EPIST. I. To Jacob Wadsworth, Lately reuolted, in SPAINE. EP. I. Expostulating for his departure, and perswading his returne.

HOw vnhappily is my stile chan­ged! Alas, that to a friend, to a bro­ther, I must write as to an Apostate, to an aduersary! Doth this seeme harsh? You haue turned it, by be­ing turned, your selfe. Once the [Page 2] same walles held vs in one louing society: the same Diocesse, in one honorable function: Now, not one Land, and (which I lament) not one Church: You are gone, we stand and wonder. For a sheepe, to stray through simplicitie, is both ordina­rie and lamentable: but, for a shep­herd is more rare, more scandalous. I dare not presume ouermuch, vpon an appeale to a blinded conscience. Those, that are newly come from a bright candle into a darke room, are so much more blinde, as their light was greater; and the purest Yuorie turneth with fire into the deepest blacke. Tell vs yet by your old in­genuitie, and by those sparks of good which yet (I hope) lie coue­red vnder your colde ashes; tell vs, What diuided you? Your motiues shall once be scanned before an [Page 3] higher barre. Shame not to haue the weake eyes of the world see that, which once your vndeceiuable Iudge shall see, and censure. What saw you, what heard you a-new, that might offer violence to a resol­ued mind, and make it either to al­ter, or suspend? If your reasons be invincible; informe vs, that we may follow you: but if (as they are) slight and feeble; returne you to vs: returne, and thinke it no shame to haue erred, iust shame to continue erring. What such goodly beautie saw you in that painted, but ill-fa­uoured strumpet, that should thus bewitch you so to forget your selfe, and contemne the chaste loue of the Spouse of your Sauiour? I saw hir, at the same time in hir gayest dresse: Let my soule neuer prosper, if I could see any thing worthie to [Page 4] command affection. I saw, & scor­ned: you saw, and adored. Would God your adoration were as farre from superstition, as my scorn from impietie. That God iudge betwixt vs, whether heerein erred: yea, let men iudge, that are not drunke with those Babylonish dregs. How long might an indifferent eie looke vpon the comicall and mimick acti­ons in those your mysteries that should be sacred, your magicall ex­orcismes, your clericall shauings, your vncleanly vnctions, your cros­sings, creepings, censings, sprink­lings, your couzening miracles, ga­rish processions, burning of no one-day, christning of bells, marting of pardons, tossing of beads, your superstitious hallowing of candles, wax, ashes, palmes, chrisme, gar­ments, roses, swords, water, salt, the [Page 5] pontificall solemnities of your great master, and what-euer your new mother hath, besides, plausible, be­fore he should see ought, in all these, worthy of any other entertainment, than contempt! Who can but dis­daine, that these things should pro­cure any wise Proselyte? Can not your owne memorie recount those truly religious spirits, which hauing sought Rome as resolued Papists, haue left the world as holy Mar­tyrs; dying for the detestation of that which they came to adore? Whence this? They heard & mag­nified that, which they now saw, and abhorred. Their fire of zeale brought them to the flames of mar­tyrdome. Their innocent hopes promised them Religion: they found nothing but a pretence; pro­mised deuotion, and behold idola­trie: [Page 6] they saw, hated, suffered, and now reigne; whiles you wilfully, and vnbidden, will lose your soule, where others meant to lose, & haue found it. Your zeale dies, where theirs beganne to liue: you like to liue, where they would but die. They shall comfort vs, for you: they shall once stand vp against you: while they would rather die in the heat of that fire, than liue in the darknesse of their errors; you ra­ther die in the Egyptian darknesse of errours, than liue in the pleasant light of truth: Yea, I feare, rather in another fire, than this light.

Alas! what shall we looke-for of you? Too late repentance, or obsti­nate errour? Both miserable. A Spi­ra, or a Staphylus? Your friends, your selfe, shall wish you rather vnborn, than either.

O thou, which art the great shep­heard, great in power, great in mer­cie, which leauest the ninetie & nine to reduce one, fetch home (if thy will be) this thy forlorne charge: fetch him home, driue him home to thy fold, though by shame, though by death. Let him once recouer thy Church, thou him, it is enough. Our common Mother I know not whether more pities your losse, or disdeignes thus to be robb'd of a sonne: Not for the need of you; but hir owne pietie, hir owne loue. For, how many troups of better in­formed soules hath shee euery day returning into hir lap; now brea­thing from their late Antichristi­anisme, and embracing hir knees vpon their owne? She laments you, not for that she feares she shal misse you; but, for that she knowes you [Page 8] shall want hir. See you hir teares, and do but pitie your selfe as much as she you. And, from your Mo­ther, to descend to your Nurse; Is this the fruit of such education? Was not your youth spent in a So­cietie of such comly order, strict go­uernment, wise lawes, religious care (it was ours: yet, let me praise it, to your shame) as may iustly challenge (after all brags) either RHEMES, or DOVVAY, or if your Iesuites haue any other Den more cleanly, and more worthie of ostentation? And could you come out fresh, and vnseasoned, from the middest of those salt waues? Could all those heauenly showers fall beside you; while you, like a Gedeons fleece, want moisture? Shall none of those diuine principles, which your youth seem'd to drinke in, checke you in [Page 9] your new errours? Alas! how vn­like are you to your selfe, to your name? Iacob wrestled with an An­gell, and preuailed: you grapple but with a Iesuite, and yeeld. Iacob supplanted his brother: an Esau hath supplanted you. Iacob changed his name for a better, by his valiant resistance: you, by your cowardly yeelding, haue lost your owne. Iacob stroue with God, for a bles­sing: I feare to say it, you against him for a curse; for, no common measure of hatred, nor ordinary op­position, can serue a reuolter: Either you must be desperatly violent, or suspected. The mighty one of Isra­el (for he can do it) raise you fallen, returne you wandred; and giue you grace at last to shame the Di­uell, to forsake your stepmother, to acknowledge your true Parent, to [Page 10] satisfie the world, to saue your own soule. If otherwise; I will say of you, as Ieremie of his Israelites (if not rather with more indignation) My soule shall weepe in secret for your reuolt, and mine eyes shall drop downe teares, because one of the Lords flocke is carried away captiue.

To my Lord and Patron, the Lord DENNY, Baron of Waltham. EP. II. Of the contempt of the world.

MY Lord: my tongue, my pen, and my heart, are all your seruants; when you cannot heare me, through distance, you must see me in my Letters. You are now in the Senate of the Kingdome, or in the concourse of the Citie, or per­haps (tho more rarely) in the royall face of the Court. All of them places fit for your place. From all these, let me call off your minde to hir home [Page 12] aboue; and, in the midst of busi­nesse, shew you rest: If I may not ra­ther commend, than admonish, and before-hand confesse my counsell superfluous, because your holy for­wardnesse hath preuented it. You can affoord these, but halfe of your selfe: The better part is better be­stowed; Your soule is still retired, and reserued. You haue learned to vouchsafe these worldly things, vse, without affection; and know to di­stinguish wisely, betwixt a Stoicall dulnesse, and a Christian contempt: and haue long made the world, not your god, but your slaue. And, in truth (that I may loose my selfe into a bold & free discourse) what other respect is it worthy of? I would ad­ore it on my face, if I could see any Maiestie, that might command ve­neration. Perhaps, it loues me not [Page 13] so much, as to shew me his best. I haue sought it enough: and haue seene what others haue doted on; and wondred at their madnesse. So may I looke to see better things a­boue, as I neuer could see ought heere, but vanitie and vilenesse.

What is fame, but smoake? and metall, but drosse? & pleasure, but a pill in sugar? Let some gallants con­demne this, as the voice of a Melan­cholike scholar: I speake that which they shall feele, and shall confesse. Tho I neuer was so, I haue seene some as happy as the world could make them: and yet I neuer saw any more discontented. Their life hath beene neither longer, nor sweeter, nor their heart lighter, nor their meales heartier, nor their nights quieter, nor their cares fewer, nor their complaints. Yea, wee haue [Page 14] knowen some, that haue lost their mirth when they haue found welth; and at once haue ceased to be mer­rie and poore. All these earthly de­lights, if they were sound, yet how short they are! and if they could be long, yet how vnsound! If they were sound, they are but as a good day betweene two agues, or a sun-shine betwixt two tempests. And if they were long, their honie is exceeded by their gall. This ground beares none but maples, hollow and fruit­lesse; or, like the banks of the dead sea, a faire apple, which vnder a red side containes nothing but dust. Euerie flower in this garden either pricks, or smelles ill. If it be sweet, it hath thorns: & if it haue no thorns, it annoies vs with an ill sent. Go thē, ye wise idolatrous Parasites, & erect shrines, and offer sacrifices to your [Page 15] god, the world; and seeke to please him with your base and seruile de­uotions: It shalbe long enough ere such religion shall make you happy. You shall at last forsake those altars, empty and sorrowfull. How easie is it for vs Christians, thus to insult o­uer the worldling, that thinks him­selfe worthy of enuy! How easie to turne off the world with a scornfull repulse; & when it makes vs the Di­uels proffer, All these will I giue thee, to returne Peters answer, Thy siluer and thy golde perish with thee! How easie to account none so miserable, as those that are rich with iniurie, and grow great by being conscious of secret euils! Wealth and honour, when it comes vpon the best termes, is but vain; but, when vpon il conditions, burdensome. When they are at the best, they are scarse friends; but, [Page 16] when at the worst, tormentors. A­las! how ill agrees a gay coat, and a festered heart? what auailes an high title, with an hell in the soule? I ad­mire the faith of Moses: but, presup­posing his faith, I wonder not at his choice. He preferred the afflictions of Israel, to the pleasures of Egypt; and chose rather to eat the Lambe, with sowre herbs, than all their flesh pots: For, how much better is it to be miserable than guiltie? and what comparison is there betwixt sorrow and sinne? If it were possible, let me be rather in hell without sinne, than on earth wickedly glorious. But, how much are wee bound to God, that allowes vs earthly fauors, with­out this opposition! That GOD hath made you at once honourable and iust, and your life pleasant and holy, and hath giuen you an high [Page 17] state with a good heart; are fauours that looke for thanks. These must bee acknowledged, not rested in: They are yet higher thoughts that must perfect your contentment.

What God hath giuen you, is no­thing to that he means to giue: He hath beene liberall; but hee will be munificent. This is not so much as the taste of a full cup. Fasten your eies vpon your future glory, and see how meanly you shal esteeme these earthly graces. Here you command but a little pittance of mould (great indeed to vs; little to the whole:) there, whole heauen shall be yours. Heere you command, but as a sub­iect: there you shal raigne as a King. Heere you are obserued; but some­times with your iust distaste: There you shal raigne with peace and ioy: Heere you are noble among men; [Page 18] there, glorious amongst Angels. Heere, you want not honour; but you want not crosses: there is no­thing but felicity. Heere you haue some shortioies: there is nothing but eternity. You are a stranger heere: there at home. Heere Satan tempts you, and men vex you: there Saints and Angels shall applaud you, and God shall fill you with himselfe. In a word, you are onely blessed heere, for that you shall be.

These are thoughts worthie of greatnesse: which, if we suffer either imploiments or pleasures to thrust out of our doores, wee doe wilfully make our selues comfortlesse. Let these stil season your mirth, & swee­ten your sorrows, & euer interpose thēselues betwixt you & the world. These only can make your life hap­pie, and your death welcome.

To my Lord HAY, H. and P. EP. III. Of true Honour.

MY Lord: It is safe to cō­plain of Nature, where Grace is; and to mag­nifie Grace, where it is at once had and affected. It is a fault of Nature, and not the least, that as shee hath dimme eies, so they are mis-placed. Shee lookes still, either forward, or downward; for­ward to the obiect shee desires, or downward to the meanes: Ne­uer turnes her eies, either back­ward, to see what shee was; or vp­ward, [Page 20] to the cause of her good: Whence, it is iust with God to with­hold what hee would giue, or to curse that which he bestowes; and to besot carnall mindes with out­ward things, in their value, in their desire, in their vse: Whereas true wisdome hath cleere eies, and right set; and therefore sees an inuisible hand in all sensible euents, effecting all things, directing all things to their due end; sees on whom to de­pend, whom to thanke. Earth is too low, and too base, to giue bounds vnto a spirituall sight. No man then can trulie know what belongs to wealth, or honour, but the graci­ous; either how to compasse them, or how to prize them, or how to vse them. I care not how many thousand waies there are to see­ming honour, besides this of ver­tue: [Page 21] they all (if more) still leade to shame: Or what plots are deui­sed to improoue it, if they were as deepe as hell, yet their end is losse. As there is no counsel against God: so there is no honour without him. Hee enclines the hearts of Princes to fauour; the hearts of inferiours to applause. Without him, the hand cannot mooue to successe; nor the tongue to praise: And what is honour without these? In vaine doth the World frowne vpon the man, whom he meanes to honour; or smile, where hee would dis­grace. Let mee then tell your L. who are fauorites in the Court of Heauen; euen whiles they wan­der on Earth: Yea let the great King himselfe tell you, Those that honour me, I will honour. That men haue the grace to giue honour to [Page 22] God, is an high fauour: but be­cause men giue honour to God (as their duty) that therefore God should giue honour to men, is to giue because he hath giuen. It is a fauour of God, that man is honou­red of man like himselfe: but, that God alloweth of our endeuours as honour to himselfe, is a greater fa­uour than that wherewith hee re­quites it.

This is the goodnesse of our God: The man that serues him, honours him: and whosoeuer honours him with his seruice, is crowned with honor. I challenge all times, places, persons: who euer honoured God, and was neglected? Who wilfully dishonoured him, and prospered? Turne ouer all Records, and see how successe euer blessed the iust, after many dangers, after many [Page 23] stormes of resistance, and left their conclusion glorious; how all god­lesse plots, in their loose, haue at once deceiued, shamed, punished their Authour. I goe no further: Your owne brest knowes, that your happie experience can heerein iu­stifie God. The world hath noted you for a follower of vertue; and hath seene how fast Honour fol­lowed you: Whiles you sought fa­uour with the God of Heauen, hee hath giuen you fauour with his De­putie on Earth.

