THE HEARTS EASE, OR A Remedy against TROUBLE.

IT is not either fineness of Wit, or abundance of Wealth, or any such like inward or outward ornament that makes the difference between men, and renders the one better then the other; but the firmness of good Principles, the settledness of the spi­rit, and the quiet of mind: To the obtaining of which, all the old Phi­losophers, many hundreds of years [Page 2]before our Saviour, did wisely sum­mon all their forces; all whose les­sons when they are summed up, amount only to this, to teach a man how to be contented. Socrates was upon this score accounted the best amongst them, because though he understood but a little of the frame of nature, yet he well understood himself; and perceived that he was not the wisest man that could read rare things in the Stars, and could follow the paths of the Sun, and trace all the heavenly bodies in the course which they run, but he that could tell how not to be troubled ei­ther for the want of that knowledge, or for any other thing.

Christianity hath not a new design in hand, but more rare and excel­lent instruments to effect the old. What Heathens could speak of, it enables us to do. And still it is as true as ever it was, That nothing betters a mans condition, but that which rids him of all his griefs, and eases him of his troubles. So a great Divine among the Ancients observes, Macarius Homil. 5 That Christians are not [Page 3]distinguished from others [...], [...], &c. by outward fashions and modes, by their external forms and molds into which they are cast, or by professing a body of Notions differing from others in the world, but by the renewing of their minds, by the peaceableness of their thoughts, by charity and heavenly love, &c. And if we behold in their minds, as in other mens, [...]. great shakings or Earth-quakes, unsetled thoughts and reasonings, unbelief, confusedness, trouble, trembling, fearfulness (all these words he uses) they are fast bound to worldly things, they have not attained the end of their Chri­stianity, and are but a little bettered by their new condition.

That Christ came to discharge the mind of all these troublesome guests, the Text (and many other verses of the ensuing Chapters) plainly tell us: The sense of which is this, Do but believe that I am from God, and that what I say is his mind, and you need not be troubled. The Faith of Christ is an antidote against all evill: Peace is the proper result of the Chri­stian [Page 4]temper. It is the great kindness which our Religion doth us, that brings us to a settledness of mind, and a consistency within our selves.

Our Saviour when he spake these words, was just going to leave his little flock, and you must needs think that his Patients who were yet under his cure, could not but take the news of his departure very heavily: there­fore as a wise and tender Physitian, he prescribes them the best directi­ons that he could, and leaves them in their hands; assuring them that every precept of his was a soveraign medicine, every promise of his a Cordial to relieve their faint­ing spirits, and particularly telling them that he would send the Com­forter, and that they should be un­der the Regiment and care of the Holy Ghost. These heavenly Recipe's they have transcribed and transmit­ed unto all succeeding Ages, so that over the Gospel we may write what the Aegyptians did over their great Library, [...], This is the Hospital for sick souls: after all our search something will trouble [Page 5]us, unless we have recourse hither; or if nothing do, our case is so much the worse; and that which now would be only trouble, will hereafter be tri­bulation and anguish.

That which I intend for the Sub­ject of my discourse, is this, That, A Christian heart ought not to be trou­bled; Or, That it doth not become a Christian to be troubled.

By trouble I understand that disor­der in the soul which arises from the prevalency of these passions, Fear, Carefulness, Sorrow, Anger, and the rest of their kindred, which have Evil for their object. These Pas­sions are raised either from some­thing within us, or from something without us; our Saviour chiefly speaks of the latter, and so shall I also; yet so, as to have some regard to the former, that so I may in all particulars leave the mind well sa­tisfied. That I may not spend so much time in other things, as to have none remaining for that which I mainly intend, I shall not tie my self to the laws of an exact method; but make my discourse consist only [Page 6]of these two general parts. 1. Of some Reasons why a Christian should not be troubled. 2. Of some Rules to keep our hearts from trouble.

A Consolatory Dis­course to prevent Im­moderate Grief for the Death of our Friends.

§. 1. The need of this dis­course. IT is left upon record by St. Hierom concerning Paulina, that though she was a Lady, whose passions were under ad­mirable government in other things, yet when any of her children dyed, she was oppressed with so great a sor­row, that he had much ado to save her from being drowned in the floods of it. But it is not so great a wonder that a person of the tenderer sex should feel such a tempest, as that David a man of war, who had over­come so many enemies, should him­self be overcome with grief for a dis­obedient [Page 88]obedient son. It is said that a Lace­daemonian woman having sent five sons to a battle, stood at the Gates of Sparta to expect the event: and when she met one coming from the Camp, she askt him what was done. All thy five sons (said the man) are slain. Away thou fool (answered she again) I enquired not of this, but of the issue of the fight: When he told her that her Countreymen had got the better; then farewel my sons (said she) and let us rejoyce that Sparta is saved. But David it seems had not attained to this faeminine courage, 2 Sam. 18 24. for he sate between the gates waiting for news of the success, and when he heard of the loss but of one son, and he a Traitor to his Countrey, he could not contain himself till he came into the house, but went up to the chamber over the gate to lament his son, V 33. as though he had lost the day by losing him. Nay he could not re­frain so long till he came into the chamber, but he watered the stai [...] with his tears, and wept as he went up, saying, O my son Absalom, my son, my son Absalom, would God I had [Page 89]dyed for thee, O Absalom my son, my son.

This lamentation of his cannot but call to mind the tears which Achilles, another great warriour shed over the grave of his friend Patroclus, where [...], (as Ho­mer speaks) he wept most horribly as if he would have killed himself.

This love is such a powerful thing, that if it have placed any object in our heart, we can scarce suffer it to be taken from us, without rending and tearing our hearts in pieces. Such a strange union doth it make between two persons, that we can scarce give that man any welcome that brings us the news of a separation. And there­fore some of the ancient Carthagini­ans (as I remember) knowing how hard it is to love those who bring us the tidings of the death of them that we love, would never send such a message but by the hand of some condemned man, whom they were never like to see again. I am ready here to interrupt my discourse, and in the very beginning to fall into a passion with my self, when I think [Page 90]how patiently we can suffer our souls to be divided from God whom we pretend to love. O love! how great things should we do if we did but love! how angry should we be at the temptation which would draw him from us whom our souls love!

Antonius Guevara had a Neece who was so passionately in love with a little Bitch, that at the death of it she fell into a Feaver, Epist. ad sa­mil. pars 2a. and was fain to keep her bed. The good man did well rather to chide, then to com­fort her, and to write a Satyr, ra­ther then a consolatory letter to her; but yet in that strange passion of hers, we may clearly see how in­cident it is unto us to take heavily the loss of what we love.

Now there is no greater love then that which is between near kindred and friends, & no man that knows the pleasure of it, would disswade any from such love, and yet it is necessary that we should not mourn for it as if we loved nothing else; which will render it perhaps an acceptable piece of service unto some, if I endeavour to ease them of this kind of sorrow; [Page 91]and though I have touched but light­ly upon other maladies (in the fore­going Treatise) yet I apply some par­ticular plaisters to this great and ge­neral sore.

You must not think that it is in my design to take away your trouble, §. 2. We may mourn mo­derately. by taking you off from all love and friendship, for that would be as ri­diculous as his device to cure drun­kenness by cutting up all the Vines. I would not have a man to love none but himself, out of a fear that he shall be troubled at the loss of them, as much as at the loss of himself. This would be to cure one evil by a greater, and to ease men of a short trouble, by letting them want the constant easement and sweetest com­fort of our lives, which is our friends. Neither do I intend to write like a Stoick, and stupifie all your passions, so that you should not mourn at all, for that is an impossible thing, if we have any love. Grace doth not root out nature, nor quite dry up all our tears; but it rather makes our hearts more moist and tender, [Page 92]and causes it to express it self in a becoming affection unto others: as David and that Lady may teach us. They are sturdy, not generous, that are void of all grief: they are ra­ther hard then constant, rather un­experienced, then reasonable, that forbid all sadness. But it is my design to bring you to a moderation both in love and in sorrow, that you may do as much as becomes good friends, but no more then becomes good men. Not to be sensible of evils, is not to be men; not to bear them patiently, is not to be Christians. It is neither to be hoped nor to be desired that we should shed no tears at all; but it is both necessary and attainable, that we should let them flow in measure. La­crymandum est, Seneca. Epist. 63. sed non plorandum. We may weep, but we must not wail. We must be natural, but we must be also reasonable: We must approve our selves both to men and unto God, that they may see we are loving friends, and that he may see, we are his dutiful children. Est enim quae­dam & dolendi modestia. For there is a certain modesty even in mourning, [Page 93]and it is unseemly to weep immode­rately, as it is not to weep at all.

And let none think that by this concession unto nature and decency, the wound will be made incurable; and that it is easier not to mourn at all, then to mourn moderately. These are but the dreams of heavy souls, that think that none can stand still, but they that are resolved never to stir. It is said indeed, that we may more easily abstain from a thing of which we never tasted, then refrain from it after a little acquaintance. But this must be understood of pleasure, and not of grief: When we have mourned a little, we shal soon see that there is neither pleasure nor profit in our mourning. Or if any one shall think it to be some pleasure, yet it will notwithstanding be easily moderated; because it is only the pleasure of being eased of our loads that oppressed us, not of being satisfied with the pres­sure of any delightful object. It is but the letting out of sadness, not the bringing in of any pleasure; and therefore when the heart is once eased of its burden, it will soon [Page 94]be perswaded to mourn no more; for that will be the bringing upon us a new burden.

But then on the other side, as we may grant something unto nature, so we must be sure not to let it work alone. That we may weep moderate­ly, it will be necessary to make re­sistance to our sorrows, and muster up all the consolatory arguments that are reposited in our minds. Nature will do its part without our help. We need not study how to weep enough, nor use any arguments to perswade our selves into tears. It is a superfluous imployment to strive to magnifie our loss; for Fancy is apt to make it bigger then it is. It is a foolish trouble to be careful how to mourn, for tears will flow from us without any bidding. All our work must be to stop their passage as fast as we can, and to make them flow leisurely, not gush forth with too great a violence. Our Reason and Religion must be called up in all haste, to make as strong a dam as we are able to our sorrow, or else if it have its course, it may overflow us.

He is a base Pilot that leaves his tackling in a storm, and suffers his ship to run along with the tempest; and no less ignoble and abject is his spirit, that permits himself to the gusts and Haericans of his own pas­sions, and lets them drive him whe­ther they, and not whether he him­self pleases. But it is a degree of madness to use reason it self to make the blasts more terrible, and when the storm is too furious, by art and skill to conjure up more boisterous passions. Who would pitty him that sets his reason against himself, and studies how to be as miserable as his mind can make him? We need not be so in love with grief, as to create it to our selves. Nature as I said, knows how to mourn without our teaching. We had need think rather how to bear our natural trou­bles, then how to lay more upon our shoulders.

But if we will make any oppositi­on, we must begin before our passi­ons are too strong. They are too powerful of themselves, and we must not let them gather more strength [Page 96]by our negligence. If we do not at the very first set our selves in a po­sture of defence against them, they will seize upon our whole soul, and get every thing into their possession. As soon therefore as our grief stirs, we must strive to comfort our selves, and not either help forward or suf­fer our grief. If we go and bewail our friends as much as we can, and think to chear our souls afterward; we shall soon find that our souls are drowned with a flood, and that it will be a long time before it be soaked up. When we give the least leave to these passions, they will ask no leave of us afterward, but the soul will mourn like Rachel, and refuse to be comforted. As soon therefore as thou hearest of the death of thy friends, do not say, Alas! what a friend have I lost! did ever any man part with such a friend? where shall I find one comparable to him in wis­dom, in love, in faithfulness, in all manner of sufficiencies to make a friend? Do not, I say, after this sort aggravate thy grief, but instantly say, Why should I grieve and tor­ment [Page 97]my self? why should I trouble my self with my own thoughts? why should wind and tide run together? how many reasons have I to be con­tented? and spread them all before thine eyes that they may dry up thy tears and cease thy sorrow. And so doing, thou wilt weep as much as is fit, but no more then thou oughtst. Nature will be satisfied, and thou thy self not ashamed. None will think that thou art not grieved, and thou wilt feel that thy heart is com­forted.

But what comfort are these (may some say) which you bring us? §. 3. The best and wisest persons have not mourned much. with what reasons will you assist us?

I suppose it will be of no great ef­fect to answer, that the wisest persons have alwayes made their mourning short, because I have already named two both good and wise that were ex­cessive. And therefore I must en­deavour to make men wise, and fur­nish you with such reasons as will not suffer them to be oppressed with their sorrows. Yet me thinks it is observable, that the Aegyptians [Page 98]mourned ten times as long as the children of Israel. Seven dayes or­dinarily contented the people of God for their grief, (as you may see, Eccles. 22.12. Job 2.13.) whereas they that were strangers to the God of Israel, extended their mourning seventy dayes, as you may read, Gen. 50.3. yea the greatest mourning that the Israelites used for their two famous leaders, Numb. 20.29. Deut. 34.8. Moses and Aaron, was prolonged but to thirty dayes, which is not half the time that those Heathens allowed. I think not fit neither to pass by the shortness of Abrahams grief for his dearest wife Sarah, who dyed as some of the Jews conjecture, for very grief when he was at Mount Moriah, thinking that her son was offered. This they gather from that expression, Gen. 23.2, Abraham came to mourn for Sarah, and to weep for her. From whence it was that he came I have no­thing to affirm, yet this note of theirs is considerable that in the word [...] [to weep for her] there is a small Caph in the middle of great letters, [...] which may very well show [Page 99]that his weeping was little and mo­derate, and not of the greatest size. That expression is likewise taken no­tice of by some, which follows in the next verse, He stood up from before his dead, as if it signified, that he turned his eyes from her that so he might not be overcome with grief. We must not love to look on our losses; nor think that it becomes us to weep as long as we can. But we should learn by the manners of Gods people, to do all we can to make our mourning short. Yea I might teach you from Heathens themselves, if ex­amples would do us any good. Plutarch. in Lycurg. Lycur­gus ordained that none should weep above eleven dayes, and that they should make no Funeral solemnities. Solon likewise took them away, [...]. Plut. in Solone. that so he might ease men of those howl­ings and lamentations, which they use to make at their friends Inter­ment. Augustus as Seneca observes, though he lost all his children and Nephews, and was fain to adopt an heir, yet he was so little moved at their death, that he constantly went to the Senate, and neglected no Pub­like [Page 100]affairs. Pericles likewise having lost two sons of great hope, within the compass of eight dayes, put on notwithstanding a white garment, and with a great constancy of mind went to deliberate about the necessi­ties of the Common-wealth.

