and unreasonable to expect a Woman should Love where she does not like; It will be better to advise all by this woful Example to take heed not to engage their Affections too far on any (though the most pleasing) Earthly Object, and to raise their Love to a higher and more noble flight, by placing it on that Divine, Infinite and Adorable Beauty, where it can admit of no Extream, and shall be sure not to be frustrated of unspeakable Returns of Fa­vour and Goodness, whose Love infinitely surpassing the Love of Women, disdain'd not to dye for us, even whilst we were Enemies, and in whose glori­ous Arms, we may safely without jealousies, distrusts or fears, without apprehension of change, or cloying satiety, Repose our selves in a sweet Eternity of un­utterable Felicity.