Gods former actions are paterns of his future: Hee teaches you what hee will doe, by what hee hath done. Vnlesse your hand bee wearie of offering seruice, hee can­not either pull in his hand from re­warding, or hold it out empty. Ho­nour him still, and God pawnes his [Page 24] honour, on not failing you. You cannot distrust him, whom your proofe hath found faithfull. And whiles you settle your heart in this right course of true glory; laugh, in secret scorne, at the idle endeuours of those men, whose policies would out-reach God, and seize vpon ho­nour without his leaue. God laughs at them in Heauen. It is a safe and holy laughter, that followes his. And pitie the preposterous cour­ses of them, which make Religion but a foot-stoole to the seat of ad­uancement; which care for al things but heauen; which make the world their standing marke; and doe not so much as roue at God. Many had sped well, if they had begun well, and proceeded orderly.

A false method is the bane of ma­ny hopefull endeuours. God bids [Page 25] vs seeke first his Kingdome; and earthly things shall finde vs, vn­sought. Foolish nature first seeks the world: and if she light on God by the way, it is more than she ex­pects, desires, cares for; and therfore failes of both, because she seeks nei­ther aright. Many had been great, if they had cared to be good; which now are crossed in what they wuld, because they willed not what they ought. If Salomon had made wealth his first suite, I doubt he had been both poore and foolish: now, he as­ked wisdome, and gained greatnes: Because he chose well, he receiued what he asked not. O the bountie and fidelitie of our God! because we would haue the best, he giues vs all: Earth shall wait vpon vs, because we attend vpon Heauen.

Go-on then, my Lord, go-on [Page 26] happily to loue religion, to practise it: let God alone with the rest. Be you a Patterne of Vertue; he shall make you a Precedent of Glorie. Neuer man lost ought, by giuing it to God: that liberall hand returnes our gifts, with aduantage. Let men, let God see that you honour him; and they shall heare him proclame before you, Thus shall it be done to the man whom the King will honour.

To M^r. NEVVTON, Tutor to the Prince. EP. IV. Of Gratulation, for the hopes of our Prince; with an aduising ap­precation.

SIr, God hath called you to a great and happie charge; You haue the custodie of our com­mon Treasure: Neither is there any seruice comparable to this of yours; whether wee regard God, or the world. Our labours, oft times, be­stowed vpon many, scarse profit one: yours, bestowed vpon one, re­dounds to the profit of many milli­ons: [Page 28] This is a summary way of ob­liging all the world to you. I incou­rage you not in your care: you haue more comfort in the successe of it, than all words can giue you. The very subiect of your paines would giue an heart to him that hath none. I rather congratulate, with you, our common happinesse, and the hopes of posteritie, in that royall and bles­sed issue. You haue best cause to be the best witnes of the rare forward­nesse of our gracious Master: and I haue seene enough, to make mee thinke I can neuer be enough thank­ful to God for him. That Princes are fruitfull, is a great blessing; but, that their children are fruitfull in grace, and not more eminent in place than vertue, is the greatest fauor God can doe to a State. The goodnesse of a priuate man is his own; of a Prince, [Page 29] the whole worlds. Their words are Maxims, their actions examples, their examples rules. When I com­pare them with their royall Father (as I do oft and cheerfully) I cannot say whether hee be more happie in himselfe, or in them. I see both, in him, and them; I see and woonder, that God distributes to naturall Princes gifts proportionable to their greatnesse. That wise Moderatour of the world knowes what vse is of their parts: he knowes that the head must haue all the senses that pertein to the whole bodie: And how ne­cessarie it is, that inferiours should admire them no lesse for the excel­lencie of their graces, than for the sway of their authoritie. Whereup­on it is, that he giues heroicall qua­lities to Princes: and, as he hath be­stowed vpon them his owne name; [Page 30] so also he giues them speciall stamps of his owne glorious image. A­mongst all other vertues, what a comfort is it to see those yeeres, and those spirits stoope so willingly to deuotion? Religion is growen too seuere a Mistresse for yong and high courages to attend. Very rare is that Nobilitie of blood, that doth not challenge libertie; and that libertie, that ends not in loosenesse. Lo, this example teacheth our gallants, how well euen Maiestie can stand with homage; Maiestie to men, with ho­mage to God.

Farre be it from mee, to doe that which my next clause shall con­demne: but, I thinke it safe to say, that seldome euer those yeeres haue promised, seldome haue performed so much. Only God keepe two mis­chiefs euer from within the smoake [Page 31] of his Court; Flatterie and Treacherie: The iniquitie of times may make vs feare these; not his inclination.

For, whether as English, or as men, it hath been euer familiar to vs to fawne vpon Princes: Tho, what doe I bestow two names vpon one vice, but attired in two sundry sutes of euill? For, Flatterie is no other than gilded treason; nothing else but poison in golde: This euill is more tame; not lesse dangerous. It had beene better for many great ones not to haue been, than to haue been in their conceits more than men. This, Flatterie hath done: and what can it not? That other, Trea­cherie, spilles the blood; this, the vertues of Princes. That takes them from others; this bereaues them of themselues. That, in spight of the Actours, doth but change their [Page 32] Crowne; this steales it from them for euer. Who can but woonder, that reads of some not vnwise Prin­ces, so bewitched with the inchant­ments of their Parasites, that they haue thought themselues Gods im­mortall, & haue suffered themselues so stiled, so adored? Neither Tem­ples, nor Statues, nor Sacrifices haue seemed too much glory to the great­nesse of their selfe-loue; Now none of all their actions could be either euill, or vnbeseeming; Nothing could proceed from them worthie of censure, vnworthie of admirati­on: Their very spots haue beene beautie, their humors iustice, their errors witty, their Paradoxes diuine, their excesses heroicall. O the dam­nable seruility of false minds! which perswade others of that which them selues laugh to see beleeued. O the [Page 33] dangerous credulitie of selfe-loue, which entertaines all aduantages if neuer so euill, neuer so impossible. How happy a seruice shall you doe to this whole world of ours, if you shall still settle in that princely mind a true apprehension of himselfe; and shal teach him to take his own height aright; and euen from his childhood to hate a parasite, as the worst traitor: To breake those false glasses, that would present him a face not his owne: To applaud plaine truth, and bend his browes vpon excessiue praises. Thus affe­cted, he may bid vice doe her worst. Thus shall hee striue with vertue, whether shall more honour each other. Thus sincere and solid glo­rie shall euery where follow, and crowne him. Thus, when he hath but his due, he shall haue so much, [Page 34] that hee shall scorne to borrow the false colours of adulation. Goe on happily in this worthy and noble imploiment. The work cannot but succeed, that is furthered with so many praiers.

To S^r. Thomas Challoner. EP. V. A report of some Obseruations in my trauell.

SIr, besides my hopes, not my desires, I trauel­led of late; for know­ledge partly, & partly for health. There was nothing that made not my iourney pleasant, saue the labour of the way: which yet was so sweetly deceiued, by the so­ciety of S^r. Edmund Bacon (a Gentle­man truly honourable, beyond all titles) that I found small cause to complaine. The sea brookt not me, [Page 36] nor I it; an vnquiet element, made only for wonder & vse, not for plea­sure. Alighted once frō that wood­den conueyance, and vneuen way, I bethought my selfe how fondly our life is committed to an vnsteadie and reeling peece of wood, fickle windes, restlesse waters; while wee may set foot, on stedfast & constant earth. Lo, then euery thing taught me, euery thing delighted mee; so readie are wee to be affected with those forraine pleasures, which at home we should ouer-looke. I saw much, as one might in such a span of earth, in so few moneths. The time fauoured me: for, now newly had the key of peace opened those parts which war had before closed; closed (I say) to all English, saue either fu­gitiues or captiues. All ciuill occur­rences (as what faire Cities, what [Page 37] strange fashions, enterteinment, dangers, delights we found) are fit for other eares, & Winter euenings. What I noted, as a Diuine, within the sphere of my profession, my paper shall not spare in some part to re­port; and that to your selfe, which haue passed a lōger way, with more happie fruit of obseruation. Euen little streames empty themselues in­to great riuers; and they againe in­to the Sea. Neither do I desire to tell you what you know not: it shall be sufficient that I relate ought, which others shall thinke memorable.

Along our way, how many Chur­ches saw we demolished! Nothing left, but rude heaps, to tel the passen­ger, there had beene both deuotion and hostilitie. O the miserable foot­steps of war, besides blood-shed, ru­ine and desolation! Furie hath done [Page 38] that there, which Couetousnesse would do with vs; would do but shall not: The truth within, shal saue the walls without. And, to speak truly (what­euer the vulgar exclaime) Idolatrie pull'd downe those walls; not rage. If there had beene no Hollander to raze them, they should haue fallen alone, rather than hide so much im­piety vnder their guilty roofe. These are spectacles not so much of cruel­tie as iustice; Cruelty of man, Iustice of God. But (which I wondred at) Churches fall, and Iesuites Colleges rise, euery where: There is no City, where those are not either rearing, or built. Whence commeth this? Is it, for that deuotion is not so neces­sarie as Policie? Those men (as wee say of the Fox) fare best, when they are most cursed. None so much spighted of their owne; none so ha­ted [Page 39] of all; none so opposed by ours: and yet these ill weeds grow. Who­soeuer liues long, shall see them fea­red of their owne, which now hate them; shall see these seuen lean kine deuoure all the fat beasts that feed on the medowes of Tyber. I prophe­cie, as Pharaoh dreamed: The euent shall iustifie my confidence.

At Bruxilles, I saw some English-women professe themselues Vestalls; with a thousand rites, I know not whether more ridiculous, or magi­call. Poore soules! they could not be fooles enough at home. It would haue made you to pitie, laugh, dis­daine (I know not which more) to see by what cunning sleights & faire pretences that weake sex was fetcht into a wilfull bondage; and (if those two can agree) willingly constrai­ned to serue a master whom they [Page 40] must and cannot obey: whom they neither may forsake for their vow, nor can please for their frailty. What followes hence? Late sorrow, secret mischiefe, miserie irremediable. Their forwardnesse for wil-worship shall condemne our coldnesse for truth.

I talked there (in more boldnesse, perhaps, than wisdome) with Coste­rus a famous Iesuite; an old man, more teasty than subtle, and more able to wrangle than satisfie. Our discourse was long and rouing; and on his part full both of words and vehemency. He spake as at home; I as a stranger: yet so, as he saw mee modestly peremptory. The parti­culars would swell my Letter too much: It is enough, that the Truth lost lesse than I gained. At Gaunt (a City that commands reuerence for [Page 41] age, & wonder for the greatnes) we fell vpon a Cappucine Nouice, which wept bitterly, because he was not al­lowed to bee miserable. His head had now felt the razor, his backe the rod: all that Laconicall discipline pleased him well; which another, being condemned to, would iustly account a torment. What hindred then? Pietie, to his mother, would not permit this which he thought piety to God: Hee could not be a willing begger, vnlesse his mother must beg vnwillingly. He was the only heir of his father, the only stay of his mother: the comfort of hir widowhood depended on this hir orphane; who now naked must en­ter into the world of the Cappucines, as hee came first into this; leauing his goods to the diuision of the fra­ternitie: The least part whereof [Page 42] should haue beene hirs, whose hee wished all: Hence those teares, that repulse. I pitied his ill-bestowed zeale; and rather wished, than durst teach him more wisdome. These men for deuout, the Iesuites for learned and pragmaticall, haue in­grossed all opinion, from other Or­ders. O hypocrisie! No Cappucine may take or touch siluer: for, these are (you know) the quintessence of Franciscan spirits. This metall is as very an Anathema to these, as the wedge of gold to Achan; at the offer whereof he starts back, as Moses from the serpent: Yet he caries a boy with him, that takes and caries it; and ne­uer complaines of either metall or measure. I saw, and laughed at it; and, by this open tricke of hypocri­sie, suspected more, more close. How could I chuse? while com­monly [Page 43] the least appeares of that which is; especially of that which is loath some in appearance, much more in nature. At Namurs, on a pleasant & steepe hil-top, we found one that was tearmed a maried Her­mite; approuing his wisdome aboue his fellowes, that could make choice of so cheerfull and sociable a solita­rinesse. Whence, after a delightfull passage vp the sweet riuer Mosa, we visited the populous & rich Clergie of Leodium. That great Citie might well be dichotomized into Cloisters and Hospitals. If I might aduen­ture, I could here play the Critik, af­ter all the ruins of my neglected Phi­lology. Old monuments, and after them our Lipsius, call this people E­burones: I doubt whether it should not rather be written Ebriones; yet without search of any other Re­cords, [Page 44] saue my owne eyes: While yet I would those streets were more moist with wine, than with blood; wherin no day, no night is not dis­mall to some. No law, no Magistrate layes holde on the knowen murde­rer, if himselfe list: For three dayes after his fact, the gates are open, and iustice shut: priuate violence may pursue him, publique iustice can not: whence, some of more hot temper carue thēselues of reuenge; others take-vp with a small pecuni­arie satisfaction. O England, thought I, happy for iustice, happy for secu­ritie! There you shall find in euery corner a Maumet; at euery doore a Begger, in euery dish a Priest. From thence we passed to the Spa, a Vil­lage famous for hir medicinall and minerall waters, compounded of Yron & Coperice; the vertue wher­of [Page 45] yet the simple inhabitant ascribes to their beneficial Saint, whose hea­uy foot hath made an il-shaped im­pression, in a stone of hisThe name of the vpper Well of the Spa. Sauenir; A water more holsome than plea­sant, & yet more famous than hol­some. The wide deserts (on which it borders) are haunted with three kindes of ill cattell; Free-booters, Wolues, Witches: Although these two last are oft-times one. For, that sauage Ardenna, is reputed to yeeld many of those monsters, whom the Greeks call [...]; they, Louga­rous; we (if you will) Witch-wolues: Witches that haue put on the shape of those cruell beasts. We saw a boy there, whose halfe-face was deuou­red by one of them neere the vil­lage: yet so, as that the eare was ra­ther cut than bitten off. Not many dayes before our comming, at Lim­burgh, [Page 46] was executed one of those miscreants, who confessed on the wheele to haue deuoured two and fourtie children in that forme. It would aske a large volume, to scan this Probleme of Lycanthropy. The reasons, wherwith their relatiō fur­nisht me on both parts, would make an Epistle tedious. This in short I resolued; A substantiall change is aboue the reach of all infernal pow­ers, proper to the same hand that created the substance of both: Heer­in the Diuell playes the double So­phister; yea, the Sorcerer with Sor­cerers. Hee both deludes the Wit­ches conceit, and the beholders eies.