All stories are full of such great souls, that after they had conquered others, at last conquered themselves also. I know it will cure no man to tell him that his neighbour was cured; yet these examples do commend to us the remedies which they used, and give us hopes that our griefs are not incurable.

The cure of this distemper doth he chiefly in a fulness of considera [...]ions, §. 4. What it is that must ease us. wherewithal our minds must be sto­red. Nothing can resist grief but a great mind; no mind can be great that is not big with truth; nothing can impregnate us with truth but se­rious advice and consideration in our selves; and therefore we must pro­vide our selves with sufficient Anti­dotes that may be ready at hand when we have need of them. Our [Page 101]sou's must be as an Apothecary, and our heart must be the [...], or shop where all medicines are in a rea­diness against any grief or malady that shall invade us. If we have our remedies to gather, and to compound when our sickness comes, the mind will be so weak that it will not be able to make them. We have least power to consider when we are full of sorrow; our affections are ready to overlay our reasons, and there­fore we must have our medicines made before, that then we may have nothing else to do, but only to take them. And we shall find that to have so much labour in it (our sto­macks being squeamish and nauseate­ing) that we shall clearly see we need have nothing else to do.

First then, I. The first means is to consider what it is that we la­ment. Let us seriously consi­der What is it that we grieve for? It is soon answered that we mourn for the Death of those that we love. For their Death? What is that I beseech you? Is death such a strange and unusual thing that we should take it heavily? are your friends the first that ever dyed? are you the only [Page 102]persons that God hath singled out to be left alone? Death is an usual thing. Do you not see that every thing in the world can cause death? The wind, the light­ning, the fire, the smoak, the dust of the earth, the water, our meat and drink, our own passions, our joy, our sorrow, and a thousand other things can bring us to our graves. Why then should it be la­mented, as if it were some wonder at which all the world should be astonished? Men fill the air with sighs, they beat the Heavens with their groans, they clothe themselves with darkness, and they pour out floods as in a tempest. Why what is the matter? Is the Sun faln from its Orb? are all the lights of Heaven extinguished? are they carrying out the worlds funeral? What is it then that causes this moan? A friend is dead. There is one man less in the world then there was. O wonderful! what a prodigy is this! One that was born to die, is dead! It had been a wonder indeed, if he had not dyed. Then we might have filled the earth with noifes. Then there had been [Page 103]some cause for a tumult. But now it is rather a wonder that men should make such a stir at an ordina­ry and common thing, then that a thing so common should happen un­to them. One would rather look to see no tears, then no death; and we might more easily excuse their not weeping at all, then we can these doleful lamentations.

Is it not necessary that our friends should dye? Death is necessary. yea, it is so necessary, that it is a thing past, and cannot be recalled, when men weep most for it. If you can bring them back again with your tears, if there be any hopes that with the noise you make they should revive to comfort you; then you have leave to weep as much as you please. Is there any Elijah or Elisha that can stretch forth them­selves upon them, and recover them to their warmth? Is there any Paul or Peter, or such great men that can raise them from the dead? Go then, and intreat them for to pitty you. Beat your breasts, tear your hair, break your sleep with sorrow, ma­cerate your selves with fasting that [Page 104]they may take some compassion up­on you. But if all this pains be lost, never put your selves unto it, but say, Why should I have my labour for my pains? And did not all those men die again that they raised? Were they made immortal here upon the earth? what good would it do you to have them called to life again, if they must again dye? How would you be able to part with them then if not now? What an uncomfortable life would you lead out of fear every day to fall into the same sadness? How desolate would you be even in their company, unless you learnt not to be troubled nor distracted? And if that must be learnt, then let us learn it now when it is as necessary as it would be then. Do you take it ill that the Apple rots, and your trees decay, and your clothes grow bare, and that any thing in this world is according to its nature? Why then do you bewail that men die, which is as natural to them as it is to be born? Would you have God make the world anew for your sakes? will you not be contented unless he [Page 105]make a mortal thing immortal? Is it not sufficient that you know it must dye, and that he gave it to you that it may be returned to him again? Did he ever promise you how long you should have it? may he not call for his own when he thinks good? do not other men pay this debt to nature as well as you?

Seeing then it is both a common and a necessary debt, do not repine as if you did only pay it? He is an unworthy debtor, that returns what is lent with a reproach to his credi­tor. And therefore give it up chear­fully, perhaps he may intrust you with something better. 2 Sam. 12. While Da­vid saw that his child was alive, he earnestly besought of God that it might not die; but when once it had given up the ghost, he anoints his head, and puts on other garments, because he knew God was not bound to work a miracle, though he might be inclined to shew mercy. While there was life there was some hope of mercy: but when it was dead, there was no hope of a miracle.

And yet there is one thing that [Page 106]may be pertinently observed in that story of David, which exceedingly argues our folly. Though God had said by a Prophet, that his child should die, yet he earnestly beg'd that it might live. Men are not so earnest for that which they may be assured God will do if it concern their souls, as they are for that which they have all reason to fear he will not do if it concern their bo­dies. Men would have him recal his word, and alter his decrees in temporal matters, but they little mind the obtaining of his promises, and the fulfilling of his Word in spi­ritual concernments. They would have life as long as they please, which they know he will not bestow; but they seek not for contentment which they may be assured he hath a mind to give. They would have him wil­ling to let them enjoy their friends alwayes, which cannot be; but they feek not to him that they may be willing to part with them, though they must part with them, and he would make them willing.

For shame let us not continue in this kind of folly, Death is not only necessary but good. to be angry at things necessary which we cannot avoid, and to neglect those neces­saries which we cannot want.

And since death is such a com­mon thing, and so easie to be met with, that every thing in the world may bring it to us; let us further consider, that it cannot be very hurtful in it self; for all such things are more unufal and rare. God is not so unkind unto the world as to let the most noxious and poyson­ous things grow everywhere in the greatest plenty. Things of that na­ture they are but thinly scattered through the world; they lie hid, and dare not commonly appear. Since death therefore is in every thing, since it lurks not for us like a Serpent in the grass, but the smal­lest thing in this world may strike us with it, let us verily perswade our selves, that there is no such great harm in it as we imagine; especi­ally considering that there is ano­ther life.

I am sure that some as wise as [Page 108]we that mourn so much, have thought that death was the best thing that be­fals the sons of men: And if we do not think so, it is because we think not of death it self. Plutarch. ad Apollor. It is a common story which Pindar was first Author of, how that Agamedes and Trophonius, having built the Temple of Apollo, asked a reward of that God for their service. He promised that after seven dayes he would pay them well for their pains; at the end of which they both dyed in the midst of a sleep. This the world believed was a les­son to them, that God could do men no greater favour then to take them out of the miseries of life. Not long after this Pindar himself exemplified the same truth that he had taught; For when by the Em­bassadors of Baeotia, he askt the Ora­cle What was the very best thing that could befal men? The answer was, V. etiam Suidam in voc. [...]. that Pindar knew well enough, if he did not lie when he wrote the story of Agamedes: but if he doubt­ed, he should shortly know what it was. This he interpreted to signifie his death, which within a few dayes af­ter hapned.

But perhaps we are not of this mind, and I need not go to an Ora­cle to know the reason, which is plainly this; We are acquainted with no other life but this. If the world had not so much of our hearts, we shoul not find any fault with the ne­cessity of death, because it would become desirable. We should not then be so sorry for our friends depar­ture, as for our own stay. We should be glad that neither they nor we were necessitated to dwell there al­wayes, where there are so many trou­bles, that he is happiest who is soonest freed from them.

But there were many that thought not much of the goodness of death, who yet were comforted with the bare thoughts of necessity. How many Heathens might I tell you of who fled to this one truth for refuge, and found protection under it against the assaults of sorrow? Nothing is hapned to me, but what hapneth to all. The first minute that we began to live, we began to dye. This is not the first, but the last moment of death. It is now finished, but it [Page 110]was born when we were born.

When one came and told Anaxa­goras in the midst of a lecture that his child was dead, Hold thy peace said he, I knew that I begate a son that was mortal, and so proceeded in his Discourse without any accents of grief or a mournful tone. And so ano­ther said to his friend when he saw him weeping for his wife; I thought you had known that you married a woman and not a Goddess. Do but re­member then what the thing is that thou lovest, and thou must be willing either to leave, or not to love it. As they used to stand behind them that triumphed, and to admonish them, You are but mortal men; so let us say to our selves when Love is in its greatest flames, Arrian. l. 3. cap. 24. [...], I love a dying person. What hurt is there while we embrace and kiss a child to say [...], to morrow it may dye? and so to discourse with our friends; To think of their death doth not make our lives uncomfor­table. To morrow either you or I may go away, and never thus embrace any more. Doth it make it our love the less? doth it make us avoid their presence? No, therefore [Page 111]we are so greedy of our friends so­ciety, because we know not how long we may enjoy them. It makes love more fervently desirous to have all of them now, because it knows that it may have none of them ere it be long. It teaches us to use their friendship to the best advantages we can, because we are not like to have the use of it as long as we please. The knowledge of our departure, doth not part friends now, but makes them cleave the closer until they de­part. Let us be willing they should die, and that will not abate of our love; for we cannot be willing until we have loved them as much as we can. We shall be loth they should go without the best testimonies of our love, and that will make us only improve our time to have the bene­fit of them, and they of us. Epist. 63. Seneca tells in one of his Letters, that he who gave a great deal of good counsel to others not to grieve, was himself al­most made an example of one over­come with grief. But the truth of it is (saith he) there was no other cause of that mourning which I [Page 112]must now condemn, but only this, I did not use to think that my friend might die before me. I only had in my mind that he was younger, much younger then my self; whereas I ought to have added, What is this to the purpose? Though he ought (I imagine) to die after me, yet he may die before me. Because I did not thus meditate, I received a stroak when I was unarmed, which went to my heart. But now I think both that all things are mortal, and that their is no certain order of mortality. That which may be at all, may be to day. And if you think that your friend may die to day, then why do you not begin to mourn, since his death is so near, unless you mean to take it patiently when it comes? If you will lament the death of your friends so sadly, why do you not prepare your lamentations, seeing death may be so near? If you think it is not so near, then it is likely your sorrow will be violent when it comes, because sudden: If you think it is, and yet do not mourn, then why should you lament that so sadly at [Page 113]night, which you did not weep for at all, at noon? Plutarch. There were some crea­tures they say in Pontus, whose life lasted but one day; They were born in the morning, and came to their full growth at noon, and grew old in the evening, and at night dyed. If these animals had been masters of the reason that we have, would they have lamented after our fashion? would they have mourned for one that chanced to die at noon, when as it could not live longer then night? No, that which is necessary, it is no matter when it comes. And because we are of a longer life, our trouble at death is not to be the greater, but the less; For it is a greater wonder that we did not die many dayes agone, then that we die to day.

But some will say, The kind of death is not so con­siderable as death it self. that it is not death it self, but the kind of death that so troubles them. They could have been contented, if he had gone out of the world another way. But I beseech you, do you know what will please your selves? Can you tell what sort of death it is that would content you? are there any that do [Page 114]not blame their hard fortune, and wail and mourn as if none were so miserable? are not men equally troubled if one dye of a Feavour, and another of a Consumption, if their love be equal? It is very plain, that he that perswades himself to part with his friends, will not grieve for the manner of the parting. He that can overcome himself in the greater cause of grief, will not suffer the less so easily to overcome him. And therefore you see that men have al­wayes something to find fault with­all. If a friend die in a far Coun­trey, then they say, Alas! that we should not see him before he dyed! how sad is it that we should not take our leave? If he dye at home, then they say, who could endure to hear his groans? how sad was it to see him in the agonies of death? If he die and speak nothing, then they say, O if he might but have told us his mind, if he had left us any re­membrances, it would have been some comfort. If he did speak, then they tell his speeches to every one, and say, O my sweet child, or friend, I [Page 115]shall never forget thy words. Would you have me put out of my mind his dying speeches? and so those sayings are a perpetual nourishment and food to their grief. If he die on a sudden, then they lament, because he was snatch, rather then went away. If he dye of a lingring sickness, then they say he was nothing but skin and bone, a meer Anatomy: never any creature endured so much as he did; and so they are sad they know not for what, for they would not have had him gone away so fast.

And indeed men never want some causes or pretences for their grief; but the true reason is, that they would not have had them to have dyed at all.

Let us therefore digest these consi­derations well, and so proceed to the next, which shall be this:

Let us consider well who it is for whom we make our lamentations. Who is it I say, §. 5. II. We must consider who the persons are that die. that death hath taken away from us? Perhaps it is an In­fant, a poor little weakling newly crept into the light. And this hath the least of wonder in it of all other things, that such a little spark of [Page 116]life should be blown out. Comforts against the loss of children. A greater wonder it is that it was not strangled in the gate of the womb. A little while ago it had no life, and it is now but as it then was. We were once content without it; why cannot we be content without it now? It never loved us, nor was capable to shew any affection to us, and therefore we may the better part with it. It was scarce tyed to our heart, and therefore it need not make the strings crack. It was not unwilling to go out of the world; and if it had lived longer, death would have been more against its will. It hath lost no great mat­ter, for it knew not the benefits of life. It hath cost us nothing, and we have been at a small charge about it, and therefore we have lost nothing neither but only it, a coffin and a winding sheet. If it could have known the miseries of living, and it had been put to its choise, very likely it would not have chosen for to live, but to be what now it is. It hath not blotted its soul by any sin, nor deflowred the Virgin purity wherein it was born. If it have any thing to complain [Page 117]of, it is only this, that it was born. And therefore let us be content, for it is better perhaps for it, and not much the worse for us. If we weep so much for an Infant, what shall we do for a man? either let us now let down the sluce, or else expect that we shall then be drowned. If he had lived to be a man, it might have done as we do, miserably bewail the death of its children. And there­fore either let us not bewail it, or else think that it is happy, that it lived not to be so miserable as we think our selves: and both ways our grief will be cured.