One thing I may not omit, with­out sinfull ouer-sight; A short, but memorable Storie, which the Gre­phier of that Towne (though of dif­ferent Religion) reported to more [Page 47] eares than ours. When the last In­quisition tyrannized in those parts, and helpt to spend the Faggots of Ardenna; one of the rest, a confident Confessour, being led farre to his stake, sung Psalmes along the way, in an heauenly courage, and victo­rious Triumph: the cruell Officer enuying his last mirth, and grieuing to see him merrier than his tormen­tours, commanded him silence; He sings still, as desirous to improoue his last breath to the best. The view of his approaching glorie, bred his ioy; his ioy breakes foorth into a cheerfull confession: The enraged Shiriffe causes his tongue, drawen foorth to the length, to be cut off neere the roots. Bloodie wretch! It had beene good Musicke to haue heard his shreeks: but, to heare his Musicke was torment. The poore [Page 48] Martyr dies in silence, rests in peace. Not many moneths after, our but­cherly Officer hath a sonne borne with his tongue hanging down vp­on his chin, like a Deare after long chace; which neuer could be gathe­red vp within the bounds of his lips. O the diuine hand, full of iustice, full of reuenge! Go now, Lipsius, and write the new miracles of thy God­desse; and confirme superstition by strange euents.Histoire et Miracles, &c. Que le 8. iour du mois de Septembre audict an. 1603. estant Feste de la Natiuitè de nostre Da­me, le nom­bre de Pele­rins a estè eu­uiron 20000. Pag. 35. Iudge you that haue seene, if euer the Chapell of Halle or Zichem haue yeelded ought more notable. Wee met euery where Pil­grimes to those his Ladies: two La­dies shall I call them, or one Ladie in two shrines? If two, why do they worship but one? If but one, why doth she that cure at Zichem, which at Halle she could not? O what pity it is, that so high a wit should in the [Page 49] last act be subiect to dotage! All the masculine brood of that braine wee cherished, and (if need were) admi­red: but these his silly virgins, the feeble issue of distempered age, who can abide? One of his darlings, at Louan, tolde mee from his owne mouth,Virgo Hal­lensis. that the elder of these two daughters, was by him in ten daies got, conceiued, borne, christened. I beleeued, and wondred not. These acts of superstition haue an inuisible father, and mid-wife: besides that it is not for an Elephant to goe three yeeres with a Mouse. It was told mee in the shop of his Moretus, not without some indignation, that our King, when he had well viewed the booke, and read some Passages, threw it to the ground with this Censure; Damnation to him that made it, and to him that beleeues it. Whether [Page 50] a true story, or one of their Legends, I inquire not: I am sure, that sen­tence did not so much discontent them, as it ioied me. Let me tell you yet, ere I take off my pen, two won­ders more, which I saw in that won­der of Cities, Antwerp; One, a so­lemne masse in a shambles, & that on Gods day: while the house was full of meat, of butchers, of buyers, some kneeling, others bargaining, most talking, al busie. It was strange to see one house sacred to God, and the belly; and how those two serui­ces agreed: The Priest did eat flesh, the butchers sold flesh, in one roofe, at one instant. The butcher killed, and sold it by peeces; the Priest did sacrifice, & orally deuour it whole: whether was the more butcher? The like we might haue seene at Malines. Mechlinia. One Goodwin a Kentish-man. The other, an English-man, so [Page 51] madly deuout, that he had wilfully mur'd vp himselfe as an Anachoret; the worst of all prisoners: There sate he pent-vp, for his further me­rit, halfe hunger-starued for the charitie of the Citizens. It was worth seeing, how manly he could bite-in his secret want, and dissem­ble his ouer-late repentance. I can­not commend his mortification, if hee wish to bee in heauen, yea, in purgatorie, to bee deliuered from thence: I durst not pitie him; be­cause his durance was willing, and (as hee hoped) meritorious: But, such incouragement as he had from mee, such thanke shall hee haue from God; who in stead of an Euge, which hee lookes for, shall angerly challenge him, with Who required this? I leaue him now, in his owne fetters; You, to your [Page 52] worthy and honourable imployments.

Pardon me this length. Loquacity is the naturall fault of Trauellers: while I profit any, I may well bee forgiuen.

To S^r. Dauid Murray. EP. VI. Concerning the Miracles of our time.

INdeede the World a­bounds with Miracles. These, while they fil the mouths of many, sway the faith of some, and make all men wonder. Our nature is greedy of newes; which it will rather faine, than want. Certainly, ere long, miracles will bee no wonders, for their frequence. I had thought, our age had had too many gray haires, and with time experience, & with [Page 54] experience craft, to haue descried a iuggler; but, now I see, by the sim­plicitie, it declines to his second childhood. The two Lipsian La­dies, the charmes of Bluntstones boy, and Garnets straw, what a noise haue they made! I onely wonder how Faux and Catesby escaped the honor of Saints, and priuilege of miracles. Heerein you aske my sentence; more seasonably, than you hoped. For, I meant to haue wrote a iust volume of this subiect, and furnisht my selfe accordingly in that region of wonders; but that I feared to surcharge the nice stomacke of our time, with too much. Neither would my length haue ought auailed you; whose thoughts are so taken vp with those high and seruiceable cares, that they can giue no leasure to an ouer-long discourse. May it please [Page 55] you therefore to receiue, in short, what I haue deliberately resolued in my selfe, and thinke I can make good to others.

I haue noted foure ranks of com­monly-named Miracles: from which, if you make a iust subducti­on, how few of our wonders shall remaine either to beleefe or admira­tion! The first meerely reported, not seene to be done; the next see­ming to bee done, but counterfei­ted; the third, truly done, but not true miracles; the last, truly miracu­lous, but by Satan. The first of these are bred of lies, and nourish­ed by credulitie. The mouth of fame is full of such blasts. For these, if I listed a while to rake in the Le­gends, and booke of Conformities, an ingenuous Papist could not but blush, an indifferent Reader could [Page 56] not but lay his hand on his spleene, and wonder as much that any man could bee so impudent to broach such reports, or any so simple to beleeue them; as the credulous mul­titude wonders that any should bee so powerfull to effect them. But, I seek neither their shame, nor others laughter. I dare say, not the Tal­mud, not the Alcoran, hath more im­possible tales, more ridiculous lies. Yea, to this head, Canus himselfe (a famous Papist) dare referre many of those ancient miracles reported, and (by all likelihood) beleeued of Bede, and Gregory. The next are bredde of fraud, and couzenage, nourished by superstition. Who knowes not, how the famous Ken­tish Idoll mooued his eies,The Rood of Grace [...]t B [...]x­ley Abby. and hands, by those secret gimmers, which now euery Puppet-play can [Page 57] imitate? How Saint VVilfreds needle opened to the penitent, and closed it selfe to the guiltie? How our La­die sheds the teares of a bleeding vine? and doth many of hir dayly feats, as Bel did of olde eat vp his banket, or as Picens the Eremite fa­sted fourtie dayes. But, these two euery honest Papist, will confesse, with voluntarie shame and griefe; and grant that it may grow a dispu­table question, Whether Mount­banks or Priests are the greatest cou­zeners. Viues beyond his woont ve­hemently tearmes them execrable and satanicall impostors. The third are true works of God, vnder a false title: God giues them their being, men their name: vniust, because a­boue their nature; wherein, the Phi­losopher and the superstitiously ig­norant, are contrarily extreame; [Page 58] while the one seeks out naturall cau­ses of Gods immediate & metaphy­sicall works; The other ascribes or­dinary effects to supernaturall cau­ses. If the violence of a disease cease, after a vow made to our Ladie; If a souldier, armed with his vow, escape gun-shot; a captiue, prison; a wo­man trauelling, death; the vulgar (and I would they alone) cry out, A miracle! One loadstone hath more wonder in it, than a thousand such euents. Euery thing drawes a base minde to admiration. Francesco del Campo (one of the Arch-dukes Qui­ries) tolde vs, not without importu­nate deuotion, that in that fatal field of Newport, his vow to their Virgin helpt him to swim ouer a large wa­ter, when the oares of his armes had neuer before tried any waues. A dogge hath done more, without ac­knowlegement [Page 59] of any Saint. Feare giues sudden instincts of skill, euen without precept. Their owne Coste­rus durst say, that the cure of a dis­ease is no miracle: His reason, be­cause it may be done by the pow­er of Nature, albee in longer time.En l'an mil six cents & trois, y fu­reut comptez cent & trente cin{que} poten­ces & iambes de bois de personnes boyteuses y apportées au seul espace de quatie ou cinc{que} mois. Histoire & Miracles. c. 12. p. 34. Yeeld this, and what haue Lipsius his two Ladies done? wherefore serues all this clamour, from the two hilles? I assented not; neither will be heerein thus much their enemie: For, as well the maner of doing, as the matter, makes a miracle. If Peters handkerchiefe, or shadow, heale a disease, it is miraculous, though it might haue been done by a Potion. Manie of their recoueries, doubt­lesse, haue been wrought through the strength of Nature in the Pati­ent; not of vertue in the Saint. How many sicke men haue mended, with [Page 60] their physicke in their pocket? tho manie other also (I doubt not) of those cures haue fallen into the fourth head; which indeed is more knottie, and requires a deeper dis­course. Wherein, if I shall euince these two things, I shall (I hope) sa­tisfie my Reader, & cleere the truth: One, that miracles are wrought by Satan; the other, that those which the Romish Church boasteth, are of this nature, of this authour. I con­tend not of words: wee take mira­cles in Augustines large sense; where­in is little difference betwixt a thing maruellous and miraculous; such as the Spirit of God in either instru­ment calles [...],Or [...] [...] and [...]. Per­haps, it would be more proper to say, that God works these miracles by Satan: for, as in the naturall and voluntary motions of wicked men; [Page 61] so in the supernaturall acts of euill spirits(as they are acts) there is more than a meere permission. Satan, by his tempest, bereaues Iob of his chil­dren: yet Iob, looking higher, saith, The Lord hath taken. No Sophistrie can elude this proofe of Moses; that a Prophet or dreamer may giue a true signe or woonder, and yet say, Let vs go after strange gods: Deut. 13.1. nor that of our Sauiour, who foretelles of false Christs, false Prophets that shall giue [...]; signes and woon­ders, & those great. There are some too great, I grant, for the hand of all infernall powers: by which, our Sa­uiour inuincibly proues the truth of his Deity: These neuer graced false­hood, neither admit any precedent from our times. As to the rest so fre­quent and common, for me, I could not beleeue the Church of Rome [Page 62] were Antichristian, if it had not boasted of these wonders. All the knot lies then, in the application of this to Rome, and our imaginary La­die: How shall it appeare, that their miracles are of this kinde? Ludouicus Viues giues six notes to distinguish Gods miracles, from Satans; Lipsius three: Both of them too manie, as might easily be discouered by discussing of particulars. It is not so much the greatnesse of the worke, nor the beleefe of witnesses, nor the qualitie nor maner of the action, nor truth of essence, that can descrie the immediate hand which worketh in our miracles. That alone is the true and golden rule which Iustin Martyr (if at least that booke be his) prescribes in his Questions & Answers; How shall it be knowen that our miracles are better than the Hea­thens, [Page 63] although the euent counte­nance both alike? Resp. By the faith and worship of the true God. Ex fide & cultu veri Dei: Miracles must be iud­ged by the doctrine which they con­firme; not the doctrine by the mi­racles. The Dreamer or Prophet must be esteemed, not by the euent of his wonder; but, by the substance and scope of his teaching. The Ro­manists argue preposterously, while they would proue the truth of their Church by miracles; whereas they should proue their miracles by the truth. To say nothing of the fashi­on of their cures, that one is prescri­bed to come to our Ladie, rather on a Friday, asPag. 7. Henrie Loyez; another, to wash nine dayes in the water of MONT-AIGV, as Leonard Stoc­queau; another, to eat a peece of the Oke where the image stood,Historie et Miracles de nostre Dame. Pag. 73. Pag. 102. as Magdaleine the widow of Bruxelles. [Page 64] All which, if they sauour not strong of magicall receits, let the Indiffe­rent iudge. Surely, either there is no sorcerie, or this is it. All shall be plaine, if the doctrine confirmed by their miracles be once discussed: for, if that be diuine Truth, we doe vniustly impugne these works as di­abolicall; if falshod, they doe blas­phem [...]sly proclaime them for di­uine. These works tend all chiefly to this double doctrine; That the blessed Virgin is to be inuoked for her mediation, That God & Saints are to be adored in and by Images. Positions that would require a Vo­lume, and such as are liberally dis­puted by others: whereof one is a­gainst Scripture; the other (which in these cases values no lesse) besides it. One Deifies the Virgin; the o­ther, a stocke or stone. It matters [Page 65] not what subtle distinctions their learned Doctors make betwixt me­diation of Redemption, and Inter­cession, [...], and [...], the Saint, and the Image: Wee know, their common people, whose deuotion inriches those shrines (by confessi­on of their owne Writers) climbe the Hill of Zichem with this conceit,Examen Pa­cifique de la doctrine des Hugenots. O sanueresse, s [...]nne moy. Manuel of French prai­ers, printed at Liege, by approbation and authority of Anton Che­uart Inquisi­tor, &c. that Mary is their Sauioresion that the stocke is their Goddesse: which vnlesse it bee true, how doe their wonders teach them lies! & there­fore how from God! But, to take the first at best (for, the second is so grosse, that were not the second Commandement by Papists pur­posely razed out of their Primiers, children and carters would con­demne it) it cannot be denied, that all the substance of praier is in the heart; the vocal sound is but a com­plement, [Page 66] and as an outward case wherin our thoughts are sheathed. That Power cannot know the prai­er, which knowes not the heart: ei­ther then the Virgin is God, for that shee knowes the heart, or to know the heart is not proper to God: or to know the heart, and so our prai­ers, is falsly ascribed to the Virgin: and therefore these wonders, which teach men thus to honour her, are Doctors of lies; so, not of GOD. There cannot bee any discourse, wherein it is more easie to bee tedi­ous. To end; If praiers were but in words, and Saints did meddle with all particularities of earthly things, yet blessed Mary should bee a God, if shee could at once attend all her Suiters. One solicites her at Halle, another at Scherpen-heuuell, another at Luca, at our VValshingham another; [Page 67] one in Europe, another in Asia; or perhaps another is one of her new Clients in America: Ten thousand deuout Suppliants are at once pro­strate before her seuerall shrines. If she cannot heare al, why pray they? If she can, what can God do more? Certainely (as the matter is vsed) there cannot be greater wrong offe­red to those heauenly spirits, than by our importunate superstitions to be thrust into Gods throne; and to haue forced vpon them the honors of their Maker. There is no contra­diction in heauen: a Saint cannot allow that an Angell forbids. See thou doe it not, was the voice of an Angell: if all the miraculous blocks in the world shall speake contrarie, wee know whom to beleeue. The old rule was,Let no man worship the Virgin Mary. [...]: Either that rule is diuellish, or this [Page 68] practise. And if this practise bee ill, God deliuer me from the immedi­ate author of these miracles. Change but one Idoll for another, & what differ the wonders of Apolloes Tem­ples, from those of these Chapels? Wee reuerence (as wee ought) the memorie of that holy and happie Virgin: We hate those that disho­nour her: We hate those that deifie her. Cursed be all honour, that is stollen from God.

This short satisfaction I giue, in a long question; such as I dare rest in; and resolue that all Popish mi­racles are either falsly reported, or falsly done, or falsly miraculous, or falsly ascribed to Heauen.

To M^r. William Bedell, at Venice. EP. VII. Lamenting the death of our late Diuines, and inciting to their imitation.

WE haue heard, how full of trouble, and danger, the Alpes were to you: and did at once both pi­tie your difficulties, and reioice in your safety. Since your departure from vs, Reynolds is departed from the World. Alas, how many wor­thy lights haue our eies seene shi­ning and extinguisht! How many losses haue wee liued to see the [Page 70] Church sustaine, and lament; of her children, of her pillers; our own, and forraine! I speak not of those, which (being excellent) would needes bee obscure: whom nothing but their owne secrecy depriued of the honor of our teares. There are, besides, too many whom the world noted and admired; euen since the time that our common mother acknowled­ged vs for her sons. Our Fulk led the way; that profound, ready, and re­solute Doctor, the hammer of here­ticks, the champian of truth: whom our yoonger times haue heard oft disputing acutely, and powerfully. Next him, followed that honour of our Schooles, and Angell of our Church, learned Whitakers; than whom, our age saw nothing more memorable: what cleerenesse of iudgement, what sweetnesse of stile, [Page 71] what grauity of person, what grace of carriage was in that man ! Who euer saw him, without reuerence? or heard him, without wonder? Soone after, left the world that fa­mous and truly-illuminate Doctor, Francis Iunius, the glory of Leiden, the other hope of the Church, the Oracle of Textuall and Schoole-di­uinitie: rich in languages, subtle in distinguishing, and in argument in­uincible: and his companion in la­bours, Lu. Trelcatius, would needes be his companion in ioies; who had doubled our sorrow and losse, but that heere compenced it with a son like himselfe. Soon after, fell old re­uerend Beza; a long-fixed starre in this firmament of the Church: who, after many excellent monuments of learning and fidelity, liued to proue vpon his aduersaries, that hee was [Page 72] not dead at their day. Neither may I without iniurie, omit that worthy paire of our late Diuines, Greenham, and Perkins: whereof the one ex­cell'd in experimentall diuinity; and knew wel how to stay a weake con­science, how to raise a fallen, how to strike a remorselesse: The other, in a distinct iudgement, & a rare dex­terity in cleering the obscure subtil­ties of the schoole, and easy explica­tion of the most perplex discourses. Doctour Reynolds is the last; not in worth, but in the time of his losse. He alone was a well-furnisht libra­ry, full of all faculties, of all studies, of all learning: The memorie, the reading of that man, were neere to a miracle. These are gone, amongst many more, whom the Church mournes for in secret: would God her losse could be as easily supplied, [Page 73] as lamented. Hir sorow is for those that are past, hir remainder of ioy in those that remaine; hir hope in the next age. I pray God the causes of hir hope, and ioy, may be equi­ualent to those of hir griefe.

What should this worke in vs, but an imitation, yea (that word is not too big for you) an emulation of their worthinesse? It is no pride, for a man to wish himselfe spiritu­ally better than hee dare hope to reach: nay, I am deceiued, if it be not true humilitie. For, what doth this argue him, but low in his con­ceit, high in his desires only? Or if so; happy is the ambition of grace, and power of sincere seruiceable­nesse to God. Let vs wish, and af­fect this, while the world layes plots for greatnesse: Let me not prosper, if I bestow enuie on them. Hee is [Page 74] great, that is good: and no man, me thinks, is happy on earth, to him that hath grace for substance, and learning for ornament. If you know it not, the Church (our mother) looks for much at your hands: shee knowes how rich our common fa­ther hath left you: shee notes your graces, your opportunities, your imploiments: shee thinks you are gone so farre, like a good Merchant, for no small gaine; and lookes you shall come home well laded. And for vent of your present commodi­ties (tho our chiefe hope of successe be cut-off with that vnhoped peace) yet what can hinder your priuate traffique for God? I hope (and who doth not?) that this blow will leaue in your noble Venetians a perpetuall scarre; and that their late irresoluti­on shall make them euer capable of [Page 75] all better counsels; and haue his worke (like some great Eclipse) ma­ny yeeres after. How happie were it for Venice, if as she is euery yeere married to the sea, so she were once thorowly espoused to Christ! In the meane time, let mee perswade you to gratifie vs at home, with the publication of that your exquisite Polemicall Discourse; whereto our conference with M. Alabaster gaue so happie an occasion: You shall heer­by cleere many trueths; and satisfie all Readers: yea, I doubt not, but an aduersarie (not too peruerse) shall acknowledge the Trueths victorie and yours. It was holsome counsell of a Father, that in the time of an heresie euerie man should write. Perhaps, you complaine of the in­undations of Francford: How many haue been discouraged from bene­fiting [Page 76] of the world, by this conceit of multitude! Indeed we all write; and, while we write, cry out of num­ber. How well might many be spa­red, euen of those that complaine of too many? whose importunate babbling cloyes the world, without vse. My suspition giues mee, that some may perhaps reflect this cen­sure vpon my selfe. I am content to put it to hazzard, and (if need be) beare it. But certeinly (mee thinks) of profitable writings store is an ea­sie fault: No man is bound to read; and he that will spend his time and his eyes where no sensible profit drawes him on, is woorthie to lose his labour. Let others looke to their owne; I dare promise yours happy successe. Be intreated only to cast off this iniurious modestie, and suf­fer me to draw you forth into Pauls [Page 77] Church-yard, and to fetch from you some honest issue of an able minde; which suruiuing you shal stil preach the trueth when you are gone to dust. God giue you as prosperous a returne, as your passage was diffi­cult; and serue himselfe of your gifts at home, and repossesse vs of you; whom we at once loue and re­uerence.

To my Lord, the Earle of ESSEX. EP. IIX. Aduice for his Trauels.

MY Lord, both my duty and promise make my Letters your debt; and, if neither of these, my thirst of your good. You shall ne­uer but need good counsell, most in trauell: Then are both our dan­gers greater, and our hopes.

I need not tell you the eyes of the world are much vpon you, for your owne sake, for your Fathers: Only let your eyes be vpon it a­gaine, to obserue it, to satisfie it, and [Page 80] in some cases to contemne it. As your graces, so your weaknesses, will be the sooner spied, by how much you are more noted. The higher any building is, the more it requires exquisite proportion: which, in some low and rude piles, is needlesse. If your vertues shall be eminent like your Fathers, you can not so hide your selfe, but the world will see you, and force vpon you ap­plause and admiration in spight of modestie: but, if you shall come short in these; your Fathers perfe­ction shall be your blemish. Thinke now, that more eyes are vpon you, than at home: of Forreners, of your owne; theirs to obserue, ours to ex­pect. For, now we account you in the Schoole of Wisdome: whence if you returne not better, you shall worse; with the losse of your time: [Page 81] of our hopes. For, I know not how naturall it is to vs, to looke for alte­ration in trauel; &, with the change of aire and land, to presuppose a change in the person. Now you are (through both your yeeres and tra­uell) in the forge of your hopes. We all looke (not without desire and apprecation) in what shape you will come foorth. Thinke it not enough that you see, or can say you haue seene, strange things of nature, or euent: It is a vaine and dead trauell that rests in the eye, or the tongue. All is but lost, vnlesse your busie minde shall, from the body that it sees, draw foorth some quintessence of obseruation; wherewith to en­forme, and enrich it selfe. There is nothing can quit the cost and labor of Trauell, but the gaine of wis­dome. How many haue we seene [Page 82] and pitied, which haue brought no­thing from forraine Countries, but mis-shapen clothes, or exoticall ge­stures, or new games, or affected lis­spings, or the diseases of the place, or (which is worst) the vices? These men haue at once wandered from their country, and from themselues: and some of them (too easie to in­stance) haue left God behind them; or perhaps, in stead of him, haue af­ter a loose and filthy life, brought home some idle Puppet in a boxe, whereon to spend their deuotion. Let their wracke warne you, and let their follies be entertained by you, with more detestation than pitie. I know your Honour too well to feare you: your yoong yeeres haue beene so graciously preuented with souereigne antidotes of truth and holy instruction, that this infection [Page 83] despaires of preuailing. Your very blood giues you argument of safe­ty: yet, good counsell is not vnsea­sonable, euen where dangers is not suspected. For Gods sake, my Lord, whatsoeuer you gaine, lose nothing of the truth; remit nothing of your loue and piety to God; of your fa­uour and zeale to Religion. As sure as there is a God, you were trained vp in the true knowledge of him. If either Angell, or Diuell, or Iesuite, should suggest the contrarie, send him away, with defiance. There you see and heare, euery day, the true mother and the fained, striuing and pleading for the liuing childe. The true Prince of peace hath past sentence from Heauen, on our side. Doe not you stoope so much as to a doubt, or motion of irresolution. Abandon those from your table [Page 84] and salt, whom your own or others experience shall descry dangerous: Those serpents are full of insinuati­ons: But, of all, those of your own Country: which are so much more pernicious, by how much they haue more colour of priuilege of entire­nesse. Religion is the greatest care: aduices for carriage, and improue­ment of trauell, challenge the next place. I need not counsell you to keepe your state, with affability; and so to manage your selfe, as that your curtesie may be more visible, than your greatnesse. Nature hath taught you this; and hath secretlie propagated it from your Father: who, by his sweetnesse of dispositi­on, won as many hearts, as by his valour and munificence. I rather tel you, that a good nature hath be­traied many; who, looking for [Page 85] that in others which they haue found in themselues, haue at last complained of their owne creduli­tie, and others deceit. Trust not Strangers too much, with your counsell, with your person: and, in your greatest familiarities, haue an eie to their common disposition, and infirmities. Those natures, wherewith you conuerse, are sub­iect to displeasure; and violent, in pursuit of small indignities. Yester­day heard I named, from no vn­faithfull report, a French Courtier, that in single combat hath sent 18. soules from the field to their place: yet he euer as the patient in the quarell; and for this, mentioned with more than excuse: I censure not how iustly. This is others care: Only hence I argue the rifenesse of vnkindenesse taken, and pursued. [Page 86] You shall see, that the soile is not so diuers, as the inclination of persons: who, in all Climates, though they differ in particulars, yet still agree too well in common faults. The Ita­lian deepe, close, and crafty; the French rash; the Germaine dull. One not forward to offer wrongs: but, apprehensiue of a small wrong offered: another, prone either to take, or giue them; but, not vneasie to remit: another, long in concei­uing, long in retaining. What do I exemplifie? There are long Cata­logues of peculiar vices, that haunt speciall places; which, if they were not notoriously infamous, my cha­rity would serue mee to particula­rize: It were pity there should bee fewer vertues, locall and proper. There are good vses to bee made of others enormities; if no more, by [Page 87] them to correct our owne: who loathes vice in another, is in good forwardnesse to leaue it in himselfe. The view of the publike calamities, and disorders of other Churches, shall best teach you thankfulnesse for the better state of ours: But, bet­ter vse of their vertues; by how much it is more excellent to know what we should doe, than what we should not. You must now looke vpon all things, not with the eies of a stranger onely, but of a Philoso­pher, but of a Christian; which ac­counts all lost, that is not reduced to practise. It is a great praise, that you are wiser by the contemplation of forraine things; but, much grea­ter, that you are better. That you haue seene Cities, and Courts, and Alpes, and Riuers, can neuer yeeld you so sound comfort, as that you [Page 88] haue lookt seriously into your selfe. In vaine doe wee affect all forraine knowledge, if wee be not thorowly acquainted at home. Think much, and say little; especially in occasi­ons of dispraise: wherein, both a lit­tle is enough, and oft times any thing is too much. You cannot in­quire too much: that, which in vs inferiours would bee censured for dangerous curiositie, in your great­nesse shall bee construed as a com­mendable desire of knowledge. Aske still after men of greatest parts and reputation: and where you finde Fame no lier, note and respect them. Make choice of those for conuersation, which either in pre­sent, or in hope, are eminent: and when you meet with excellencies in any faculty, leaue not without some gaine of knowledge. What are o­thers [Page 89] graces to you, if you only ad­mire them; not imitate, not appro­priate them? Loe, your equalls in time grow vp happily in the Col­ledge (so I may tearme it) of our yong, and hopefull Court, which you haue left; and aboue all, that gracious President of woorthinesse and perfection: whom while in all other things you serue, you may without reproofe emulate for learn­ing, vertue, piety. My selfe am wit­nesse of their progresse; which I do ioyfully gratulate to the succeeding age. Beware, lest their diligence shall out-strip you, and vpbraid you with that ancient checke of Going farre, and faring worse. I am bolde and busie in counselling: you a­bound with better Monitors; and the best you carrie about, I hope, in your owne bosome. Tho these [Page 90] should be needlesse, yet they argue my humble affection, and discharge my dutie. My prayers are better than my counsels; both of them heartie and vnfained for your good. God guide and returne you safe, from a iourney not more happie and pro­sperous than I wish it.