But suppose it be a child of a larger growth, Unreason­able to mourn for one when we have more. whose death extorts these tears from us. Yet it is but one, and we may have many more remaining. Shall we lose all the content of a great many, because we suffer the wants of one? If the life of this one would have pleased us so much, then how joyful should we be in the life of four or five? If it be such a grief to lose a child, then let us be thankful that we lie not under the miserable grief of losing them all. But if we [Page 118]cannot take this patiently, then I doubt we shall run mad with impa­tience, if God should take them all away. We must learn to part with more, by parting willingly with this one, for all must die too. Can he bear a stone weight, who cannot endure the load of one pound? and yet how justly may we fear that all the rest should shortly follow, seeing we fret so much at Gods hand in this? Suppose that this was the most goodly child, yet not fairer sure then all the rest put together. Or if he was most beautiful, yet some of the others may be more wise. If this had all our love, then we may learn now how to divide our love equally, and take pleasure in loving more. If he loved us most, then he would have wisht us (if he had thought of it) not to make our selves misera­ble by mourning for him. Dion Chryst. Orat. 30. So Cha­ridemus said to his friends when he was a dying; It is Gods will that I should die, and there can nothing that is hurtful come from him. I am very willing to die, and I beseech you believe me in what I say, for I [Page 119]have a greater care to speak truth now, then any of you can have. Grieve not for me, for I grieve not; do not make your selves miserable, for I think not my self to be so. [...], As much as ever you are able refrain from all sadness, for no sad thing hath befaln me. Thus we should say to our friends if we love them, and therefore their love to us should not make us sad, because they would have all they love to be chearful. If they could tell us their mind, they would certainly bid us cease our mourning, and therefore let us do that our selves which they would have us for to do.

But let it be supposed that it is an only child; Or when we may have more. yet are there not many hopes that you may have more? who gave you this? cannot he give you another? hath not he that hath the keyes of the grave, the keyes of the womb also? If one die then, as long as the world lasts another shall be born. And if we desire children for the good of the world, then so they be born, it is no matter by [Page 120]whom. But if for our own sake, then we may have them as well as others; but grief I will assure you is not the way to get them. Or if God will give us none, then we may adopt one. Any child will love us, as if it was our own, if it know not that it is any bodies else. Nay, any one will love and serve us for what we have, and in stead of one, we shall have many that will thank us (more then he perhaps) to be our heirs: but if we have nothing, then why should we desire children for to leave them miserable? But as I said, why should we not hope for more, and those better then him we lost? So it is said 2 Sam. 12.24. David comforted Bath­sheba his wife; and how did he comfort her? he went in unto her and lay with her, and she bare a Jedidiah, a man beloved of the Lord. If we count it such a strange thing to die, then it should seem it is an ordinary thing to live, and so why should we not expect the new life of another? But if it be no strange thing to die, then (as I have said already) we may well be comforted. Or if we should [Page 121]have no more, yet this may be some comfort, that then we shall have no more to mourn thus sadly for. Yea, suppose thou art the last of thy fa­mily and name, (as was the great Scaliger, and Lipsius also another excellent Scholar) it is no great mat­ter, seeing the world is not to last long. If thy name must have an end, what needest thou to trouble thy self when it ends? And if men can think it no harm to suffer their name to die of it self (as Scaliger did who would not marry) why shouldst thou be troubled if thine perish, after thou hast done what thou couldst for to preserve it?

But then if thou hadst never so many children, Or when it is un­certain whether they, or none at all be better. yet who knows how they may prove? If they should be bad, then thou thy self wilt say, that it had been better they had never been. They that thou mournest for, because they are dead, might have given thee greater cause of mourning if they had lived. If the death of a child be sad, his wickedness would have been far sadder, for that is a worser death. He that dies doth trouble his parents [Page 122]but ouce; but he that is bad, is a perpetual torment to them. He that is dead, cannot indeed help his pa­rents, but then he doth not hurt them, as many a bad one doth. For those that are dead we only grieve, we do not fear; but for those that are bad we fear perpetually, and we grieve also: yea all the sorrow we now conceive at their death, will not equal perhaps the meer fear which we should have had from their in­fancy, lest their life should be bad.

It is said in the life of John the patriarch of Alexandria, that a Mer­chant came to him to pray for a son of his that was at Sea, that he might be safe. Within a moneth the child dyed, and his ship likewise was cast away. And when he was much trou­bled at this double loss, he thought one night that he saw the Patriarch standing by his bed, and saying to him, Thou desiredst me to pray that thy son might be safe, and behold now he is safe, for he is dead. If he had lived wickedly in his future course, then he could not have been safe. And besides their badness, [Page 123]suppose our children should have dyed of some infamous and base death, this would have troubled us more then death it self. Yea, some there have been that have sought their parents death, and what a trouble would this have been? Some have slain their fathers, and others their mothers, and who was there left to mourn then? If you be affright­ed at these strange supposals (which yet sometimes have had a real truth) yet consider once more, that if they had not been bad, yet who knows what miseries they might have en­dured, worse then death? Can you tell what misfortunes might have be­faln them, which might have made them wish they had dyed sooner? They are now dead, perhaps they have that which afterward they might have desired, and not so easily have obtained. Who is there that desires any one should live, unless it be in hopes that he shall enjoy more good then evil? But how few are there to whom this happens, unless it be a fool who knows not what evil and misery means? One of the [Page 124]Gymnosophists answered Alexander when he askt whether death or life was stronger? Life sure, for that bears the most evils. And suppose he that is dead should not have been miserable; yet now he is gone, if he might rise again, it is likely he would not, lest he should know again the fear and the pains of dying.

But it is the Death of our parents perhaps that we thus bewail: Comforts against the death of parents. they that brought us into the world, are them­selves gone out of it. And what wonder is there in this? If they had not been to go out, what need would there have been of bringing us in? If they were designed to stay alwayes, then there had been no room for us. They might more easily remember their mortality then we; for there is no act that puts us more in mind of death, then that whereby we give another life. But it is but one of them it is likely that we have lost, we may then love the other the more. Or if both, yet we have least reason to complain about their death of all others; for both Nature, and they themselves, and we also would have [Page 125]them die before us. We complain that people die when they are young; and will we complain too when they die of old age? then it seems we will have none die, and cannot be con­tented unless they live alwayes: Would they have been willing to have been left childless without you? if not, then they have their choice to go first. Or are you so well in love with death, that it would have been more acceptable to you to have gone be­fore? or are you so much in love with them, that on that account you had rather have dyed then they? Then know that your death would as much more have troubled them, then theirs doth you, as the love of parents to their children transcends the love of all children unto them. It is very well then as it is. It is not handsome nei­ther to complain when we are forty or fifty years of age, that our parents are dead, for they could live no longer, or if they could, it would have been but a kind of death. If we will not cease to complain when we are of age, neither shall we ever cease when we grow older. For as [Page 226] Cardan tells us, a poor woman once came to his door to beg an alms, and though she were seventy years of age, yet she used this argument in her complaints, that she was a poor fa­therless and motherless creature, and had none to take any care of her. We need the less of their care, when we can take care of our selves.

But perhaps they die before we are of age, and can take care of our selves. Then we are least sensible of their loss; or if we are so consi­derate as to know that, we may con­sider also such things as these; There is none fatherless that hath God for his Father: and he that hath not, would be little better for his earthly parents. If they were good, let us follow their example, and remember their Counsel: If they were bad, they would not have been true pa­rents to us; and it is well perhaps that we had not such an example to follow. They may live still in us, if they were good; if they were bad, we had need live the better, and spend those tears for their sins (which may entail curses on us) which we bestow [Page 127]upon them. But besides, it is ob­served by some, that the most emi­nent persons that have been in the world did lose their parents when they were young, or else it is like they had not proved so eminent. The great Caesar and his successor Au­gustus, Alexander the Monarch of the World, Cicero the famous Ora­tor, Galen the most excellent Physiti­an, Aristotle the great Philosopher, are all examples of this truth. If these had enjoyed the support of their parents to lean upon, they might not have tryed their own suf­ficiency, nor exercised their abilities; or else they might have been wholly eclipsed by their lustre, and done no­thing to be taken notice of in the world.

But some will say that they have lost one half of themselves. — And of husband or wife. Death hath ravisht an husband or a wife out of their bosoms: And it is very well too (I assure you) seeing Death is so common, that he hath left one half, and not taken all. But did you not think of this before? did you not take one another with this clause [Page 128] [till death us depart?] You did speak of parting when you first came together; and now that you are part­ed, you are free again as you were before. If you like this conditon so well, you are at liberty to seek ano­ther self. If you do not like it, why do you mourn for nothing? or if you liked that person so well as to think of no other, then you may stand among the rare examples of love and friendship, and for one husband you may chuse you twenty friends.

But our friends you will say, And of friends. Epist. 63. do die also. Very true. But let me bor­row the words of Seneca for a leni­ment of this evil, who speaks to this purpose. If thou hast other friends besides this, is it not a great reproach to them of their unworthiness, that all of them are not able to comfort thee for the loss of one? If thou hast no more, then thou hast done thy self a greater wrong then God hath done thee, for he hath taken but one, and thou hast made never an one. God makes men (as is said by some) and we make friends. And if thou beest [Page 129]desirous of more, & findest such need of them, thou hast leisure now to go and seek them. He can never want friends, that wants not vertue. He loved not one well, that cannot love any more then one. Is it not a ridi­culous folly for a man to shrug and cry when he hath lost his coat, rather then go to fetch another garment to cover him from the cold? If he be ta­ken away whom thou didst love, seek another whom to love. It is far better to repair thy loss, then to mourn for it. And if thou canst not find another to thy mind, How couldst thou be a friend to him that is dead, if thou hast no power to help thy self? why should not a good man find enough in God and himself? The want of nothing, can make thee want vertue; and he that hath that, hath enough. Nay, every good man is thy friend if thou beest good: and they that never see thy face before, if they see thy goodness, they will be good unto thee. Apuleius de Philos. Mor. Bonos omnes oportet inter se amicos esse, et si sint minus noti: All good men ought to be friends, though they be not much acquainted.

I have passed over these last par­ticulars (as you see) very swiftly, be­cause I observe my discourse begins to run to a greater length then I in­tended: and in some of the following considerations you shall find satisfa­ction to every one of these cases, if you will but concoct them.

Consider so far as to make compa­risons. §. 6. III. To com­pare our selves with our selves & others, a way to be contented. And first of all compare thy self now with what thou once wast, yea with what thou once wast not. There was a time when thou thy self was not so much as dead, for thou wast not at all, nor hadst any ca­pacity of joy or sorrow. Hath God dealt unkindly with thee in giving thee a being capable of both? We were not so well once, or not better; and yet not so grieved. Would'st thou have resused a being (if we may suppose an offer to be made to nothing) unless he would have given thee nothing but joy, and never taken away what he gave thee? unless thou hast a mind to be nothing, be contended with what thou art. Then thou hadst not these relations, for thou hadst not thy self. Why then shouldst thou mourn that thou hast them not, since thou hast thy [Page 131]self? Is there not more reason to be thankful for a being, though ca­pable of mourning, then to be trou­bled at the occasion of thy mourning? Surely thou dost not desire to cease thy mourning, by ceasing to be. Ease thy self then of thy mourning by the being that God hath given thee. If thou could'st not mourn then, Do not mourn now. But then consider, that since thou hadst a being, there was a time when thou hadst none of these relations, no wife, nor chil­dren, nor friends which thou art de­prived of. Yet thou didst not then weep and lament, and trouble thy self as now thou dost. Seeing thou art what thou wast, be contented as thou wast. What difference is there between that time and this? Thou wast as much without then, as now thou art; why shouldst thou not be as much contented now as then? All the difference between those that want a thing, and those that lose it, is only this; that they who lose it once had that, which they that want it never had. Now shall we be the more troubled because we once had [Page 132]it? one would think that their trou­ble should be the greatest that neither have it, nor ever had it. We have reason to be more pleased that we had it, if there were any good in it: and if there was no good in it, then we have no reason to be displeased that we have it not. Say, hadst thou rather never have enjoyed thy friends, then now be deprived of them? Was thy condition worse or better heretofore? If it was but equal to thy present, then thou hast reason to be equally pleased. Remem­ber how thou wast then, and be so now. If it was worse then, why shouldst thou be now worse troubled? If it was better then, why didst thou change it, seeing thou knewest that all must die? No question it is better to have enjoyed a good thing, then never to have known it. And there­fore seeing thou art no worse now then thou wast once, but hast been better then once thou wast, be not more troubled then thou wast once; yea, be less troubled.

But secondly, We may be worse. compare thy present condition with what thou mayst be. [Page 133]This is not the worst that may befall thee in such a world of miseries. Suppose then that thou shouldst lose all thy children as Job did, and then lose thy whole estate; that the Sea should swallow one part, and the fire burn another, and theeves rob thee of a third, and bad debtors quite undo thee. Suppose after all this, that a fire should begin to burn in thy own bones, and that should break into boils, and they should break into scabs, and thou shouldst be poor, even to a Proverb, as that holy man was. Must thou not be contented then? But how is that possible, seeing thou canst not be contented now: If such a showr of tears fall from thine eyes for this little loss, then sure thou wilt make a flood or a deluge. But what wilt thou do at last after all thy lamenta­tions? wilt thou kill thy self? Then it seems thou takest death to be the end of all troubles; and I wonder thou shouldst be troubled at that which hath cased thy friend of all troubles. Or what else wilt thou do? comfort thy self? Try how thou [Page 134]canst do that now, for if thy sto­mack resuse cordials in this distem­per, never expect that it will digest them, when thou wilt be far more sick and apt to vomit them up again. If Job had cursed the day wherein he was born at the first breach that God made upon his estate, what expres­sions of grief (below a great sin) had he left for himself when he sate up­on the dunghil? The good man took the first losses so patiently, that all the rest which befell him could not move him to greater impatience. Do thou remember him; and say to thy soul, Come, be quiet, this is not the worst that may betide us; we have no such cause to cry as we may have; Let us learn patience against a time when we may have more need of it.