To S^r. Robert Drury, and his Ladie. EP. IX. Concerning my Remoouall from them.

WIth how vnwilling an heart I leaue you, hee knowes that searches the heart: Neither durst I go, but that I sensibly see his hand pulling me from you. Indeed, de­sire of competencie betrayed me, at first; and drew mine eyes to looke aside: but, when I bent them vpon the place, and saw the number and the need of the people, together [Page 92] with their hunger and applause, meeting with the circumstances of Gods strange conuevance of this offer to mee; I saw, that was but as the Fowlers feather, to make mee stoope: and contemning that re­spect of my selfe, I sincerely acknow­ledged higher motiues of my yeel­ding; and resolued I might not resist. You are deare to mee, as a Charge to a Pastor; if my paines to you haue not prooued it, suspect me: Yet I leaue you. God calles me to a greater worke: I must fol­low him. It were more ease to me, to liue secretly hidden in that qui­et obscuritie, as Saul amongst the stuffe, than to be drawen out to the eye of the world, to act so high a part before a thousand witnesses. In this point, if I seeme to neglect you, blame me not; I must neglect [Page 93] and forget my selfe. I can but la­bour, wheresoeuer I am. GOD knowes how willingly I doe that, whether there or heere. I shall dig, and delue, & plant, in what ground soeuer my Master sets mee. If hee take me to a larger field, complaine you not of losse, while the Church may gaine. But, you are my owne charge; No wise father neglects his owne in compassion of the greater need of others: yet consider, that euen carefull Parents, when the Prince commands, leaue their fami­lies, and goe to warfare. What if God had called mee to Heauen? would you haue grudged my de­parture? Imagine that I am there, where I shall be; altho the case be not to you altogether so hopelesse: for, now I may heare of you, visit you, renue my holy counsels, and [Page 94] be mutually comforted from you; there, none of these. Hee, that will once transpose mee from earth to heauen, hath now chosen to trans­pose me from one peece of earth to another: what is heere worthie of your sorrow, worthy of complaint? That should be for my owne good: this shall be for the good of many. If your experience haue taught you, that my labours do promise profit; obtaine of your selfe to denie your selfe so much, as to reioyce that the losse of a few should be the aduan­tage of many soules. Tho, why do I speake of losse? I speake that, as your feare, not my owne: and your affe­ction causes that feare, rather than the occasion.

The GOD of the Haruest shall send you a Labourer, more able, as carefull: That is my prayer, and [Page 95] hope, and shall be my ioy. I dare not leaue, but in this expectation, this assurance. What-euer become of me, it shall be my greatest com­fort to heare you commend your change; and to see your happy pro­gresse in those wayes I haue both shewed you, and beaten. So shall wee meet in the end, and neuer part.

Written to M^r. J. B. and Dedicated to my Father M^r. I. HALL. EP. X. Against the feare of Death.

YOu complaine, that you feare Death: Hee is no man, that doth not. Besides the paine, Na­ture shrinks at the thought of par­ting. If you would learne the re­medie, know the cause; For that she is ignorant, and faithlesse. She would not be cowardlie, if shee were not foolish. Our feare is from doubt, and our doubt from vnbe­liefe: [Page 98] and whence is our vnbeliefe, but chiefly from ignorance? Shee knowes not what good is elswhere: she beleeues not her part in it. Get once true knowledge and true faith, your feare shall vanish alone. Assu­rance of heauenly things makes vs willing to part with earthly. He can not contemne this life, that knowes not the other. If you would despise earth therefore, thinke of heauen. If you would haue death easie, thinke of that glorious life that followes it. Certainly, if we can endure paine, for health; much more shall we a­bide a few pangs, for glory. Thinke how fondly wee feare a vanquisht enemie. Loe, Christ hath triumpht ouer Death: hee bleedeth and ga­speth vnder vs; and yet we tremble. It is enough to vs, that Christ died: Neither would hee haue died, but [Page 99] that we might die with safetie, and pleasure.

Thinke, that Death is necessarily annexed to Nature: Wee are for a time, on condition that we shall not be; wee receiue life, but vpon the tearmes of redeliuerie. Necessitie makes some things easie; as it vsu­ally makes easie things difficult. It is a fond iniustice to embrace the couenant, and shrinke at the con­dition.

Thinke, there is but one com­mon rode to all flesh: There are no by-paths of any fairer, or neerer way; no, not for Princes. Euen companie abateth miseries: and the commonnesse of an euill makes it lesse fearefull. What worlds of men are gone before vs; yea, how many thousands out of one field! How many crownes and scepters lie piled [Page 100] vp at the gates of death, which their owners haue left there, as spoiles to the Conqueror? Haue we beene at so many graues, and so oft seene our selues die in our friends; and do we shrinke when our course commeth? Imagine you alone were exempted from the common law of mankind, or were condemned to Methusalahs age; assure your selfe death is not now so fearefull, as your life would then be wearisome.

Thinke not so much what Death is, as from whom hee comes, and for what. We receiue euen homely messengers from great persons; not without respect to their Maisters: And what matters it who he be, so hee bring vs good newes? what newes can be better than this, That God sends for you, to take possessi­on of a Kingdome? Let them feare [Page 101] Death, which know him but as a Pursuiuant sent from hell; whom their conscience accuses of a life wil­fully filthy; and bindes-ouer secret­lie to condemnation: Wee know whither we are going, and whom wee haue beleeued; Let vs passe on cheerefully, thorow these blacke gates, vnto our glory.

Lastly, know that our improui­dence only addes terror vnto death. Thinke of death, and you shall not feare it. Do you not see, that euen Beares, and Tigres, seeme not ter­rible to those that liue with them? How haue wee seene their Keepers sport with them, when the behol­ders durst scarse trust their chaine? Be acquainted with Death, though he looke grim vpon you, at the first, you shall finde him, yea, you shall make him a good companion. Fa­miliaritie [Page 102] cannot stand with feare. These are receits enow. Too much store doth rather ouer-whelme than satisfie. Take but these, and I dare promise you securitie.

To S^r. Robert Darcy. EP. I. The estate of a true, but weake Chri­stian.

IF you aske how I fare: Sometimes, no man better; &, if the fault were not my owne, Al­waies. Not that I can command health, and bid the world smile when I list. How possi­ble is it for a man to be happy with­out these; yea in spight of them? These things can neither augment, [Page 106] nor empaire those comforts, that come from aboue. What vse, what sight is there of the starres, when the sunne shines? Then onely can I finde my selfe happy, when (ouer­looking these earthly things) I can fetch my ioy from heauen. I tell him that knowes it, the content­ments that earth can affoord her best Fauourites, are weake, imper­fect, changeable, momentany; and such, as euer end in complaint. We sorrow that we had them; and, while we haue them, wee dare not trust them: Those from aboue are full, and constant. What an heauen doe I feele in my selfe, when (after many trauerses of meditation) I finde, in my heart, a feeling posses­sion of my God! When I can walk, and conuerse with the God of hea­uen, not without an opennesse of [Page 107] heart, and familiaritie: When my soule hath caught fast and sensible hold of my Sauiour; and either puls him downe to it selfe, or rather lifts vp it selfe to him; and can and dare secretly auouch, I know whom I haue beleeued: When I can looke vpon all this inferiour creation, with the eies of a stranger, and am trans­ [...] to my home in my thoghts, [...]ing my selfe in the view and [...]ation of my future glory, and [...] present of the Saints: When I [...] wherefore I was made, and my conscience tels me I haue done that for which I came; done it, not so as I can boast, but so as it is accepted; while my weaknesses are pardoned, and my acts measured by my de­sires, and my desires by their since­rity: Lastly, when I can finde my selfe (vpon holy resolution) made [Page 108] firme and square, fit to entertaine al euents; the good with moderate regard, the euill with courage and patience, both with thanks; strong­ly settled to good purposes, con­stant and cheerefull in deuotion; and, in a word, ready for God, yea full of God. Sometimes I can bee thus, and pity the poore and mise­rable prosperitie of the godlesse; and laugh at their moneths of vanitie, and sorrow at my owne: But then againe (for why should I shame to confesse it?) the world thrusts it selfe betwixt me and heauen; and, by his darke and indigested parts, eclipseth that light which shined to my soule. Now, a senselesse dul­nesse ouer-takes me, and besots me; my lust to deuotion is little, my ioy none at all: Gods face is hid, and I am troubled. Then I begin to com­pare [Page 109] my selfe with others, & thinke, Are all men thus blockish and ear­then? or, am I alone worse than the rest, and singular in my wretch­ednesse? Now I carry my carcase vp and downe carelesly, and (as dead bodies are rubbed, without heat) I doe in vaine force vpon my selfe delights, which others laugh at: I endeuour my wonted worke, but without an heart; there is no­thing is not tedious to mee, no not my selfe.

Thus I am, till I single my selfe out alone, to him that alone can re­uiue me: I reason with my selfe, and conferre with him; I chide my selfe, and intreat him: and, after some spirituall speeches interchan­ged, I renue my familiaritie with him; and he the tokens of his loue to me. Lo, then I liue againe, and [Page 110] applaud my selfe in this happinesse, and wish it might euer continue, and thinke basely of the world in comparison of it. Thus I hold on, rising and falling; neither know, whether I should more praise God for thus much fruition of him, or blame my selfe for my inconstancie in good; more reioice, that some­times I am well, or grieue that I am not so alwaies. I striue, and wish, ra­ther than hope, for better. This is our warfare; wee may not looke to triumph alwaies: wee must smart sometimes, and complaine; and then againe reioice that wee can complaine; and grieue that we can reioice no more, and that wee can grieue no more. Our hope is, If we be patient, wee shall once bee con­stant.

To S^r. Edmund Bacon. EP. II. Of the benefit of Retirednesse, and secrecie.

SVspect (if you can) that, because now many cold windes blow betwixt vs, my affection can bee cooler to you. True loue is like a strong streame, which the further it is from the head, runs with more violence. The thoughts of those pleasures I was wont to finde in your presence, were neuer so de­lightfull, as now when I am barred from renuing them. I wish me with [Page 112] you; yea (if I could or might wish to change) I should wish mee your selfe. To liue hidden, was neuer but safe, and pleasant; but now, so much better, as the world is worse. It is an happinesse, not to be a wit­nesse of the mischiefe of the times; which it is hard to see, and be guilt­lesse. Your Philosophicall Cell is a safe shelter from tumults, from vi­ces, from discontentments. Besides that liuely, honest, and manly plea­sure, which arises from the gaine of Knowledge in the deepe myste­ries of Nature; How easie is it, in that place to liue free from the common cares, from the infecti­on of common euils! Whether the Spaniard gain or saue by his peace, and how hee keepes it; and whe­ther it were safer for the States to lay downe armes, and bee at once [Page 113] still and free; Whether the Empe­rours truce, with the Turke, were honorable and seasonable; or whe­ther Venice haue won or lost by her late iarres; are thoughts that dare not looke-in at those doores. Who is enuied, and who pitied at Court; Who buyes hopes, and kindenesse dearest; Who layes secret mines to blow vp another, that himselfe may succeede, can neuer trouble you: These cares dare not enter in­to that Sanctuary of peace. Thence you can see how all, that liue pub­like, are tossed in these waues, and pitie them. For, great places haue seldome safe and easie entrances: and (which is worst) great charges can hardly bee plausibly wielded, without some indirect policies. A­las! their priuileges cannot coun­teruaile their toile. Weary daies, [Page 114] and restlesse nights, short liues, and long cares, weake bodies, and vn­quiet mindes, attend lightlie on greatnesse. Either Clients breake their sleepe in the morning, or the intention of their minde driues it off from the first watch: Either suits or complaints thrust them­selues into their recreations; and Packets of Letters inter-rupt their meales. It is euer Terme with them, without Vacation. Their businesses admit of no night, no holiday: Lo, your priuacie frees you from al this, and what-euer other glorious mise­rie. There you may sleepe, and eat, and honestly disport, and enioy your selfe, and command both your selfe and others. And, whiles you are happy, you liue out of the reach of Enuy; vnlesse my praises send that guest thither: which I should [Page 115] iustly condemne as the fault of my loue. No man offers to vndermine you, none to disgrace you: you could not want these inconuenien­ces abroad. Yea, let a man liue in the open world, but as a looker on, hee shall be sure not to want abun­dance of vexations. An ill minde holds it an easie torment, to liue in continuall sight of euill; if not ra­ther a pleasure: but, to the well dis­posed, it is next to hell. Certainly, to liue among Toads and Serpents, is a Paradise to this. One iests plea­santly with his Maker: another makes himself sport with Scripture. One filles his mouth with oathes of sound: another scoffes at the religi­ous. One speaks villany; another laughs at it; a third defends it. One makes himselfe a Swine; another a Diuell: Who (that is not all earth) [Page 116] can endure this? Who cannot wish himselfe rather a desolate Hermite, or a close prisoner? Euery euill wee see, doth either vex, or infect vs. Your retirednesse auoids this; yet so, as it equally escapes all the euils of solitarinesse. You are full of friends; whose societie, intermixed with your closenesse, makes you to want little of publike. The Desert is too wilde, the City too populous, the Country is onely fit for rest. I know, there want not some obscure corners, so haunted with dulnesse, that as they yeeld no outward vn­quietnesse, so no inward content­ment. Yours is none of those; but such as striues rather, with the plea­sure of it, to requite the solitarinesse. The Court is for honour, the Citie for gaine, the Country for quiet­nesse; A blessing, that need not (in [Page 117] the iudgement of the wisest) yeeld to the other two. Yea, how many haue wee knowen, that hauing no­thing but a cote of thatch to hide them from heauen, yet haue pitied the carefull pompe of the mightie? How much more may those which haue full hands, and quiet hearts, pity them both? I doe not so much praise you in this, as wonder at you. I know many, vpon whom the con­science of their wants forces a neces­sarie obscurity; who if they can steale a vertue out of necessitie, it is well: but, I no where know so ex­cellent parts shrouded in such wil­ling secrecie. The world knowes you, and wants you; and yet you are voluntarily hid. Loue your selfe still; and make much of this sha­dow, vntill our common mother call you foorth to her necessary ser­uice, [Page 118] & charge you to neglect your selfe, to pleasure her. Which once done; you know where to finde Peace. Whether others applaud you, I am sure you shall your selfe: and I shall still magnifie you, and (what I can) imitate you.

To M^r. Iohn Whiting. EP. III. An Apologeticall discourse of the mariage of Ecclesiasticall persons.

I Know not, whether this quarrell bee worthy of an answer, or rather of a silent scorne; or if an answer, whether merry, or serious. I doe not willingly suffer my pen to wade into questions: yet, this ar­gument seemes shallow enough for an Epistle. If I free not this Truth, let mee be punished with a diuorce. Some idle table-talke cals vs to plead for our wiues. Perhaps [Page 120] some gallants grudge vs one, who can be content to allow themselues more. If they thought wiues curses, they would affoord them vs. Our marriage is censured (I speake bold­ly) of none but them,Bartolem. Bri­xtensis in Gra­tianum. virg.Carnis,Mentis. Caus. 35. q. 5. C. Tunc sal­u [...]bitur. Mulier suam virginitatem benè seruat, si ideo nubat, vt filios pariat ad iustitiam. Ibid. Bartolo­meus. which neuer knew to liue chastely in marriage: who neuer knew that Canonists old and true distinction of Virginitie. What care wee for their censure, where God approoues? But some perhaps maintaine it, out of iudge­ment: Bid them make much of that which Paul tels them, is a doctrine of Diuels. Were it not for this opinion, the Church of Rome would want one euident brand of her Antichri­stianisme. Let their shauelings speake for themselues; vpon whom their vnlawfull Vow hath forced a wilfull and impossible necessitie. I leaue them to scan the old rule of [Page 121] In turpi voto muta decretum; Profirentur cōtinentiam corporum, in incontinen­tiam de bac­chantur ani­morum. De Roman. Cler. Salutanus. if they had not rather, Cautè si non castè. E­uen moderate Papists will grant vs free, because not bound by vow; no not so farre as those old Germans, pro posse & nosse. Or what care we, if they grant it not? while we holde vs firme to that sure rule of Basil the Great;Qui vetat quod Deus praecepit, [...]ut praecipit quod Deus vetuit, male­dictu [...] habe­atur ab om­nibus qui a­mant Domi­num. In Mo­ralib. sum. ca. 14. Hee that forbids what God in­ioynes, or inioynes what God forbids, let him be accursed. I passe not what I heare men, or Angels say, while I heare God say, Let him be the husband of one wife. That one word shall con­firme me, against the barking of all impure mouthes He that made ma­riage, sayes it is honourable: what care we for the dishonour of those that corrupt it? Yea, that which Na­ture noteth with shame, God men­tions with honor,Heb. 13. The marriage bed is honour­able. [...];Non quia peccatum sit coniugibus commisceri: hoc enim o­ [...]us castum non habet culpam in coniuge, &c. Greg. in Psal. Patiut. Gre­gorie with the title of Opus castum; [Page 122] Paphnutius, [...]. Socrat. Hist. Eccles. of [...], Chastity. But, if God should be Iudge of this con­trouersie, it were soone at an end; who, in the time euen of that legall strictnesse, allowed wedlocke, to the Ministers of his Sanctuarie. Let Cardinall Panormitan be heard speake.Continen­tia non est in clericis secu­laribus de substantia ordinis, nec de iure diui­no▪ Panor. Continencie, sayth hee, in Clergie men is neither of the substance of their Order, or appointed by any Law of God. And Gratian, out of Augustine, yet more:Copula sa­cerdotalis, nec legali, nec Euange­lica, nec A­postolica au­thoritate pro­hibetur. 26. q. 2 c. Sors ex Aug. Their marriage, sayth hee, is neither forbidden by Legall, nor Euangelicall, nor Apostolicke authoritie. GOD neuer imposed this law of Continence: Who then?Only ex sta­tuto Ecclesiae. Durand. 4. Dist. 37. q. 1. Tom. i [...] 2.2. q. 88. art. 11. The Church. As if a good spouse would gainsay what her husband willeth: But, how well? Heare, O ye Papists, the iudgement of your owne Car­dinall; and confesse your mouthes stopped.Sed credo pro bono & salute esse a­nimarú (quod esset salubre statutum) vt vol [...]n es pos­sint contra­here; quia experientia docente con­trarius pror­sus effectus sequ tur ex illa lege con­tinentiae, [...]um hodie non viuant spiritua­liter, nec sint mundi, sed maculantur illicito co [...]tu cum corum grauissimo peccato, vbi cum pro [...]rià vxore esset castitas. Pa­norm. de Cier. coniug. cap. Cum olim. But I beleeue, sayth he, it [Page 123] were for the good and safetie of manie soules, and would be an holsome law, that those which would, might marrie; For that, as experience teacheth vs, a contra­rie effect followes vpon that law of Conti­nencie; since at this day they liue not spiri­tually, neither are cleane, but are defiled with vnlawfull copulation, to their great sinne: whereas with their owne wife might be chastitie. Is this a Cardinall, thinke you, or an Huguenot? But if this red Hat be not worthie of respect; Let a Pope himselfe speake out of Peters Chaire. Pius the Second, as learned as hath sit in that roome this thousand yeeres: Marriage, S [...]cerdoti­bus magna ratione sub­latas nuptias, maiore resti­tuendas vide­ri. In the Re­cord of Plati­na himselfe, in vita Pij 2. sayth he, vpon great reason was taken from the Clergie; but, vpon greater reason is to be restored. What need we other Iudge? How iust this law is, you see; see now how ancient: For, some doctrines haue nothing [Page 124] to plead for them, but Time. Age hath beene an olde refuge for False­hood. Tertullians rule is true: That, which is first, is truest. What the an­cient Iewish Prelates did, Moses is cleare: What did the Apostles? Doth not [...], &c. 1. Cor. 9.5. &c. Paul tell vs that both the rest of the Apostles, and the bre­thren of the Lord, and Cephas, had wiues, and (which is more) carried them still along in their trauels? For that childish elusion ofRhemists reade it a wo­man a sister. [...], who can abide, but to laugh at? Doth notClemens, ci­tatus etiam ab Euseb. l. 3. c. 13. Petrum cum vxorem suam ad mor­tem duci cer­neret horta­tum & con­solatum his verbis: [...]. Clemens of Alexandria (a Father not of more antiquitie, than credit) tell vs, that Peter, Philip, and Paul himselfe, were married? and this last (tho vnlikest) how is it confirmed by Ignatius, in his Epistle to the Philadelphians? Yea, their own Cardinall, learnedIn illud, ad Ph [...]lip. [...]. Caietane, doth both auouch and euince it. This [Page 125] was their practice: What was their Constitution? Looke in these Ca­nons, which the Romish Church fathers vpon the Apostles, and Fran­ciscus Turrian their Iesuite sweats to defend it in a whole volume: There you finde, Canon. 5. enacted, That [...] (non ejiciat) [...]. Can. Apost. 5. no Bishop, Presbyter, Deacon, shall for­sake his wife ( [...]) in pretence of Religion, vpon paine of deposition. It would moue laughter, to see how the Iesuites gnaw vpon this bone, and suck-in nothing but the blood of their owne iawes;Constant. 6. l. 3. Can. Quo­niam. Canon Apostolicae [...]. Nos, sequen­tes veterem Canonem Apostolicae [...], & constitutio­nes sacrorum virorum, le­gales nuptias amodò vale­re volumus, &c. while the sixt Generall Councell auerres and pro­clames this sense truly Apostolicall, in spight of all contradiction.

Follow the times now, and de­scend lower; what did the ages suc­ceeding? Search Records: What­euer some palpably-foisted Epistles of Popes insinuate; they married, [Page 126] without scruple of any contrary in­iunction. Many of those ancients admired virginitie; but, imposed it not. Amongst the rest,Qui a Christianis paren­tibus enutritisunt, &c. ma­ximè si fuerint ex patribus sacerdotali sede dignifi­catis. 1. Epis­copatus, pre­sbyteratus, aut diacona­tus ne glori­entur. Orig. Tr. 9. in Ma [...]t. Origen (tho himselfe a wilfull Eunuch) is faine to perswade the sonnes of Clergie men, not to be proud of their Pa­rentage. After this, when the Fa­thers of the Nicene Councell went about to enact a law of Continen­cie, Socrates the Historian expresses it thus:Visum erat Episcopis le­gem nouam introducere in Ecclesiam. Socr l. 1. c. 8. It seemed good (sayth hee) to the Bishops to bring in a new law into the Church. Signa per Paphnutium non minus quam dudum per apostolos fiebant. Ruff. l. 1. c. 4. Paphnutius, miraculis & pierate clarus, obtinuit in Nicena syno­do habendū pro castitate cum propria vxore concu­bitū. So. l. 1 c. 8 It was then new, and they but would haue broght it in; there­fore before it was not: where wee know how Paphnutius, himselfe a Virgin, famous for holinesse, fa­mous for miracles; rising ( [...]) cried loud, that they ought not to lay this ( [...]) heauie yoke vp­on men of the Church. His Argu­ments [Page 127] wanne assent. He spake and preuailed. So this libertie was still continued and confirmed. If this be not plaine enough; HolyIn Epist. ad Dracont. Atha­nasius, a witnesse past exception, shall serue for a thousand histories till his age.Multi ex E­piscopis ma­trimonia non inicrunt; Mo­nachi contra parentes libe­rorum facti sunt: que mad­modum vicis­sim Episco­pos filiorum patres, & Mo­nachos gene­ris potesta­tem non quae­siuisse anim­aduertas. A­thanas. Epist. ad Dracont. Many Bishops, sayth he, haue not married; and contrarily Monks haue beene fathers of children: as contra­rily, you see Bishops the fathers of chil­dren; and Monks that haue not sought po­sterity. Would you yet haue instan­ces of the former, and the next age? Here you haueNumidicus presbyter, qui vxorem con­crematam & adhaerentem lateri laetus aspexit. Cypr. l. 4. Ep. 10. Numidicus the Mar­tyr, a married Presbyter;Ex Dyonisio. Euseb. l. 6. c. [...]. Cheremon of Nilus, a married Bishop;Euseb. l. 7. cap 29. Euseb. l. 8. c. 9. Gregorius verò apud Nazian­zum oppidú in locum pa­tris s [...]l epis­co [...]us iubrò­gatus. Ruffin. l. 2. c. 9. Deme­trianus Bishop of Antioch, whose son Domnus succeeded Paulus Samosate­nus; Philonomus and Phileas Bishops of the Thmuites; Gabinius brother of Eutychianus B B. of Rome; the fa­ther of Nazianzen, Basil, and the o­ther [Page 128] Greg. Nissen frater B [...]t [...]tlij, teste Nicepho­ro, vxoratus, vxorem & li­beros habuit: sed non pro­pterea fuit [...] rebus & exer­citijs diuinis inferior vel deterior. So­zom. Gregorie, Hilarius, and that good Spiridion Bishop of Cyprus, of whom Sozomen giues so direct testi­mony. To omit others, what should I speake of many Bishops of Rome, whose sonnes not spurious, as now a-daies, but (as Gratian himselfe wit­nesses)De legitimis coniugijs na­ti. lawfully begot in wedlock, followed their fathers in the Ponti­ficall chaire?Cùm ergo ex sacerdoti­bus nati in summos Pon­tifices legan­tur esse pro­moti, nō sunt intelligendi de fornicati­one sed de le­gitimis con­nubijs nati; quae sacerdo­tibus vbique ante prohibi­tionem li [...]ita erant, & in Orientali Ecclesia vsque hodie eis licere probantur. Dist. 56. Cen [...]ma [...]. The reason whereof, that Authour himselfe ingenuously rendereth; for that marriage was eue­rie where lawfull to the Clergie, before the prohibition (which must needes bee late) and in the Easterne Church to this day is allowed. What need wee more testimonies or more examples? What-euerThe author of the Aethiopicke historie. Heliodorus Bishop of Trica (a man fitter for a wanton loue-storie, than a Church contro­uersie) [Page 129] brought into the Church of Thessalia, Socrates thus flatly writes of those Bishops of his time:Nam non pauci illorū, dum Episco­patum gerūt, etiam liberos ex vxore legi­timâ mocre­ant. Socrat. lib 5. cap. 21. For many of them in the place and function of Bi­shops, beget children of their lawful wiues. This was practised: see what was decreed in that sixt generalThe words of that Councell are thus truly translated by Chemnitius: Quoniam in Romana Ec­clesia, loco canonis seu decreti, tradi­tum esse cog­nouimus, vt ij qui digni ha­bendi sunt ordinatione diaconi vel presbyteri, profiteantur se deinceps cum vxoribus suis non con­gressuros; nos sequentes veterem canonem Apostolicae, sincerae, exqui­sicae & ordinatae constitutionis, legitimas sacrorum virorum cohabitati­ones comugales etiam ex hodierno die in posterum valere ratas & firmas esse volumus; nullo modo eorum cum vxoribus proprijs coniunctionem seu copulationem dissoluentes. Itaque si quis dignus inueniatur, &c. is minimè prohibendus est ad hunc gradum ascendere, ideò quòd cum legi­timâ vxore cohabitet. Nec tēpore ordinationis suae ab eo postuletur, seu cogatur vt abstinere velit aut debeat legitimo cōgressu cū propriâ vxore. Coun­cell of Constantinople, to this purpose, to the confusion of al repliers. If any Protestant Church in Christendom can make a more peremptory, more full and absolute, more cautelous decree for the marriage of Ecclesia­sticall persons, let mee be condem­ned as faithlesse: A place, I grant, miserably handled by our aduersa­ries; and because they cannot ble­mish [Page 130] it enough, indignely torne out of the Councels. What dare not impudencie doe? Against all eui­dences of Greeke Copies, against their owne Gratian, Citatura a Nilo Thessaloni­censi. against pleas of antiquitie. This is the readiest way; Whom they cannot answer, to burne; what they cannot shi [...]t off, to blot out; and to cut the knot, which they cannot vntie. The Ro­manists of the next age were some­what more equall: who, seeing themselues pressed with so flat a decree, confirmed by authoritie of Emperours, as would abide no de­niall, began to distinguish vpon the point; limiting this libertie on­ly to the Easterne Church, & gran­ting that all the Clergie of the East might marry, not theirs. So Pope Steuen the second freely confesses:Aliter se Orientalium habet traditio Ecclesiarum: aliter hu [...]us sanctae Roma­nae Ecclesiae. Nam eorum sacerdotes, diaconi, aut subdiaconi, matrimonio copulantur: Istius autem Ecclesiae, vel occidentaliū, nullus sacer­dotum, a sub­diacono vs{que} ad episcopum licentiam ha­bet coniugiū sortiendi, dist. 31. The tradition (saith he) of the Easterne [Page 131] Churches is otherwise, than that of the Ro­man Church. For, their Priests, Deacons, or Subdeacons, are married; but, in this Church, or the Westerne, no one of the Clergie, from the Subdeacon to the Bishop, hath leaue to marry.