And then if we should be brought to the very dust, and fall as low as the dung of the earth, yet there is another way of considering what may be besides this. We may be better. We may be as happy again, as now we account our selves miserable. Our sorrow may be turn­ed into joy, as our joy hath been [Page 135]turned into sorrow. Weeping may endure for a night, but joy may come in the morning, according as I have said in the former discourse; Job 42.12. And so it was with Job whom God blessed in his latter end, more then in his beginning. We have seen the end of the Lord (saith the Apostle James) that the Lord is very pitiful, Jam. 5.11. and of tender mercy. But then this pitty of his is to be obtained only by pati­ence. If we cannot be contented, it is needful we may think that he should teach us it still by greater losses.

Thirdly, We have more then we want. Compare what thou hast lost, with what thou hast not lost. God leaves commonly more then he takes. He takes away thy children perhaps, but thou hast thy husband, and he is better then ten sons. Or if thou hast lost thy husband also, yet thou hast thy self; and why should a living man complain? and thou hast God himself, whom nothing can take away from thee. Or if thou hast him not, yet thou mayst have him; and who knows but that therefore thou hast lost thy friends, [Page 136]because thou hast not him? God hath taken them away, that thou maist seek after him. Wouldst thou have been willing that all thou hast should have been lost rather then this one friend? Shall God raise him from the dead, and all the rest go into his tomb? Wilt thou have all, or else take comfort in none? Then God may well take away all, and let thee have something to cry for. Yea, who is there destitute of all friends and comforters? Job himself was not so spoiled, that they had robbed him of his friends. Though they did add indeed to his grief, yet it was their mistake, and not their want of love. And if we should have no better, then we may give God thanks, that he lets us see more then all our friends. Yea, it is a great mercy that God gives us time to cease our grief and trouble. And perhaps we have riches, and a plea­sant dwelling, delightful walks, &c. or if we have not, and can bear that patiently; Barthol. cent. 4. Hist. An. cap. 16. then we may soon learn how to bear this. Do the poor peo­ple of Norway weep when they eat, because their bread is made of the [Page 137]barks of trees, and sometimes of chaff, not of corn as ours is? If there were no trees, nor chasse, nor no such thing to fill their mouths, they might well cry, but as long as we have what is needful, we should be content, for nothing is so needful as that. Let us not then weep because we have not so many friends as we had, for we have more then we de­serve. Let us not mourn as though we were desolate, when we want but one; no more then we do com­plain of hunger when we have all variety of chear, except one dish that we love most. But

Fourthly, We have more then many others. Let us compare our selves (if you please) with others. In other cases this is a thing we love to do, though there be so much dan­ger in it that it may undo us. If we be guilty of any fault, then we com­fort our selves in comparisons, and think that we are not so bad as others. Now that which we are apt to do when we do ill, we ought to do when we think we suffer ill. Is God more unkind to us then to any of our neighbours? Do not we see [Page 138]that many of our neighbours chil­dren are dead as well as ours? Many of them have lost four or five, and we have lost but one. Nay, many of them never had any, and yet they do not therefore mourn, and besmear their faces with tears, and break their hearts with sighs. Our case is the very same now that we have none, but only that it is a little better, be­cause we had once some. And how thankful should we be that we had them so long, if it be desirable to have them at all? But then we may say further to our selves, How many of them have lost their friends in the late wars? How many hath the sword made Widdows, and the blood of how many of their children hath it drunk? Ours were taken away by the hand of God, but theirs were taken away by the hands of men. Our friends dyed in their beds, and theirs dyed in the field; Ours went, and theirs were driven out of the world. Come, let us go comfort our neigh­bours that have lost more then we, for they stand more in need of com­fort. If they stand in need of none, then no more do we.

It was very handsomely discoursed by Socrates (as Plutarch relates) That if we could all agree to put all the troubles and calamities of men in­to one heap, on this, De Consol. ad Apollon. condition that after every man had brought his and thrown them there, then they should all come again and take every man an equal portion of them, there would be a great many that now complain, who would rather take up what they brought, and go their ways content­ed with them.

And so Antimachus an Ancient Poet, when his wife dyed whom he loved exceedingly, he went and writ a Poem bearing her name, wherein he reckoned up all the calamities that he could remember had befaln any in the world. By this means he did deter himself from grief; for how can one suffer the miseries which others endure, if he cannot bear this light one of his own.

Fifthly, It is better with us then with those of former times. Let us compare our selves with the Ancient Christians. Their children were snatcht out of their arms by the hands of tyrants. They see their brains dasht out against the [Page 140]stones; their friends were buried in fires, or banished into strange places, and they had no comforters left but God and themselves; and their chief­est comfort was, that they must short­ly die the same death. But notwith­standing all this, and much more, they did not take it heavily, but [...] (as Photius speaks) They bare it all thankefully, Epist. 234. and blessed God who could tell how to govern the world be­yond all the thoughts of men. Let not us who suffer but common things, weep with an extraordinary sorrow, when they who suffered most unna­tural deaths did bear it with more then natural courage. They might have been allowed to have wept blood, rather then we to shed tears. And yet they rejoyced as if their friends had been offered in Sacrifice to God; and we weep as if they had been put to some shameful torments for their crimes. Shall we mourn more for the death of a friend then they for a butchery? What arguments had they to comfort them which we have not? What Scripture had they before their eyes to stay their tears, [Page 141]which we read not? If either of us have more to comfort us then the other, it is we; for we have their most excellent example. And when I think of the Mother of the seven Brethren mentioned in the Maca­bees, Mac. 2.7. she calls my thoughts back a little further then the times of Christ. Did she wring her hands when she saw the skin of her son stead off from his head? Did she cast any tears into the fire wherein ano­ther of them was fryed? No, she speaks as chearfully as if they were not stripping them of their skins, but cloathing them with a royal robe. She looks upon them, not as if they lay upon a pan of coals, but in a bridal bed. She exhorted them, be­ing filled with a couragious spirit, saying, V. 21, 22. I cannot tell how you came into my womb, for I neither gave you breath, nor life, neither was it I that formed the members of every one of you. But doubtless the Creator of the world, who formed the generation of man, and found out the beginning of all things, will also of his own mercy give you breath and life again, as you now re­gard [Page 142]not your own selves for his sake. This marvellous woman (as she is called, v. 20.) knew very well that she did not give them life, and there­fore why should she take so heavily their death? She considered they were none of hers, and why should not the owner take them? She knew that she did not lose them, but only restore them. That life sometimes is not worth the having. That unless God will have us live, no wise man would desire to live. That none gives any thing unto God, though it be his own, but he gives them something better. And therefore she said, Die my sons, for that's the way to live.

What poorness of spirit then is it, that we cannot see a soul put off her cloaths without so much ado? That a Jewish woman could see seven souls torn out of their body with more courage, then a Christian man can see one soul quietly to depart and leave its lodging? I would wish every one to save his tears till some other time, when he may have some great­er occasion for them. If he will weep, [Page 143]let it be when he sees the bodies of his children or friends so mangled as theirs were. But if he would not weep out his eyes then, let him weep soberly, and not as if he were drunk with sorrow now.

After we have taken this course with our selves, §. 7. IV. We must think with what rea­son we weep., we shall be the more prepared to hearken unto reason. And let us proceed from making comparisons, to ask our selves some Questions, and stay till they give a good answer. Let us know of our selves why we are so sad and heavy? Let us speak to our souls, and say, Tell me, what is the matter? what is the cause of all this grief? thou art a ra­tional creature, what reason hast thou for all this sorrow? Thou art not to be pittyed meerly for thy tears, if thou canst cry without any cause. Hide­ous things appear sometimes before us to affright us; but they are the Chimera's of a childish imagination, and not things really existent. Let us bid fancy then to stand aside a while, and let reason speak what it is that so troubles us. Children cry [Page 144]who cannot speak, and we are not much troubled at it, because they cry for they know not what; Unless we therefore can tell why we weep, no body will pitty us, because it is not weeping that we are to mind, but the cause of mens weeping. Let me then propose these questions to be answered, some of which will dis­cover that there is no cause of lamentation when our friends die. And if there be no cause that the fountain of tears should run, that is cause enough to stop it up.

I. For whose sake dost thou weep? For the sake of him that's dead, or for thy own? No cause of mourn­ing for their sakes who are dead. Not for him that is dead sure; for we suppose him to be happy. Is it reasonable to say, Ah me▪ what shall I do? I have lost a dear friend that shall eat and drink no more? Alas! he shall never hun­ger again; never be sick again, ne­ver be vexed and troubled; and which is more, he shall never die again? Yet this is the frantick lan­guage of our tears, if we weep for the sake of him that is gone. Suppose [Page 145]thy friend should come to thee, and shake thee by the hand, and say, My good friend, why dost thou lament and afflict thy soul? I am gone to the Paradise of God, a sight most beauti­ful to be beheld, and more rare to be enjoyed. To that Paradise am I flown, where there is nothing but joy and triumph, nothing but friendship and endless love. There am I where the head of us all is, and where we enjoy the light of his most blessed face. I would not live if I might again, no not for the love of thee. I have no such affection to thy society (once most dear unto me) that I would ex­change my present company to hold commerce with thee. But do thou rather come hither as soon as thou canst. And bid thy friends that they mourn not for thee when thou dyest, unless they would wish thee to be miserable again. If we should have such a short converse with one of our acquaintance, what should we think? what should we say? Should we fall a mourning and crying again? would it open a new sluce for our tears to flow out? would we pray him to go [Page 146]to heaven no more, but stay with us? would we entreate him to beg of God that he might come and comfort us? If not, then let us be well content, unless we can give a better reason for our tears, then our love to him. Holcoth reports of a learned man, In 4. sap. v. 7. that was found dead in his Study with a Book before him: A friend of his was exceedingly amazed at this sight when he first came into the room. But when he looked a little further, he found his fore-finger pointing at this place in the book of Wisdom, c. 4. v. 7. [...]. Though the just be pre­vented with death, yet shall he be in rest. And when he observed this, he was as much comforted, as he was before dejected. We have no reason to lament them who are made im­mortal, and that live with God. If we respect them only, we should carry them forth as the Aegyptians did the great Prophet of Isis when he dyed, Heliod. l. 7. Aethiop. not with howlings and sorrow, but with hymns and joy, as being made an heir [...], with our Betters, and gone to possess most glo­rious things.

The truth of it is, if it were ra­tional love to him that expresseth these tears, then we should not begin them so soon, nor make such a noise, and cry when men are a dying. For the sad countenances and the miser­able lamentations wherewith we en­compass sick mens beds, make death seem more frightful to them, then it is in it self. What misery am I falling into (may a man think) that causes them to make such a moan? What is this death, that makes even them look so ghastly who are not like to die? What a mischief is it to leave so many sad hearts behind me, and to go my self (it should seem by them) to some sad and dismal place also? I tell you, a dying man had need have a double courage, to look both death and them in the faces, or else their indiscreet shrikes and lamentations will make a poor soul fall into such dark and cloudy thoughts. Nor for our own sakes that are alive. Men are fain there­fore to say that it is indeed love to themselves that forces them thus to bemoan the death of their friends. But what are you, that cannot be contented one should be made much [Page 148]better, by making of you a little worse? Is this the great love you pretend to your friend, that you are sorry he is gone to heaven? are you a friend, that look more at your own small benefit, then at his great gain? Was he not much beholden to you for your love, that would have had him lived till you were dead, that he might have been as miserable in mourning for you, as you think now your selves to be? But what is it I be­seech you, that you thus bemoan your selves for? because that you are now miserable? No, it seems that you are not miserable enough, and that makes you weep so much. If you had some greater trouble befaln you, that would put all your friends out of your mind. If you were sick, or in pains, or had lost all your goods, these things could take your mind off from this loss; why then cannot the enjoy­ment of them? When Joab did but threaten David that they all would leave him, 2 Sam. 19.7. unless he would be com­forted, then he could wipe his face, and appear in publick as a man well pleased. Fear of losing his Kingdom, [Page 149]put away the grief for the loss of his son. And therefore let us not speak of our being miserable by this loss, for at last we find it is not so. Yea I must tell you that it is not meer self­love that begets these tears. For sup­pose this person to have been at a great distance from us for some years; Did we weep and mourn because he was not with us? did not the meer thoughts that he lived comfort us? was he not as good as dead when we neither saw, nor felt, nor heard him? What help could he afford us at that distance? and did we account our selves miserable all that time? we are now as we were then, in all things the same, but only in the knowledge that he is dead. But was he not dead as to us before? did he do any thing for us at that time that he doth not now? Let us be quiet then; for the truth is, it is not love to him, nor love to our selves that makes us sometimes weep, but a meer natural affection that stirs within us, i. e. Men mourn oft-times they know not why, but only it is na­tural so to do. They think they are not as they were before. They feel [Page 150]that there is something wanting, as they imagine. It is a thing of long ac­quaintance perhaps, and so nature is loth to part with it: Get a new na­ture then, and that will mend all. And yet it is not meer natural affecti­on neither that makes us sad, For we our selves shall soon forget it. but the freshness and the presence of the ob­ject of our sadness. Time will make us forget it; or if our parents had dyed a little after we were born, we should never have wept when we came of age, to think that they were departed. It is no hard matter then for a considerate person to cease his grief, seeing it depends upon such small causes. And if any one shall say that it is love to the good of the world that makes him mourn for the loss of an useful person; He hath rea­son to rejoyce that he loves the good of men so much. For then he will labour to do much good in the world himself; and he will perswade all the friends he hath remaining, that they would do all the good they can, and repair that loss.

II. But let me further ask you, Was [Page 151]thy friend Gods friend also, Our friends if Good, are not lost. or was he not? If he was the friend of God, as well as a friend of thine, why should not he have his company rather then thou? If he was not Gods friend, then he could not be thine neither. No man can love us aright, that doth not love God; and if he do love God, why should we think much that he goes to God? But supposing he was very dear to us; then I say, that if he was Bad, thou oughtest to have mourned for him before this. For then thy tears might have done some good, which now are altogether un­profitable. Eccles. 22.12. Seven dayes (saith the son of Sirach) do men mourn for him that is dead; but for a fool, and an un­godly man, all the dayes of his life. But if he were a Good man, then thou needest not mourn now, for thou mayest hope to see him again, if thou art Good. Thus thou mayest comfort thy self, My friend is not gone, but gone before. He is sepa­rated from us, but not lost. He is absent, but not dead. He hath taken a journey into a far Countrey, and there I may go to see him. What [Page 152]matter is it whether my friend return to me, or I go to him? None but this, that if he be in a better place, then it is better that I go to see him, then that he come to see me. Should we not desire to be better our selves, and not to have him made worse? then let us contentedly follow as fast as we can, hoping there where he is to embrace again. We cannot expect him in our house, but he expects us in his. He cannot come down to us, but we may go up to him. He cannot come back, but we may follow after. And there is no difference (as I said) between his visiting of us at our home, and our going to see him at his, but only this, that it is a great deal better for us to see him there where he is, and not where we are now our selves. Let us not mourn therefore for that which cannot be, but rejoyce for that which may and will be. And let it comfort us that we shall come together again, but in a better place then we would have it; we shall have our desires fulfilled, but in a more excellent manner then we desire. And if in the mean time [Page 153]he can do us any good, we may be sure we shall not want it.