Liberally; but not enough: and if hee yeeld this, why not more? Shall that bee lawfull in the East, which in the West is not? Doe the Gospels or Laws of equitie alter ac­cording to the foure corners of the world? Doth God make difference betwixt Greece and England? If it bee lawfull, why not euery where? if vnlawful, why is it done any where? So then you see, we differ not from the Church in this; but from the Ro­mish Church. But this sacred coun­cell doth not onely vniuersally ap­prooue this practise (with paine of deposition to the gainsaiers) but a­uouches [Page 132] it for a decree Apostolical. Iudge now, whether this one au­thoritie bee not enough to weigh downe an hundred petie Conuen­ticles, and many legions (if there had beene many) of priuate contra­dictions. Thus, for seuen hundred yeeres, you finde nothing but open freedome: All the scuffling arose in the eighth age; wherein yet this violent imposition found many and learned aduersaries, and durst not be obtruded at once Lo, euen then Gregorie the Third, writing to the B B. of Bauaria, giues this disiunct charge:Nemo scorta aut concu­biname alat: sed aut castè viuat, aut vx­orem duca [...]; wuam repudi­are fas non esto. Let none keepe an harlot or a concubine: but either let him liue chastely, or marry a wife; whom it shall not be law­full for him to forsake: According to that rule of Clerks cited fromDist. 2 [...]. Isi­dore, and renued in theAnno 813. Councell of Mentz, to the perpetuall shame of [Page 133] our iuggling aduersaries. Nothing can argue guiltinesse so much, as vn­iust expurgations.Clerici ca­stimonian inuiolati cor­poris perpe­tuo conserua­re studeant; at certè vni­us matrimo­nij vinculo foederentur. Isid. reg. cleric. Isidore saith, Let them containe, or let them marrie but one: They cite him, Let them containe; and leaue out the rest: somewhat worse than the Diuell cited scripture. But, I might haue spared all this labour of writing, could I perswade who­soeuer either doubts, or denies this, to read ouer that one Epistle whichWhether Hulderichus or (as he is somewhere in­titled) Volusi­arius, I inquire not: the matter admits of no doubt. Hulderichus Episcopus Augustae. Anno 860. Aeneas Sylu. in sua Germ. Hedion. Eccl. hist li. 8▪ ca. 2. Fox in Act. & Monum hath it fully trans­ated. Huldericus B. of Auspurge wrote learn­nedly, and vehemently, to Pope Ni­colas the first, in this subiect: which if it doe not answer al cauils, and sa­tisfie all Readers, and conuince all (not wilfull) aduersaries, let mee be cast, in so iust a cause. There you shall see, how iust, how expedient how ancient this liberie is; toge­ther with the feeble and iniurious grounds of forced continencie: [Page 134] Read it, and see whether you can desire a better aduocate. After him (so strongly did hee plead, and so happily) for two hundred yeeres more, this freedome still blessed those parts; yet, not without ex­treme opposition. Histories are wit­nesses of the busie, and not vnlear­ned combates of those times, in this argument. But now, when the bo­dy of Antichristianisme began to be compleat, and to stand vp in his absolute shape, after, a thousand yeeres from Christ; this libertie, which before wauered vvder Nico­las 1. now by the hands of Leo 9. Nicolas 2. and that brand of hell, Gregorie 7. was vtterly ruined, wiues debarred, single life vrged:Auentin. l. 5. Gratum scor­tatoribus, qui [...]us, pro vnâ vxore, sexcentas iam mulierculas inire licebat A good turne for whoremasters (saith Auen­tine) who now for one wife might haue six hundred Bed-fellowes.

But, how approoued of the bet­ter sort, appeares (besides that the Churches did ring of him, each-where, for Antichrist) in that at theAnno 1076. Councel of VVormes the French and German BB. deposed this Gre­gorie, in this name (amongst other quarrels) forMaritos ab vxoribus separat. separating man and wife. Violence did this; not rea­son: neither was Gods will heere questioned; but, the Popes wilful­nesse. What broiles heereon ensu­ed, letEx Inter­dicto sacer­dotum con­iugio, gra­uissima se­ditio gregem Christi per­culit: nec vn­quantralis lu­es populum Christi affli­xit. Auent. l. 5. Henric. Hun­tingdon. de Anselmo l. 7. de An. 1100. in Synodo Londinensi: Prohibuit sa­cerdotibus vxores, ante non prohi­bitas. Anselme (saith that Historian) was the first that forbade marriage to the Cler­gie of England (and this was about the yeere of our Lord 1080.) Till then euer free. Item Fabianus liberos aijt fuisse Sacerdotes per annos 1080. Auentine witnesse.

The bickerings of our English Clergy, with their Dunstanes, about this time, are memorable in our owne History, which teach vs how late, how repiningly, how vniustly, they stooped vnder this yoke. I had rather send my Reader to Bale and [Page 136] Fox, than abridge their monuments, to enlarge my owne.

I haue (I hope) fetcht this truth farre enough; and deduced it low enough, thorow many ages, to the midst of the rage of Antichristian tyrannie. There left our libertie; there began their bondage. Our libertie is happily renued with the Gospel: what God, what his Church hath euer allowed, wee doe enioy. Wherein wee are not alone: The Greeke Church, as large for extent as the Roman (and, in some parts of it, better for their soundnesse) do thus: and thus haue euer done.

Let Papiists & Atheists say what they will; It is safe erring with God and his purer Church.

To my sister M^rs. B. Brinsly. EP. IV. Of the Sorrow not to be repen­ted of.

IT is seldome seen, tha a silent griefe speeds well: for, either a man must haue strong hands of re­solution to strangle it in his bosom; or else it driues him to some secret mischiefe: wheras sorrow reuealed, is halfe remedied, and euer abates in the vttering. Your griefe was wisely disclosed; and shall bee as strangely answered. I am glad of your sorrow; and should weepe for [Page 138] you, if you did not thus mourne. Your sorrow is, that you can not e­nough grieue for your sinnes. Let me tell you, that the Angels them­selues sing at this lamentation; nei­ther doth the earth affoord any so sweet musicke in the eares of God. This heauinesse is the way to ioy. Worldly sorrow is worthy of pitie, because it leadeth to death: But, this deserues nothing but enuie and gratulation. If those teares were common, hell would not so inlarge it selfe. Neuer sinne, repented of, was punished: and neuer any thus mourned, and repented not. Loe, you haue done that, which you grieue you haue not done. That good God, whose act is his will, ac­counts of our will as our deed. If he required sorrow proportionable to the hainousnesse of our sinnes, [Page 139] there were no end of mourning. Now, his mercie regards not so much the measure, as the trueth of it; and accounts vs to haue that which we complaine to want. I ne­uer knew any truly penitent, which in the depth of his remorse, was a­frayd of sorrowing too much; nor any vnrepentant, which wisht to sorrow more. Yea, let me tell you, that this sorrow is better, and more, than that deepe heauinesse for sinne, which you desire. Many haue been vexed with an extreame remorse for some sin, from the gripes of a galled conscience, which yet neuer came where true repentance grew; in whom the conscience playes at once the Accuser, Witnesse, Iudge, Tor­mentor: But, an earnest griefe, for the want of griefe, was neuer found in any but a gracious heart. You are [Page 140] happy, and complaine. Tell me, I beseech you; This sorrow which you mourne to want, is it a grace of the Spirit of God, or not? If not, why do you sorrow to want it? If it be, oh how happy is it to grieue for want of grace! The God of all truth and blessednesse hath sayd, Blessed are those that hunger and thirst after righ­teousnesse; and with the same breath, Blessed are they that mourne; for they shall be comforted. You say, you mourne; Christ sayth, you are blessed: you say you mourne; Christ sayth, you shall be comforted. Either now di­strust your Sauiour, or else confesse your happinesse, and with patience expect his promised consolation. What do you feare? you see others stand like strong Oakes, vnshaken, vnremoued: you are but a reed, a feeble plant, tossed and bowed with [Page 141] euery winde, and with much agita­tion bruised: Loe, you are in tender and fauourable hands, that neuer brake any, whom their sinnes brui­sed; neuer bruised any, whom tem­ptations haue bowed. You are but flax; and your best is not a flame, but an obscure smoke of grace: Lo, here his spirit is as a soft winde, not as colde water; hee will kindle, will neuer quench you. The sorrow you want, is his gift: Take heed lest while you vex your selfe with dislike of the measure, you grudge at the Giuer. Beggers may not chuse. This portion he hath vouchsafed to giue you; if you haue any, it is more than hee was bound to bestow: yet you say, What, no more? As if you tooke it vnkindly, that he is no more liberall. Euen these holy discontent­ments are dangerous. Desire more [Page 142] (so much as you can) but repine not when you doe not attaine. Desire; but so as you be free from impati­ence, free from vnthankefulnesse. Those, that haue tried, can say how difficult it is to complaine, with due reseruation of thanks. Neither know I whether is worse, to long for good things impatiently, or not at all to desire them. The fault of your sor­row, is rather in your conceit, than in it selfe. And, if indeed you mourn not enough, stay but Gods leasure, and your eyes shall run ouer with teares. How many do you see sport with their sinnes, yea brag of them? how many that should die for want of pastime, if they might not sinne freely, and more freely talke of it? What a Saint are you to these, that can droup vnder the memory of the frailtie of youth, and neuer thinke [Page 143] you haue spent enow teares! Yet so I encourage you in what you haue, as one that perswades you not to desist from suing for more. It is good to be couetous of grace, and to haue our desires heerein inlarged with our receits. Weepe still, and still desire to weepe: but, let your teares be as the raine in a Sun-shine; comfortable and hopefull: and let not your longing fauor of murmur or distrust. These teares are reser­ued; this hunger shall be satisfied; this sorrow shall bee comforted: There is nothing betwixt God and you, but time. Prescribe not to his wisdome: hasten not his mercie. His grace is enough for you his glorie shall be more than enough.

To M^r. Hugh Cholmley. EP. V. Concerning the Metaphrase of the Psalmes.