III. Ask your selves again, As they are not lost, so we have had them long. Why should you mourn more for your loss, then be glad for your enjoyment? If there be so much reason to lament the absence of this friend, then it should seem his enjoyment was very valu­able. Think therefore of the sweet­ness thou hadst in that, which thou wouldst purchase again with so many tears. Is there no comfort but only in things present? Is it not a piece of our folly to forget what we have enjoyed? Shall we only think what delight we have lost, and not of what we have had? We do not know whether we have lost any, but only that which we had; and that we may think of as much as if he were alive. Of what we have enjoyed we are certain; but there is no certainty of what we should have found in our friend for the time to come. Think then of the time past, and rejoyce that thou didst find so sweet a friend. Imagine not how long thou mightest have enjoyed him, but think how long [Page 154]thou didst. It was but natural to lose him; but it was supernatural to enjoy him. All men are born to die, but all men are not born to live so long before they die. All men have acquaintance, but all men have not friends. Therefore he that hath a friend, and hath him so long, he is to acknowledge that God is very much his friend. He was not ours, but was given us by God; or rather he was not given, but only lent. We had not the propriety, but only the use. We have not lost any thing that was our own, but only restored that which was anothers. And therefore now that he is taken away, we are not to be angry that God requires his own, but to be thankful, that he hath lent us so long that which was none of our own. And assure your selves there is nothing more unrea­sonable then to mourn that God gave us a thing no longer; and not to re­joyce that he gave us that which is so desirable, at all. Cease your tears I beseech you, unless you will shew that you deserved to have wept a little sooner. Either say that he was not [Page 155]worth the having, and then you need not weep at all, or else give God the thanks that you had a person so wor­thy, and that will stay your immode­rate weeping.

Nay, will some passionate person say, but this will rather augment our grief, when we think that he was so much worth unto us, and yet is gone. But that is our fault, if we will think more and oftner that he is not, then that he was. How can any body help you, if you will needs look more up­on his departure, then upon his stay? Seeing there is more reason that you should please your self in what is past, it is to be supposed that your thoughts will be more upon it; and if they be, you cannot be sad: But if they be not, then you are not to be cured by reason, but by some­thing else. When you are apt to fetch a sigh, and say, Oh my dear friend is gone! call it in again, and say, Thanks be to God that I had such an one to lose. Who would not be willing to spend some tears after so much joy? But then the remembrance of the joy will com­mand [Page 156]that the tears do not overflow. It is an excellent saying of Seneca, I ever think of my friends with joy; For I had them as if I should lose them, Habui illos tanquam amissurus, amisi tan­quam ha­beam. Epist. 63. and I have lost them as if I had them. If we could but think of them as dying while they are alive, then we should more easily think of them as alive when they are dead. If we could be willing to part with them when we have them, we should think that we have them, when we have parted with them. And the truth is, we cannot please our selves long in the remembrance of them, unless it be accompanyed with some joy. I do not advise you to for­get your friends, and put them out of mind, but to temember them, and keep them in your thoughts. But how short a remembrance (saith the same Seneca) must that be, which is alwayes joyned with grief and sor­row? If we would remember one al­wayes, we must remember him with pleasure; For no man will return willingly to that, which he cannot think of without his torment. And if there be any little grief intermixed [Page 157]with our thoughts, yet that grief hath its pleasure. As the sharpness of old Wine doth make it more accep­table to mens palates, & as Apples are more grateful for their sharp sweet­ness; so Attalus was wont to say, That the remembrance of our friends is the more pleasant, for that little sorrow that is mingled with it.

IV. Ask your selves again, And we have many more re­maining. Why so many mourn for one? could that one have mourned more for you all, then every one of you do for him? If you will weep, weep only your part, and do not weep as if there was none else to weep but your selves. If a man that was not acquainted with the world, should see ten, or twenty, or perhaps a greater number sitting in a room, and miserably bemoaning of themselves, would he not ask what Town was burnt, or what family was dead that caused so many mourners? How much then would he be asto­nished when he heard the Answer, that you had lost a friend, a child, or some one of your other relations? What? are there so many tears due [Page 158](would he think) from every one of these for one? must so many be rea­dy to die for the death of one? can there be no comfort found among so many of you against the death of one single person? Me thinks you should all of you together weep no more for the death of one, then that one would have wept for you if you had been dead altogether. Look there­fore upon one another, and say, You are still left behind, and I am left, and here are twenty more of our friends alive; how is it then that we are discontented, as if we had not lost one, but every one of us had lost one? If there had been but one of us left, what could he have done more, then what every one of us doth? could he shed more tears for the loss of us all, could he make himself more sad then we now are? Either let us say, that one and ten are equal, or let us not shed as many tears for one as we would for ten; much less ten times as many tears as there would be for ten. For but one would weep for ten, and here ten that weep for one. Divide your grief then, and [Page 159]let every one bear a part, but not the whole; for that is, as if you had none to bear it with you.

V. Ask thy self, Or if we have not, God is still ours, who rules the world, and not we. Who is it that go­verns the world? Is it the will of God, or thy will that thou prayest may be done? Shall not he that made a thing have leave to dispose of it as he thinks good? By what law is it that he shall not do what he pleases with his own? Must we have our wills in all things, and must not he have his will also? must not he be pleased as well as we? If we think it so reason­able to have what we will; then it is more reasonable that he should have what he wills. Now if our will and his will cannot stand toge­ther, which shall bend and submit themselves to the other? Is not his will most wise? If he had considered better, would he have done other­wise? could we have told him what would be most fit for us? If we had been of his Counsel, should not this friend have been taken away? Doth he will things because he will? Per­haps there is no reason at all for our [Page 160]wills, and we are in love with a thing, we know not why; shall we think that he is so in like manner? Or if we have any reasons, are not his better? We would have the life of a child that he may be a comfort unto us; God will have us to part with him, that he may be our only comfort. We should chuse his life, that he might enjoy the things that we have got: But God thinks fit that he should die, that we may put our estates to better uses, whereby we are assured he may be more glo­rified. Or perhaps we desire our children may live for Gods glory sake, that they may honour and serve him in the world: but cannot he tell what is best for his own glory? is he so careless of that as to take away the things without which he cannot be served? Let us then cease our complaints, unless we would have him to let us govern the World. But he was taken away, will some say, before his time, else I should be content. I shall answer this as Pho­tius doth, Epist. 234. [...], Let me hear no such word I [Page 161]beseech you, a word too bold to be spoken, and more bold to be thought. Before the time do you say? Then why was he not thought to come before the time, when he came out of his mothers womb? There is no reason for it but this, that it was the will and pleasure of God that he should be born at such a time. And must God appoint the time of his birth, and we set the time of his death? Did the Workman give him a being in good time, and take him to himself, not knowing the fittest time? From a drop he made him to become a lump of flesh. He formed the flesh into parts, he brought him into the light, and he kept him in his infancy and childhood. Was any of these out of due time? why then only should it be out of season when he transla­ted him to another life? Let us do therefore as David did, who prayed and wept as long as he could hope the decree of God was not absolute concerning his childs death; but when he saw that it was irreversi­ble, he comforted himself. Let us al­way say as Job doth, The Lord giveth [Page 162]and the Lord taketh away, and bles­sed be the Name of the Lord. And let this be further considered to the enforcing of this truth, that if the will of the Lord must be born, then it must be done. And his will is, that we should take all things patiently, yea, cheerfully from his hands. And therefore if we mourn immoderate­ly, what do we but only add sin un­to our pain? As there is a time to laugh, so there is a time to weep: but there is no more time to weep su­perfluously, then there is to laugh idly and profusely. Both in the one and in the other we must be wholly subject to the will of God. But that will of God, as I said, is very wise in every thing, and therefore he intends to make us laugh by this mourning; and by every sad thing that doth befall us, to make our hearts glad. He alwayes gives some­thing better then he takes away, if we would but seek after it; and oft­times he takes one thing away that we may seek after the better. But alas, our blindness is so great, that we value not that which brings us [Page 163]profit, unless it be sweet to our tast. We let our passion judge, and not our reason; and therefore we think there is no good in a bitter cup, and no danger in a pleasant draught. We lament and mourn when we ought to think our selves great gainers; and we rejoyce and leap, when per­haps a cross of the greatest burden hath befaln us. Let us stay a while therefore, and expect the end of things before we mourn. And let us but desire to be cured, rather then pleased; to have our souls amended, rather then our fancy humoured; and we shall have great reason to thank God for every thing that comes to us.

VI. And this will lead me to ano­ther consideration, concerning the Goodness of God in all that he doth. Ask thy self therefore, And he rules it better then we could do. Doth not God do all things for our Good? Do we wish better to our selves then God doth? Hath not He the greatest care of all his creatures, to see that it be well with them? Did he make them for any other end then that [Page 164]they might be happy? Is there the least Sparrow that falls to the ground without our Fathers Providence? Then Mankind must needs be under a greater love, and none of them can die by chance, but by his di­rection. And above all other men, He hath a singular care over the per­sons of good Christians, the very hairs of whose heads are all numbered. If not so much as an hair can drop off without Him, much less can any body of them fall into their graves, but He hath a hand in it. But still He hath a more special providence over such Christians as are fatherless and wid­dows, helpless and destitute of all suc­cour. And therefore as it was his goodness that took their friends away, so much more will his goodness take care of them whom he hath left none else to take care of. He considers us not only as his children, but as children placed in the midst of such and such circumstances; as desolate and sad, as left only to his provi­dence and tuition. And therefore it is that the Psalmist saith, Psa. 10.14. Thou art the helper of the Fatherless. And in [Page 165]another place, Psal. 68.5. A Father of the fa­therless, and a Judge of the widdow, is God in his holy habitation. Psal. 69.23. I am poor and sorrowful, let thy salvation set me up on high. Yea, and all good men are full of compassion to such persons: Job 29.12, 14. So that The blessing of those that are ready to perish come upon them; and they cause the widdows heart to sing for Joy.

It is an excellent saying of the Royal Philosopher Antoninus, worthy to be engraven upon our minds. [...], &c. Lib 2. §. 11. If there be a God, then nothing can be hurtful to us, for he will not involve us in evil. But if either there be none, or he take no care of mens matters, what should I live for in a world that is without a God, or without a Provi­dence? But there is a God, and he cares for men also, and hath put it into their power not to fall into those things which are truly evil. And for the rest that befal us, if any thing of them had been evil, he would have provided that we should have been able not to have faln into that neither. But if this great person had known also that God leaves us not to our own [Page 166]power, when he sends any thing upon us, but that he hath a peculiar love to his servants when they are in trouble, and affords them his assistance. He would have said on this sort, If we be not alone without God, then nothing need discomfort us, for he is the God of all comfort. If we be alone, then we had need to be most discomforted for that, and never endure in a condition without God. But we are not alone, and we are least alone when we are alone; and have him most, when we have other things least. Therefore he hath put it into our power not to be troubled, but to go to him for comfort in all that befals us; and if there were no comfort in him for us in such cases, then they should not have befaln us. Let us not therefore mourn as long as we have a God, and as long as all things make us seek for our comfort in him.

VII. Let us ask our selves, Grief will end, let us end it. How long we intend to mourn? Doth any man intend to continue it all his life? Then he may fall into the follies of Augustus, who made the image of his Nephew whom he dearly loved, be [Page 167]placed in his Bed-chamber, that he might kiss it and embrace it daily. Or the dotage of Alexander will be a fit punishment for us, who built temples, and commanded sacred so­lemnities every year for his beloved Ephestion. Do you intend every year to have a funeral Sermon? to go and weep over their graves at that time, as you do when they are first put in­to them? If not, set some measures to your mourning, for of it self it knows no measure. And if you intend not to weep alwaies, why can you not cease now? If it be not a thing to be lamented for ever, why should it be so sadly lamented at all? Decency indeed doth require some mourning, and natural affection must be allowed its tears; but we must stay them as soon as may be, and not mourn as if we thought we could never mourn enough. For if we think so, then we must mourn alway, or else we shew that we had no reason to mourn so much. But if any man be resolved to let the sorrow take its course, and run as far as ever it can, let me tell him, that either his sorrow will spend [Page 168]him, or else it will spend it self, and so be cured without any thanks at all to us. It is a trite thing which I am going to add, but (to speak with Seneca) I will not therefore forbear to speak it, because it is spoken by all. So it falls out that he who will not put an end to his own grief, time will end it for him. But this is most dishonour­able to expect, till it put an end to it self, when it can run no longer, and not to end it our own selves by not permitting it to run at all with our leave. To be weary of weeping is the basest remedy for grief. It is far bet­ter for us to leave grief, then to let it leave us. It is a shame to let time con­quer that, which hath conquered us. Seeing it must cease, let it cease by our valour and strength, not by its own weakness. Let it die by our hands, and not meerly because it can live no longer.

We are weary of nothing sooner then of grief, and therefore let us cease that, which if we would, we can­not do long. It is well observed by Pliny the second, Lib. 5. Epist. 16. that as a crude wound is very angry under the Chi­rurgions [Page 169]hand, but in a short time doth both suffer it and require it; so a fresh grief doth use to reject and despise all comfort, but shortly after not only receives it most courteously, but also desires and expects it. And seeing if it can find no comfort, it will fairly cease it self, it is more like men, that we should comfort our selves and put a period to it.

VIII. Ask thy self again, It may do us much harm be­fore it end. To what purpose is all my mourning? Every wise man intends some good to himself in what he doth; and there­fore unless sorrow will do us some good, it is a foolish thing to indulge unto it. But can any man that hath had his fill of it, tell us what satisfa­ction it hath given him? May we not put all our gains in our eyes (as the Proverb is) after they have wept so immoderately? Doth any man say he is glad that he mourned so much? Then he had best mourn again if there be so much gladness and pro­fit in it. Had we not better say with David concerning his child when it was dead, I shall go to him, but he shall not return to me? I may bring [Page 170]my self in sorrow to my grave, but I cannot bring him up from the dead. I cannot water him with my tears, as we do a dry plant, that he may spring up again; but I may easily drown my self, and learn others by my example not to weep for me. What I would not have them do for me, why should I do it for another? Why should I make my self miserable, and make no body else the better? The truth is, if there were only no good in it, it were the less matter, but it doth us likewise not a little harm. Though it will end of it self, yet it may breed us no small trouble before it end. This is all the comfort that such a man hath, and it is a very poor one; that if his grief do not kill him, [...], &c. Phot. Epist. 234. it will kill it self. But many an one hath grief destroyed; many a body hath it distempered; and given most mor­tal wounds also to the soul it self. Many affections move the soul most vehemently, but none more then grief, which hath been the cause of madness in some (as Plutarch hath observed) and in others hath bred incurable diseases, and made others [Page 171]to destroy themselves. And this it may do either naturally, for nothing eats the heart so much as grief; no­thing casts such a damp on the vital spirits as immoderate sorrows; or else providentially by Gods anger, who is displeased to see us so angry and repining, and often inflicts worse things upon us then those which we causlesly make the matter of so dole­ful complaints. Let us therefore cease that which brings such troubles before it cease it self, and when it is ceased, gives us a new sorrow, to think that we should be so unreasonably sorrow­full.

We must write upon this, as well as upon inordinate joyes, Vanity of vanities, all is vanity and vexation of Spirit. And therefore let us not be troubled now, lest we be troubled more afterward, to consider how foolishly we were troubled. The Fable of Niobe which tells how she turned her self with sorrow into a stone, doth but signifie the stupidity and dulness that waits upon grief, and the excessive melancholy into which it sometimes casts us, which renders [Page 172]us as insensible as a stone. Take heed how you grow in love with sadness, for it hath no profit wherewithall to recompence your affection to it; but pays your folly only with it self, and such diseases as ordinarily use to ac­company it. And we should be the less in love with it, because there are so many occasions of it in our lives. We need not weep so much for the loss of one thing, for we must ex­pect continual losses. The world is not such a place that we should take care to spend all our tears on one thing; we shall have occasion enough for them, if we have any mind to weeping. Let us bestow therefore the less upon one, because there are so many to sollicite our sorrows. And if our souls be tender, and apt to re­ceive the impressions of dolefull things, we have the more need to comfort our selves, for every grief will but make us still more apt to grieve.

And besides, what a folly is it thus to die with continual grief for him, who if he did grieve to die, his grief continued but a little while: He died [Page 173]but once; why should we die alwayes with grief? He dyed that he might live; why should we live only for to die? It is certain we must die, but of all deaths let us not die with grief; and much less for grief about that which we see we cannot avoid our selves. But let us be furthest of all from making our life a perpetual death, and grieving for that, which by grief we may so soon run our selves into.

IX. Ask thy self again, Weep no more for thy friend, then thou wouldst have had him weep for thee. Whether two friends do not think that one of them must die first? Do we not see that in the common course of things, one man goes before another to his grave? Who then (if it had been permitted to thy choice) wouldst thou have appointed to be the leader unto the other? Wouldst thou have given thy self the preheminence, and resolved to have shewn him the way? Then Death it seems is a good thing; for if it were evil, we can scarce be­lieve thy self-love is so little as to wish it might be thy portion before ano­ther. And if it be good, then thou [Page 174]mayest soon satisfie the pretence of loving them better then thy self, by being glad that they enjoy it before thy self. Or wouldst thou have had both gone together, and been enclosed in the same Coffin, and interred in the same grave? Then it seems it is no such great mattter to die as thou makest it, seeing thou art so willing to die also. And if it be no great mat­ter for thee to live, then no more was it unto him. If the sorrow of living without him, be greater then the sor­row of dying with him, why then was not he desirous that thou shouldst die? and why did he pray for thy life and health when he dyed? And if he would not have thee to die also when he dyed, why dost thou then live in a kind of death, and en­joyest not thy self, nor the pleasures of life? Either resolve to die also, or else to live as a man should do.

X. If his death be so sad, thou wilt not be able to bear thy own. Ask thy self, How can I take my own death? Certain it is that thou must die also, but if thou canst not part with a friend, how canst thou [Page 751]part with thy self? How wilt thou endure that soul and body should be separated, if thou canst not shake hands with another body distinct from thy self? Are not they the most antient friends? is not their union most strict and close? Can two men cleave so together as thy soul em­braces its companion? What then wilt thou do then when their bonds shall be untied, if thou canst not bear the rupture of lesser cords of love? What wilt thou think when thy soul sits on thy lips, and gives thy body a farewell kiss, if thou canst not close the eyes of thy friend without so ma­ny tears? Will thy soul mourn after thy body is dead, as thou dost now lament the death of thy friend? Will it groan and sigh, to think of the hole where its flesh lies? Will it sigh to think that its old companion is then become the companion of worms? If not, then let it not groan so heavi­ly for a less matter that is now befaln it. If it will, then why art thou trou­bled for thy friend, and not for thy self, to think how sad thou must one day be? The fear of thy own death, [Page 176]must more then equal thy sorrow for the death of another man. And how canst thou have time to think of any thing else, if thou dost fear it? Or if thou dost not fear it, how canst thou fall under thy sorrow, who hast overcome so great a fear?

Dost thou intend to go crying out of the world? If not, then be not now dismayed at that which thou must bear so valiantly thy self. Then do not mourn so much for the loss of anothers life, which will but put self­love into a most piteous case, when thou comest to yield up thy own. Death is no strange thing (as I have said) for we must all die. But then why should we mourn so much, if it be such an usual thing? If we do mourn excessively, it is a sign we think not of the commonness of it, and then how shall we take our own death, seeing we think not of it? Let us but comfort our selves upon solid grounds against our own de­parture, and I will warrant you that shall cure all our other lamentations. Let us but dare to die our selves, and we shall not dare to cry so much for any mans death.

Isidore of Pelusium thinks that our Lib. 2. Epist 173. Saviour did not mourn for his friend Lazarus because he was dead (for he knew that he was going to raise him from the dead) but because he was to live again, and to come from the haven where he was arrived, back again into the waves and storm, from the crown which he enjoyed, to a new encounter with his enemies.

If thou dost not believe his inter­pretation, yet dost thou believe the thing? Dost thou seriously consider that the misery of this world is so great, that we should rather weep that we are in it, then that others are gone out of it? Then I ask thee again, whether when thou art dead and well, thou wouldst willingly live again? If not, then thou knowest what to say to thy self concerning thy friends death. If thou wouldst, then it seems thou canst be contented with this grief; and I will not go about to comfort thee, seeing thou lovest life with all the miseries thou createst to thy self.

But the very truth is, we are so sen­sible of our bodies, and have so little [Page 178]feeling of our souls or divine things, that it is ready to make us think we are not, when our bodies are dead. This makes death such a terrible thing. This makes both our own and others death so heavy, because it seems as if there were an extinction of us. That which we feel not, nor have any sense of within us, it is as if it was not. And therefore if we feel not heaven­ly things, and perceive not that we have a soul, we shall receive death as if it was the loss of our selves, and then who can but be sad? Let us live therefore in a sense of such things as may make us die willingly, and think that we our selves are not lost; and then we shall not think that we have lost our good friends, nor lay their death so much to heart.

XI. Ask thy self likewise, Nor wilt thou be able to help others to bear their sor­rows. How wilt thou be able to comfort others, if thou canst not comfort thy self? It should seem by thy tears that thou art very ambitious of the name of a friend; but if thou be not able to comfort thy friend, what is he the better for thee? and how didst thou [Page 179]deserve to have the friend which thou hast lost? If thou art able, or hast ever given any comfort unto others, administer then the same cordials to thy self. Why should not that satisfie thee, which thou expectedest with so much reason should satisfie them? What thou wouldst say to another if his friend was dead, that say to thy self. And if thou wouldst wonder that he should reject comfort, then do not make thy self a wonder. Didst thou never tell any man that it is a shame to be impatient, when we can cure our selves? that they suffer no­thing but what God and nature have appointed; that we must all expect such losses; that no body knows whose turn is next? Take then thy own counsel, and be not such a Physitian as cannot cure himself at all. Is thy dis­temper different from theirs? are there not the same griefs and maladies in their mind? Then the same medicine will cure thee, that thou gavest to them. Or if it would not cure them, then thou wast much too blame that didst not seek a better both for them and thee. Or is thine some strange [Page 180]loss, the like to which never any suf­fered? Then this may comfort thee, that thou shalt never suffer the like again. For it would be more strange if a thing that never com [...]s shall twice fall upon one man. If it be so strange to thee, then thy courage will be as strange to others. If thou art drawn into an example of suff [...]rings, then thou mayst render thy self an example to all of patience and contentedness. And so Seneca saith of the Brother of Drusus, that though Drusus dyed in the midst of his embraces, and with his kisses warm upon his mouth, thoug he dyed in the very height of his fortune, with the most war-like Nations dead at his feet; yet he not only put a measure to his own grief, but taught all the Army how to be moderate also. And indeed he could not have stopt the tears of others, un­less he had been of so brave a spirit as first to stop his own. If thou art a friend therefore unto any, let them all learn of thee how to be well satisfied. Com­fort thy self as thou hast comforted others, or else as thou dost intend to comfort them. And let it be seen by [Page 181]thy worthy behaviour toward thy self, that thou art worthy to be a friend to another person.

XII. Ask thy self again, Death doth some­time be­friend us. Whether friends only be mortal? Do none die but they that love us? must not all our enemies and they that hate us die also? Death then that makes thee sad, may give thee comfort. As it puts an end to some comforts, so it is the common end of all miseries. Though we may not wish for the death of any, yet it is no harm to think that they must die who hate us, and their rage shall not last for ever. If nothing can cease their malignity, yet death can. It hath done us then no such wrong, but what it can re­pay us with the same hand that did it. Though we have now no friend, yet shortly we may have no enemy neither. This was one support to the Christians under their persecu­tions, that though their enemies (like Saul) did breath out nothing but threatnings and slaughters against them, yet their breath was but in their nostrils, and might soon evapo­rate [Page 182]and vanish away. Julian cal­led the Apostate, had done more hurt to the Christians then the ten Perse­cutions, if death had not suddenly wounded him with one of his arrows.

The Marian flames had devoured in all likelihood a great many mo [...]e bodies, if death had not shortn [...]d her reign, and so extinguished the fires. We have no reason then to look upon it as unkind, which may do us so many courtesies: nor to ac­cuse that of cruelty to us, which destroys the cruelty of others to­wards us.

XIII. And now may you not well make one question more to your selves and say, Content­ment hath more to say for it self, then grief hath. Is there not more reason to be comforted, then there is to be sad? If there be (as certainly there is) what should hinder your com­fort, if you live by reason? If you do not live by it, then nothing that a man can say will comfort you. Nothing will chear us unless we think of it, and make it our own by me­ditation: neither will any thing sad­den us unless we think of it also. See­ing [Page 183]then they are our own thoughts that make us either sad or merry, and we have more comfortable thoughts then heavy, we cannot but be of good chear, if we will not be enemies to our selves. All that we can say for our sadness is, that we have lost a friend, a very dear and perhaps only friend. But you have heard that there are more in the world, and that you have not lost this; and that you have more com­forts remaining then are taken away; and that if you had none but God, you had enough; and if you will read again what hath been said, twenty other reasons will offer them­selves to chear, for one that arises to make you sad. If there was no reason at all to be sad, then none need spend any time in giving of comfort: But if they be very few in compare with others, and we are made to follow the most and strong­est reasons, then he is not to be pit­tied, who notwithstanding the small reason of his sorrow, will not be of good comfort.

The greatest cause that I know of [Page 184]this sort of trouble, is, when many that we love die soon after one another. So it hapned to that Prince (which the L. L. 1. Essay cap. 2. Mountainge speaks of) who re­ceived the news of his Elder Brothers death, whom he highly esteemed, with a great deal of constancy; and shortly after the tidings of his younger Bro­thers decease, in whom he placed much hope, did not alter the smooth­ness of his countenance. But when one of his servants dyed not long af­ter that, he suffered himself to be so far transsported, that he quitted his former resolution, and gave up him­self to all grief and sorrow. The reason of this was not from the love that he bare to this person more then the rest, but (as he well saith) because being top full of sorrow before, the next flood must needs break the banks, or overflow all the bounds of patience.

And so Hier. Cardan tells us, In Dialog. cui tit. Guilielmus. that after he had patiently born many re­proaches, and the cruel infamous death of a son of great hopes; and the dangerous sickness of another son, and the death of his parents, and [Page 185]wife, with many other evils; yea and after he wrote a book of Conso­lation against all these evils; yet he was overcome with grief at the death of an English youth, whom he brought from Dover with him, as he passed from Scotland, in the time of Edward the sixth. And he gives the same reason for it that the other doth, Fatigatum multis adversis, op­pressit me haec extrema infaelicitas; be­ing wearied before with many griefs, this last unhappiness made me fall to the ground. It was not its strength, but his own fore-going weaknesse that made him fall. It was not heavy, but it came upon the back of many other loads, and so oppressed him.

But something hath been said to this also; For holy Job was in the same condition and far worse; one messenger did tread upon the heels of another to bring him tidings of his misery; and yet he was patient, though he himself likewise was in his own body most sadly afflicted. We have the same grounds of com­fort that he had, and abundance more then was known in those [Page 186]younger times. And when one cause of trouble falls upon the neck of another, we can add one reason like­wise unto another, and so be com­forted. For our troubles can never be so many, as the causes of our con­solation are. Yea, one single reason of those that I have propounded will answer all. Do we not know very well that all friends are mortal? Then it can be no new thing (if we well consider it) for two or three to die after we have lost one: But the loss of one doth rather mind us of the mortality of all. And doth not God govern the world in the death of the last as well as of the first? then there is no less wisdom and goodness in it when many die, then when one. He that can solidly comfort himself in the death of one, will not be im­moderately troubled for the loss of more. If we let our grief indeed work under-ground, while nothing of it appears: if our hearts be loaded with it, though our eyes look not heavily before others, then it is no wonder if it do at last break forth, when the heart is over-charged, and [Page 187]can find no other way to ease it self. But if we take a course to comfort our hearts at the very first, and make them truly contented, or if we let not the grief settle it self, but la­bour to dislodge it, then we shall be the better disposed to bear such ano­ther cross with the like patience. For then a new trouble doth not come upon the other, but only follows after it: It doth not adde to the former, but only comes in its stead; it doth not augment, but only renew our grief.

XIV. And now is it not time to conclude these questions, and to say to your selves, We should not be the more trou­bled be­cause we understand our trou­ble. Why should not rea­son do that which little or no reason can do? The more we are men, shall we be the less in peace, and cry like chil­dren? Nay, children weep while they see their parents put into the grave, and within a day or two they forget their sorrows; why cannot we do so also? Though they know not their loss, yet they know not the reasons neither why they should not be dis­contented for their loss. Though they have little understanding of their suf­ferings, yet they have as little know­ledge [Page 188]of our comforts and supports. And as for brute creatures, you see that they make a doleful noise for the loss of their young a very short while, and then they remember it no more. Some of the people of Cous (if I forget not) used at the age of seventy years either to kill their pa­rents, or pine them to death, and to rejoyce much at it. They thought that they had lived long enough, and that it was both a misery to them­selves, and a great burden to their children to have them continue any longer. The Caspians also and some of the people of old Spain had the like custom, which we well can in­humane and barbarous. But why cannot understanding teach us that, which want of understanding taught them? Why should Barbarism make them rejoyce at what they did them­selves, and Christianity make us sad at what is done by God and the order of things? St. Hierome reports that in his time there was at Rome, a man who had had twenty wives, marryed to a woman who had had two and twenty husbands. There was great [Page 189]expectations which of them should die first; and when the man buryed her, his neighbours crowned him with Lawrel, and caused him to bear a bough of Palm in his hand, in token of a victory, at his wives funerals. It seems that men can sport at death if they list, and laugh at that which makes so many cry. Why then cannot reason make us moderately sad to bear that, which humor and fancy can make men not to lament at all? Why cannot our Religion do more with us, then the people or our friends, who it is like can laugh us our of our sorrows?

If I have not said too much in this argument, I have some confidence, that I have not said too little. And indeed I have said more then I first intended, and so much that if any one have the patience to read it through, me thinks the very length of the discourse should make them forget their sorrows, and by think­ing so long upon another thing, they should not remember what they thought upon before. One soul is scarce big enough to hold all these [Page 190]considerations, and the thoughts of grief also. Here are so many that they are able to thrust sorrow out of doors by their multitude, if not by their strength and force.

And yet notwithstanding I must detain you a little longer before I give your thoughts leave to turn themselves to other things. For I am of the mind that all these con­siderations will only asswage the grief, and pricking of the wound; but will not quite heal it, and take away its putrefaction. I shall there­fore commend two or three things, for the pressing out all the filthy mat­ter, for the closing of the sore, and to make the soul perfectly whole and sound.

Be dead to all things, and thou wilt not be offended that they die. §. 8. I. It is not their death, but the life of something else, that troubles us. Mor­tifie thy spirit to the world and all things that are in it, and when thou hast left them, it will be no wonder that they leave thee. Think with thy self often that thy friends are dead, that thou seest them carryed to the grave, that thou beholdest worms [Page 191]crawling out of their eyes and mouth, and try how thou art able to bear that thought. Think that he or she that lies in thy bed by thy side, is as cold as a stone; think that thou embracest the carkass of thy dear friend, and ask thy soul how it can brook it. Think thus often, and though thy soul may start at the first, yet at last it will be patient. That little sadness will banish and chase away all the greater, that else would seize on thee hereafter. There will be little to do when death comes, if thou constantly dost this. Thy soul will be so loose from them, that thou wilt not give a shrike; none will bear the strings crack when you are sepa­rated. Death will not be a breaking of your society, but a fair & easie unty­ing of it. Nothing will happen to you but what you have looked for long before, and you will be able to say, This is not the first time that I have seen my dear friend dead. Yea, think with thy self that thou seest thy own body laid in the grave, and that thou feelest thy self as cold as a clod of earth. Think that thou art turned into [Page 192]rottenness and dirt; and that thou art forgotten by thy neighbours. If thy soul can endure these thoughts, then why should it be troubled at the death of another? This is a kind of death to be so separated from thy bo­dy in thy thoughts. It is all one not to be in thy body, and not to feel that thou art in it. Raise thy mind then up toward heavenly things; fix thy thoughts on God and the life to come; think that thou seest thy self in heaven among the Saints of God; and while thy soul is there, it is not in thy body here below. This kind of death differs from that which will be hereafter in this only, that then thou wilt be more perfectly out of thy body. But if there be no trou­ble in this separation which thou now makest even whilest thou art in it: There will be far less trouble (one would think) quite to part with it, and to get from it.

And the way to be dead to these earthly things, We must not let false opi­nions live. is, to change our opi­nion of them, and to see them to be what indeed they are, empty and unsatisfying, changeable and uncon­stant. [Page 193]Of this I have spoken before in the former discourse, but seeing it is a thing so great and funda­mental to our contentment, let me again present you with it. We are the cause of our own grief, by mag­nifying the things of the world to such a value, that the loss of them shall be worth so many tears. We think that they are happy who are rich and honourable, though they be never so wicked and unskilful how to live. [...], &c. L. 1. cap. 19. We presently cry up a man for wise, and what not? who (to use Arrianus his phrase) is preferred by Caesar, though it be but to be Groom of his close-stool. And on the con­trary, we dispise vertue if it be in a thred-bare coat, and count him a fool who is unfortunate, No wonder then, that we cry and whine like children, when we lose any of these worldly things; seeing we think our selves more happy then men in the enjoyment of them. We think that we are undone when we part with that which we have such an high opi­nion of, and there is no way to make us think that all is safe, but by altering [Page 194]of that forlish opinion. We expect what cannot be, and will not be con­tent with what may easily be. We cannot make the things of this world to be still and quiet, but may make our selves so: and the way to that quietness is well to consider their in­constancy, and that our happiness is in something better.

It was a good rule which Pytha­goras gave to all his Scholars, and is the same that I would have you learn, [...], Do not walk in the high way. i. e. Do not fol­low the common opinions; be not led by vulgar and popular apprehen­sions. Rectifie the ordinary conceits which you have carelesly entertain­ed of things, and judge of them as they are in themselves, and not as they are reputed of. If we would do thus, then that which is the cause of our sorrow, would be the cause of our tranquillity; because nothing hath left us, but that which we knew would not stay with us. We mourn now because things are so inconstant; but then we should not mourn, be­cause we knew them to be inconstant. [Page 195]If we could make it good that any of these things are ours, then I might avouch it, that they would never have left us: But if they were not ours, why are we offended, that God doth what he will with his own? And be­sides, shall we who are so inconstant, oblige all things besides our selves to constancy? shall we whose desires are so restless and uncertain, expect that all things but only we should be stable and quiet? No, let us look in­to our selves, and we shall find so much difficulty to settle them, that we shall not wonder that other things are unsetled. And again, if things be so mutable, why should we not think (as I have already said) that they will one day change to what we would have them? But suppose they should, what are we the better? If our opinion be not turned too, we shall be as much afraid to lose them again, seeing they are so unconstant, as now we are desirous to have them by the benefit of their inconstancy. We must therefore alter our esteem of things now, else we shall only change our trouble, but not be rid of it, [Page 196]when things are changed. Adeo nihil est miserum nisi cum putes, &c. So certain it is, that nothing is mise­rable, but when we think it is so; and that nothing will make us happy un­less we think that we are happy. And we had better think so now, then stay to be taught this lesson by the dear experience of a great many troubles. Let thine estate be never so prosperous, yet if thine heart be unmortified, thou wilt never be the nearer, but rather the further off from settlement. For they that have the greatest abundance, are the soon­est disturbed by every trifle, because they are not used to have any thing go contrary to their humour.

But if thou wilt take any comfort from the unconstancy of things, let it be this; That if thou thinkest thy self therefore unfortunate, be­cause those things are gone that were joyful, then thou mayst think thy self happy enough, seeing the things that are unpleasant are going away also. And think I beseech you once more, and be of this opinion, That there is nothing better in this world [Page 197]to thee then thy self. As long there­fore as thou hast thy self, why shouldst thou be troubled, especially if thou thy self thinkest never the worse of thy self, because thou art poor and destitute of friends? For these take away nothing of thy self, nor can any thing in the world de­prive thee of thy self. And as Boe­thius well saith, This is the condition of humane nature, that it then only excels all things here, when it knows it self: But when it doth not, it is be­low the very Beasts: For it is natural for them to be ignorant; but for a man it is the basest vice, especially when he is ignorant of himself.

There was a Fable among the hea­thens which wise men understood to contain in it great Philosophy. In the midst of this sad discourse, it will please you perhaps, if I relate it, and it will please you a great deal more for to learn and live by it. After Jupiter had made the world, he thought that men would not be restrained from sin without rewards and punishments; and so he made two great barrels, the one full of good things, the other full [Page 198]of bad, to be sent down among men as there was occasion. Pandora being very desirous to know what was in these barrels did one day broach them, and all the good things flew out to­wards heaven, and all the bad towards hell. Hope only and Fear remained in the bottom of these Casks; the former in that of Evil things, and the latter in that of Good. When this was done, Jupiter threw down these empty Tubs to the earth, and all mortals ran at the rareness of the sight to see what they could find in them. Some looked into the one, and some into the other, and though both of them were empty, yet they thought verily that the one was full of good, and the other full of evil. And ever since it came to pass that here below we have nothing but a fancy or conceit of Good mixed with fear and jealousie, and a meer conceit of evil, with some hope in the compound of it. The Moral of it is this, I hat the things of this world are but seeming Goods, and seeming evils. They are our own opinions that trouble us with the shadow of evil, and that flatter us on the other side [Page 199]with a fair shew of Good. All real Good is in heaven, and all real misery is in hell. If we go to heaven, we are w [...]ll enough whatsoever we loose; if we fall into sin and so into hell, we cannot be well, though we should en­joy all the world. Let us turn our minds then toward these heavenly things which they did but dream of in the dark ages of the world. Let us heartily believe the Gospel which hath brought to light eternal life: And then we shall think our selves happy enough if we lose not those things: and perhaps the death of our friends and such like cross [...]s befall us, that we may not lose them.

When the dayes of mourning do come, II. Our tears should be kept for that which is the cause of death and all our tears. Turn thy sorrow for thy friend into sorrow for thy sins. Remember that thy tears may be due to some other thing, and the cure of that will cure all thy other griefs. If thou art not a Christian, then it is thy duty to mourn neither for one thing nor other, but only to bewail thy self. Let the dead bury their dead (as our Saviour said) do thou presently follow after thy Lord with tears. Take no [Page 200]care of funerals, think of no earthly thing, but only how thou may [...]st be a Christian. And if thou art so, th [...]n thou oughtest to rejoyce that thy sins are pardoned, and that thou hast not the great [...]st cause of gri [...]f; and this joy sure will swallow up all thy sor­rows. There is scarce any thing so considerable in our bodies that is seen, as our tears; for they are the most no­table expressions of what is in our hearts. The hands (as Ant. Guevara observes) do work, the seet do walk, the tongue speaks, but it is the heart only that weeps. The eyes are but the spunges of the heart, through which its affections are drained and dried up. An afflicted heart hath neither hands to labour, nor feet to walk, nor can it find a tongue to speak, but tears are all that it hath to tell you what it wants. And therefore we ought to reserve these for some greater thing then our dead friends, which our heart ought much to be affected with­all. As our Saviour said to the women of Jerusalem when he was going to the most cruel sufferings, so might our friends say to us when they are a dy­ing, [Page 201]Weep not for us, but weep for your selves, if you be dead while you are alive. Mourn more then you do, if you have not yet mourned for your sins and amended them: But if you have, then rejoyce in the favour of God, and bless him for his Son Jesus, who is better to thee then ten Sons, or all thy friends which thou lamentest. Are our sins dead as well as our friends? have we buried them in the grave of our Lord? are we risen again to an heavenly life? let us go then to God, and pray to him, and praise him, and this will give us ease. But if we be troubled for sin, then sure we shall not add another sin by immoderate sorrow, and forgetfulness of Gods goodness. If it be sin we hate, then mourning complaints and discontents must all be hated. Would you indi­spose your self to pray, to praise God and meditate in his sacred Word? Would you render your self unfit to receive the Sacrament of his most blessed body and blood? If not, then mourn but so much as will not hinder any of these, and you have leave to mourn as much as you please. Stop [Page 202]but here, and there is no man will lay any restraints upon you. But then how short your mourning must be, you will soon guess, and the Sun must not go down upon your grief, no more then it must upon your wrath. But if you take no great care whether you disturb your souls or no, then you have most reason to mourn for that carelesness and neglect. Go then and bewail your unkindness to God, your unthankfulness for his mercies, and unbelief of his Gospel; for you can never take your hearts in a better time, then when they are so sad, and inclined to be sorrowful. Tell them that now they are very well disposed for a necessary business; and bid them look if there be not something else to bewail that is more considerable. Ask thy self, hast thou not deserved this and ten times more? Wilt thou add another sin, when thou shouldst cease all sins? Hast thou not been careless of seeking God? Hast thou not foolishly wasted thy precious time? and art thou not troubled at all for that? Yea art thou now impa­tient, as if God dealt hardly with thee? [Page 203]and wilt thou spend more time badly when thou art taught by the death of thy friend how short it is? It is most incongruous thus to bewail the death of a child or acquaintance, when thou art like to die thy self both body and soul. And when thou hast mourned for thy sins, thou wilt be taught there­by how little thou oughtest to mourn for thy losses. For even our tears for sin must not be immoderate, and therefore much less must we dare to let them flow in abundance for our losses. So you know the great Apostle commands the Corinthians to comfort him that had been guilty of a great sin, and receive him again into the Church now that he repented, lest perhaps such an one should be swallowed up with overmuch sorrow, 2 Corinth. 2.7. I wish all those who are ready to destroy themselves with grief, would seriously confider this, that we may not over-load our hearts with grief for our sins themselves, which are the causes of all other sorrows.

We cannot please the Devil better then by discontent. He would fain oppress every good man with some [Page 204]passion or other; let us take heed how we joyn with him against our selves. If we have left his service, that is enough to provoke him. If we have bid defiance to his pleasures, this doth incense him, and we must expect that he will endeavour to overcome us with griefs.

The Devil is mad against all good men; and therefore let all those who have irritated him against them, be­ware how they now prove cowards, and execute his vengeance for him with their own hands. Let us take heed (as Photius excellently expres­seth it) lest we be good at stirring up and provoking the envy and rage of our adversary, but naught at re­sisting and overcoming him by pati­ence and perseverance to the end. [...].

But if we must needs weep for the loss of something here, let it be for the afflictions of the people of God. Let us mourn to see the Church sit like a widdow in her black garments. Let it pitty us to see the blood of Gods servants shed like water upon the ground. If our own sins do not [Page 205]trouble us, let us weep to see the wickedness of the world, and let our eyes run down with tears, to think that men do not keep Gods Law. Some such channel we should cut for our tears, and not let them spend themselves on this fashion about our own personal troubles. This is a method both to stop our tears, and likewise to make them useful to us while they run. It is a way to ease us of our present grief, and of all others also. We shall exchange that sorrow that would have troubled us, for a great deal of joy and comfort. Whereas our worldly grief would have left the heart sad, this will leave it light and merry.

Believe throughly that the Lord Jesus lives, III. The life of our Lord Jesus gives us the greatest comfort against death. and so thou maist both expect a resurrection from the dead, and likewise hope for comfort from him when thou art left sad and de­solate. The Body it self doth not die any more then corn doth, which dies, that it may live and spring up again with large gain and advantage. Are we loth to throw the corn in­to the ground, and do we not pa­tiently [Page 206]expect till the harvest comes? Why should we then bury our friends with so many tears, seeing they are but laid in the womb of their mother again, that by the power of God they may have a better birth. The Heathen could say much to comfort themselves, but they knew not this comfort; for indeed they were rather contented then com­forted. Those that did think them­selves most wise, and judged that they had the best supports, did only dream that the soul might take ano­ther body, and shift its place at se­veral times: But we know that there will be a time, when even our scattered ashes will fly into one anothers embraces again, and a new life will breath into our dust, and make it stand upon its feet. And then in the mean time if our con­dition be never so sad, and we be left all alone, why do we not so­lace our selves in the great compas­sion of our High Priest, who hath a feeling of all our miseries which we endure? Can we expect that ever he should love us more then when [Page 207]we are like unto him in sufferings? We should be so far from being sad at what befalls us, that we should think, if our condition was a little worse, we should be more dear un­to him then now it is when nothing extraordinary is hapned to us. No man can be alone as long as he lives who hath said, I will not leave you comfortless like fatherless children, I will come to you. Did not he bid his Disciples to be well content, when he himself dyed? Did he not leave his peace with them, and bid them that their hearts should not be troubled? And what is the death of one of our friends, to the depar­ture of the best friend to the world that ever was from his little flock of friends? Did not Christ know what he said, when he was going to die? Did he advise them not to be trou­bled, when it was impossible that they should be otherwise? And if they were not to be troubled then, I am sure we have less reason to be troubled now; both because we have a less loss to bewail, and we have a stronger and more excellent com­fort [Page 208]against our loss. Our friends are as much below him, as his state in the grave was beneath that to which he is now advanced in the Heavens. Their hearts were not to be troubled when He that is the Lover of the world was held in the chains of death, because they knew that he would loose them; Why then should we be disturbed for the death of one that loves us only, when we know that Christ is risen, and that he is in the Heavens, Angels, Authorities, and Powers being made subject to him. If an Angel was ne­cessary for our comfort, we should not want his Ministry. He is so full of love and compassion towards us, that if he did not think he had left Cordials enough to support us, he would come himself to chear us, and raise our friend, as he did Lazarus, from the dead. But now we may well live in hope, and he hath given us strong consolation and good hope through grace. Let us have pa­tience but a little, and we shall not be capable of mourning any more; All tears shall be wiped off from [Page 209]our eyes, sighing and sorrow shall fly away.

Remember then I beseech you, §. 9. Let no man there­fore be in love with tears. whosoever you are that cast your eyes on these lines, what I said at the beginning. Take heed you do not indulge your selves in your tears. Est enim & dolendi quaedam ambitio, for there is a certain ambition even in mourning, and men think that they shall be the better thought of for their grief. But assure your selves, that if we study to exceed one ano­ther in grief, it is but just with God that we should never want misery enough, seeing we are so ambitious of it. If we will mourn immoderate­ly, when he would have us to be pa­tient; we shall not keep our selves patient when perhaps there is little or no cause to mourn. When the air is disposed to rain, it is a long time be­fore we can recover fair weather; and every little cloud will fall a weeping, which at another time would have been dry and barren. And just so it is with those that strive to gather as many clouds as they [Page 210]can to overcast them, and make them sad. It is so long before they can disperse them all, that every little thing renews their grief, as if a chearful day should never shine upon them more.

It was a very handsome device that one of the Ancient Philosophers used to comfort Arsinoe, when he observed her to weep immoderately for her sons death. Let me intreat you said he, to lend me your patience till I tell you this story: On a time Jupiter conferred honour upon all the lesser Gods or divine Powers, and there was none of them wanting but only Sorrow. When all the rest were gone away rejoycing, she came and beg­ged some honour also with many tears and intreaties. Jupiter having conferred all honours that were worth any thing upon the other Heavenly Powers, He granted to her all that which men bestow upon their dead friends ( viz. grief and tears) as best befitting her quality. Now all these little Deities (said this wise man) do love those most that love and honour them, and so doth Sor­row [Page 211]also. They bestow most of their gifts on their Votaries, and those that pay them constant ser­vices, and they care not for those that observe none of their ceremo­nies. If you therefore bestow no ho­nour upon Sorrow, then she will not love you nor come to you. But if you studiously seek how to please her, and honor her by tears and lamentations, and all such sad things that are the offices wherein she delights, she will be in love with you, & you shall never want her company, nor be without occasions of doing continual honour to her. She will be continually sup­plying thee with tears to pour upon her Altar, and filling thee with sighs, which are the incense which she loves thou shouldst evaporate toward Hea­ven. By this Art the wise man staid her tears; for she knew that he meant, that if we give way to grief, we shall never want it: and much more, if we seek for arguments to ag­gravate it, it will stick so fast unto us, that it will never forsake us. Though love and respect to our friends, and the natural affection [Page 212]which distinguisheth us from beasts, do allow and require a moderate, sorrow and contristation of our spirit; yet an intemperate grief and afflicting of our souls is unreasonable; for it doth them no good; and it is unnatural; for it doth both our body and mind abundance of harm; and let me add likewise, that it is unchristian, and ar­gues that we have little hope in God either for our selves or others. God hath done us the honour to make us Priests unto himself; and you know it was the law for the Priests, L [...]v. 21. that none of them should mourn for a dead friend, unless he was of their nearest kindred, And therefore let us take heed how we make our selves unclean for the dead, by weeping, so that we should unfit our selves for any Christian service, which God hath appointed us for our constant imployment. Can you mourn and praise God too? Can you pour out your souls to God, while you pour out these tears of grief? Can you pray in faith for other things, and not be able to believe that you can live without a friend? Can you read [Page 213]seriously, when your eyes are sore with the sharpness of your sorrow? Can you meditate of heavenly things, while your thoughts are filled with the images of such doleful objects? If not, know that you defile your Priesthood, and that you must in­stantly clense your selves, that you may be fit continually to offer up spi­ritnal sacrifices unto God.

And for a conclusion of this dis­course, remember what I said in the former Treatise, He must write these things in his heart, who would find the comfort of them. That you must lay these foundations and grounds of comfort within your selves, or else you will alwayes be troubled. It is something within us that must satisfie our minds, and not the enjoyment of any outward good; and therefore we must work these principles into our hearts; for even they if they be without us, will not profit. We either think that it is the thing that we want which will cure us, when as it is without us; or else that we have rea­sons enough to comfort us, when as alas! we want them also, because we let them lie without us, and have them not in our minds. We have [Page 214]more wayes then one to abuse and deceive our selves. At first we think that if we had what our hearts de­sire at this present, we should never be disquieted: And when by reason and experience we find it otherwise, then we make a great many good principles upon which to rest our souls; but they are at a great distance also from our hearts; and when we should use them, they are none of our own no more then any thing in this world.

Let these two things then settle themselves in our minds, which will lead us into the right way of fortify­ing our souls both against this and all other trouble. First, Never think that the things which thou wantest will cure thee; for they will rather make the wound wider, and inlarge thy wants. The more we have, the more we desire still to have; and the way to think we have enough, is not to desire to have too much. It is very well observed by Plutarch, [...]. that it seems to us as if our clothes did give us heat, when as they are cold of themselves, and in a great heat we [Page 215]shift our cloaths to make us cool. Just so do men think, that the things with­out them will afford them content; and that if they had a sumptuous house, and had riches at command, and were encompassed with servants, and had their friends to bear them company, they should live most sweetly and deliciously; when as expe­rience teaches us, that we are still de­sirous of some change in one thing or other about us. It is the heat of our own bodies that keeps us warms, which our cloaths do only contain, and keep in that it may not fly abroad, and disperse in the air; and so is it the liveliness and strength of our own spi­rit that must make us live merrily, and which gives all the pleasure and grace to these outward things which mini­ster to our comfort. They can only help to maintain and increase our de­lights; but our delight must arise from a more certain cause within our selves. Add one heap of riches to another, build great houses, invite to thy self friends and lovers; unless thou dost free thy self from thy own desires, unless thou dost put an end [Page 216]to thy fears and cares, and such like things, thou dost but like him that adminsters Wine to a man in a Fea­vour, or Honey to a Cholerick per­son, or meat to him that is troubled with the Collick, which do not strengthen, but destroy them. The less we have, the better it is, unless we desire but a little. And therefore it is of absolute necessity, that we form to our selves such strong princi­ples as will moderate our desires and make them reasonable. But then let me tell you in the second place. That a good book, and a Treatise of the Princi­ples of Contentment may be without us as well as any thing else. We think that we have good reasons of being quiet which will comfort us upon all occa­sions. But where are they? In our Books? That is no more ours, then our money that bought it, unless the book be in our heart. We must la­bour to write these truths on our souls, and turn them into the reason of our minds. Things of faith we must make as if they were things of reason: and things of reason we must make as sensible as if they [Page 217]beat continually upon our eyes and ears. Let us colour and die our souls with these notions, or else they will do us but little good. If this book lie by us, and not in us, it will be little better then waste paper. Arrian L. 2. cap. 9. [...], &c. saith Epictetus. For it is one thing to have bread and wine in a cup-board, and another thing to have them in our body. When they are eaten and drunk, they turn into flesh and blood, into bones and nerves, and make us lusty and strong: but when they lie by us, we only seem to have them, but they af­ford us no nourishment or refresh­ment at all. Even so it is in these things; If we inwardly digest them and turn them (as it were) into the substance of our souls, they will make us of a lively complexion; but else we may be pale with fear and pine away with grief; and it is not their fault, but our own. And as he that doth not eat when he should, may have no stomack when he is weak, but presently vomit up his food again: So he that minds not these things till he be sick of his troubles, [Page 218]and in great need of comfort, will find his soul (it is most likely) very impatient of the remedy; and it will be a trouble to him but to read that which will quiet him.

Meditate therefore seriously of what hath been said. A recapi­tulation of the chief things that have been said. Think that you are not losers by your friends gains, and that there is no reason to be sor­rowful when they are filled with joy. We love our selves indeed better then we do them, and are troubled at our own loss, not at theirs; but then if the loss be our own, we can tel better how to repair it. That is our com­fort, that it is in our own hands to ease our selves, if we be the cause of our own trouble. Consider often that it is as natural to die as it is to be born: That God gives us every thing upon this condition, that we should be content to give it up again when be pleases to call for it. That God is a loving Father, and doth every thing for the best, That he would have us love him more, when he leaves us nothing else to love. That nothing can be sad, which by his grace and our care may be turned into joy. [Page 219]That we ought to turn our sorrow into care, least there be something worse to sorrow for, even the sin of out immoderate sorrow. That we ought to live so, that we may comfort our selves with hope we shall see our friends again that die in the Lord. That seeing we must die too, and others must weep for us, by our life we must leave them something to comfort them in hope that we are better, then if we were with them. We must often consider how much of our grief depends on meer fancy, and not on things. We were perhaps at a great distance from our friends while they lived, and did but seldom see them. The case is not much al­tered now that they are dead. If we have sustained a loss, we do but double it by losing our own quiet and comfort also. And yet there is more cause of thankfulness then of repining; both that we had them so long, and also that God hath taken away only them. Our grief at last must cease; and that which will end it then, may end it now. Or if it must end it self by it its own [Page 220]weariness, it is a shame that Reli­gions reason cannot do more then meer length of time can doe. It is but as we our selves would have it, who would have been loth to have died first. Or else it is as they would have it, who would have been loth to have out-lived us, and been so sad as we make it necessary for to be. They are not quite gone away, but only gone before. And by sorrow we may tread too fast upon their heels. Let us henceforth place our chiefest comfort in God; for if one be taken away, then so may another. There will be every day new mat­ter of trouble; and unless we be bet­ter provided against it, we shall be every day miserable. This world is the place of sorrow; and therefore seeing there are things enough to trouble us let it not be our work to create trouble to our selves. Trou­ble is a thing that will come without our call; but true joy will not spring up without our selves. If any sor­row should oppress us, it must be for our sins. And when we mourn for them, let us be sorrowful we were [Page 221]no more thankful for such enjoy­ments as we have now lost. And lastly, Let these tears teach us to take off our affections from worldly things, all the pleasure of whose possession is scarce big enough to compensate the trouble of parting with them.