FEare not my immode­rate studies. I haue a body that controls mee enough in these cour­ses; my friends need not. There is nothing whereof I could sooner sur­fet, if I durst neglect my body to satisfie my minde: But, whiles I af­fect: knowledge, my weaknes checks mee, and saies, Better a little learning, than no health. I yeeld, and patiently abide my selfe debarred of my cho­sen [Page 146] felicitie. The little I gan get, I am no niggard of: neither am I more desirous to gather, than wil­ling to impart. The full handed, are commonly most sparing. Wee vessels, that haue any empty roome, answer the least knocke with a hol­low noise: you, that are fuil, sound not. If we pardon your closenesse, you may wel beare with our profu­sion: If there be any wrong, it is to our selues, that wee vtter what wee should lay vp. It is a pardonable fault to do lesse good to our selues, that wee may doe more to others. Amongst other indeuours, I haue boldly vndertaken the holy meeters of Dauid; how happily, iudge you by what you see. There is none of all my labours so open to all cea­sures; none, whereof I would so willingly heare the verdit of the [Page 147] wise and iudicious. Perhaps, some thinke the verse harsh, whose nice eare regards roundnesse, more than sense: I embrace smoothnesse, but affect it not. This is the least good quality of a verse; that intends any thins but musicall delight. Others may blame the difficulty of the tunes: whose humour cannot bee pleased without a greater offense. For, to say truth, I neuer could see good verse written in the wonted measures. I euer thought them most easie, and least Poeticall. This fault (if any) will light vpon the negli­gence of our people; which endure not to take paines for any fit varie­ty: The French and Dutch haue gi­uen vs worthy examples of dili­gence and exquisitenesse in this kinde. Neither our eares, nor voi­ces are lesse tuneable. Heere is no­thing [Page 148] wanting, but will to learne. What is this but to eat the corn out of the eare, because wee will not a­bide the labor to grinde, and knead it? If the question bee, whether our verse must descend to them, or they ascend to it; a wise moderation I thinke would determine it most e­quall. that each part should remit somewhat, and both meet in the midst. Thus I haue endeuoured to doe, with sincere intent of their good, rather than my owne ap­plause. For, it had beene easie to haue reached to an higher straine; but I durst not; whether for the graue Maiestie of the Subiect, or be­nefit of the simplest Reader. You shall still note, that I haue laboured to keepe Dauids entire sense, with numbers neither lofty, nor slub­bred: which meane is so much [Page 149] more difficult to finde, as the busi­nesse is more sacred; and the liber­tie lesse. Many great wits haue vn­dertaken this taske; which yet haue either not effected it, or haue smo­thered it in their priuate desks, and denied it the common licht. A­mongst the rest, were those two rare spirits of the Sidnyes; to whom, Poesie was as naturall, as it is affe­cted of others: and our worthie friend, M^r. Syluester, hath shewed me, how happily he hath somtimes turned from his Bartas, to the sweet Singer of Israel. It could not bee, that in such abundant plenty of Poësie, this worke s hould haue past vnattempted: would God I might liue to see it perfected, either by my own hand, or a better. In the mean time, let mee expect your vnpartiall sentence, both concerning the form [Page 150] and sense. Lay aside your loue, for a while; which too oft blinds iudge­ment. And as it vses to bee done in most equall proceedings of iustice, shut mee out of doores, while my verse is discussed: yea let me receiue not your censure onely, but others by you: this once (as you loue me) play both the Informer and the Iudge. Whether you allow it, you shall encourage me; or correct, you shall amend me: either your starres or your spits (that I may vse Origens notes) shall be welcome to my mar­gent.Asteriscus. Veru. It shall bee happy for vs, if God shall make our poore labors any way seruiceable to his Name and Church.

To M^r. Samuel Sotheby. EP. VI. A preface to his relation of the Rus­sian affaires.

TRauell perfecteth wise­dome; and obseruation giues perfection to tra­uell: without which, a man may please his eies, not feede his braine; and, after much earth measured, shall returne with a wea­ry body, and an empty minde. Home is more safe, more pleasant; but lesse fruitfull of experience: But, to a minde not working and discur­siue, all heauens, all earths are alike. [Page 152] And, as the end of trauell is obser­uation; so, the end of obseruation is the informing of others: for, what is our knowledge, it smothered in our selues, so as it is not knowen to more? Such secret delight can con­tent none but an enuious nature. You haue breathed many and cold aires, gone farre, seene much, heard more, obserued all. These two yeers you haue spent in imitation of Ne­buchadnezars seuen; conuersing with such creatures as Paul sought with, at Ephesus. Alas! what a face, yea what a backe of a Church haue you seene? what maners? what people? Amongst whom, ignorant supersti­tion striues with close Atheisme, treacherie with crueltie, one Diuell with another; while Truth & Ver­tue doe not so much as giue any challenge of resistance. Returning [Page 153] once to our England after this expe­rience, I imagine you doubted whe­ther you were on earth, or in hea­uen. Now then (if you wil heare me, whom you were wont) as you haue obserued what you haue seene, and written what you haue obserued; so publish what you haue written: It shalbe a grateiull labor, to vs, to po­steritie. I am deceiued, if the fickle­nesse of the Russian State haue not yeelded more memorable matter of history than any other in our age, or perhaps many centuries of our prc­decessors. How shall I thinke, but that GOD sent you thither before these broiles, to be the witnesse, the register of so famous mutations? He loues to haue those iust euils which he doth in one part of the world, knowen to the whole; & those euils which men doe in the night of their [Page 154] secrecy, brought forth into the The­ater of the world; that the euill of mens sin being compared with the euill of his punishment, may iustifie his proceedings, & condemn theirs. Your worke shall thus honour him; besides your second seruice, in the benefit or the Church. For, whiles you discourse of the open Tyrannie of that Russian Nero, Iohn Basilius; the more secret, no lesse bloodie plots of Boris; the ill successe of a stoll'n Crown, tho set vpon the head of an harmlesse sonne; the bolde at­tempts and miserable end of a false, yet aspiring challenge; the perfidi­ousnesse of a seruile people, vnwor­thy of better gouernors; the misca­riage of wicked gouernors, vnwor­thy of better subiects; the iniust v­surpations of men, iust (tho late) re­uenges of God, cruelly rewarded [Page 155] with blood, wrong claimes with o­uerthow, trechery with bondage; the Reader, with some secret horror, shall draw-in delight, and with de­light instruction: Neither know I a­ny relation whence he shall take out a more easie lesson of iustice, of loy­altie, of thankfulnesse.

But, aboue all, let the world see and commiserate the hard estate of that worthy and noble Secretarie, Buchinski. Poore gentleman! his di­stresse recalles euer to my thoughts Esops Storke, taken amongst the Cranes: Hee now nourishes his haire vnder the displeasure of a for­rain Prince; at once in durance and banishment. Hee serued an ill ma­ster, but, with an honest heart, with cleane hands. The masters iniustice doth no more infect a good seruant, than the truth of the seruant can iu­stifie [Page 156] his ill master. A bad workman may vse a good instrument: and oft times a clean napkin wipeth a foule mouth. It ioyes mee yet to thinke, that his pietie, as it euer held friend­ship in heauen, so now it wins him friends in this our other world: Lo, euen from our Iland inexpected de­liuerance takes a long flight, and blesseth him beyond hope; yea ra­ther, from heauen by vs. That God, whom he serues, will be knowen to those rude and scarse humane Chri­stians, for a protector of innocence, a fauourer of truth, a rewarder of pietie. The mercie of our gratious King, the compassion of an honor­able Counseller, the lone of a true friend, and (which wrought all, and set all on worke) the grace of our good GOD, shall now loose those bonds, and giue a glad welcome to [Page 157] his libertie, and a willing farewell to his distresse. Hee shall, I hope, liue to acknowledge this: in the meane time, I doe for him. Those Russian affaires are not more worthie of your records, than your loue to this friend is worthie of mine: for, nei­ther could this large Sea drowne or quench it, nor time and absence (which are wont to breed a lingring consumption of friendship) abate the heat of that affection, which his kindnesse bred, religion nourished. Both rarenesse and worth shal com­mend this true loue; which (to say true) hath been now long out of fa­shion. Neuer times yeelded more loue; but, not more subtle: for eue­rie man loues himselfe in another, loues the estate in the person. Hope of aduantage is the loadstone that drawes the yron hearts of men; not [Page 158] vertue, not desert. No age affoorded more Parasites, fewer friends: The most are friendly in sight, seruicea­ble in expectation, hollow in loue, trustlesse in experience. Yet now Buchinski, see and confesse thou hast found one friend, which hath made thee many; on whom while thou bestowedst much fauour, thou hast lost none. I cannot but thinke how welcome Libertie (which tho late, yet now at last hath lookt backe vp­on him) shalbe to the Cell of his af­fliction when, smiling vpon him, she shall lead him by the hand, and (like another Angel) open the yron gates of his miserable captiuity, and (from those hard Prestaues & sauage Christians) carrie him by the haire of the head into this Paradise of God. In the means time I haue written to him as I could, in a knowen lan­guage, [Page 159] with an vnknowen hand; that my poore Letters of gratulati­on might serue as humble attend­ants to greater.

For your worke, I wish it but such glad entertainment, as the pro­fit, yea the delight of it deserues; and feare nothing, but that this long delay of publication will make it scarse newes. We are all growen A­thenians, and account a strange re­port like to a fish, & a guest. Those eies and hands staid it, which might doe it best. I can not blame you, if you thinke it more honored by the stay or his gratious perusall, than it could be by the early acceptation of the world. Euen the cast garments of Princes are pretious. Others haue in part preuented you, whose la­bors, to yours, are but as an eccho to a long period; by whom wee heare [Page 160] the last sound of these stirres, igno­rant of the beginning. They giue vs but a taste in their hand; you lead vs to the open fountaine. Let the Reader giue you but as much thanke, as you giue him satisfacti­on; you shall desire no more.

Finally, GOD giue vs as much good vse, as knowlege of his iudge­ments; the world, helpe of your la­bours: your selfe, incouragement; Buchinski, libertie.

To Stanislaus Buchinski, late Secretarie to Demetrius Emp. of RVSSIA. EP. VII. Of the comfort of Imprisonment.

THe knowledge that the eie giues of the face a­lone, is shallow, vncer­taine, imperfect. For what is it, to see the vtmost skinne, or fauour of the visage; changeable with disease, changeable with passi­on? The eare (mee thinkes) doth both most cleerely disclose the mindes of others, and knit them fa­ster [Page 162] to ours: which, as it is the sense of discipline, so of friendship; com­manding it euen to the absent, and in the present cherishing it. This thing wee haue lately prooued in your selfe, most noble Stanislaus: neerer examples wee might haue had; better we could not. How ma­ny, how excellent things haue wee heard of you, from our common friend, tho most yours, which haue easily won our beleefe, our affecti­ons! How oft, how honorable mē­tion hath he made of your name! How frequently, how feruentlie haue we wisht you, both safety, and libertie! And now, Lo where shee comes, as the Greekes say, [...], and visits her forlorne Client. Altho, I would not doubt to say, that this outward durance of the body, hath seemed more harsh to the behold­ers, [Page 163] than to your selfe, a wise man, and (which is more) a Christian; whose free soule, in the greatest straits of the outer man, flies ouer Seas and Lands; whither it listeth; neither can, by any distance of place, nor swelling or waues, nor height of mountaines, nor violence of enemies, nor strong barres, nor walles, nor guards, bee restrained from what place it selfe hath cho­sen. Lo, that enioies God, enioies it selfe, and his friends; and so feeds it selfe with the pleasure of enioying them, that it easily either forgets, or contemns all other things. It is no Paradox to say that A wise Christi­an cannot bee imprisoned, cannot bee bani­shed: He is euer at home, euer free. For, both his libertie is within him, and his home is vniuersall. And what is it, I beseech you, (for you [Page 164] haue tried) that makes a prison? Is it straitnesse of walles? Then you haue as many fellowes, as there are men. For, how is the soule of euery man pent within these clay-walles of the body, more close, more ob­scure! Whence, shee may looke oft, thorow the grates of her busie thoughts; but, is neuer released in substance, till that God, who gaue vs our Mittimus into this Gaole, giue vs our Deliuerie, with a Returne yee sonnes of Adam: Thus, either all men are prisoners, or you are none. Is it restraint? How many (especially of that other sex in those your Ea­stern parts) chamber vp themselues, for state; so as they neither see the Sunne, nor others them? How ma­ny superstitious men, for deioti­on? How many obscure Aglai, for ease and carelesnesse, kcepe them­selues [Page 165] in their owne Cottage, in their owne Village; and neuer walke forth so much as to the neighbour Townes? And what is your Russia to all her inhabitants, but a large prison, a wide galley? yea, what o­ther is the world to vs? How can he complaine of straitnesse, or restraint, that roues all ouer the world, and beyond it? Tyranny may part the soule from the body; can not con­fine it to the body. That which o­thers doe for ease, deuotion, state, you doe for necessitie: why not as willingly, since you must do it? Do but imagine the cause other; and your case is the same with theirs which both haue chosen, & delight to keepe close; yet hating the name of prisoners, while they embrace the condition. But, why do I perswade you, not to mislike that, which I pray [Page 166] you may forsake? I had rather you should be no prisoner at all; than to be a cheerfull prisoner vpon necessi­tie. If the doores be open, my per­swasion shall not holde you in: Ra­ther our prayers shall open those doores, and fetch you foorth into this common liberty ot men; which also hath not a little (tho an inferi­or) contentment. For, how pleasant is it to these senses, by which wee men are woont to be led, to see and be seene, to speake to our friends, and heare them speake to vs; to touch and kisse the deare hands of our Parents, and with them at last to haue our eyes closed? Either this shall befall you; or what hopes, what paines (I adde no more) hath this your carefull friend lost? and we, what wishes, what consultati­ons? It shall be, I dare hope, yea be­leeue [Page 167] it: Only thou our good God giue such end, as thou hast done en­trance into this businesse; and so dispose of these likely indeuours, that whom we loue and honor absent, we may at last in presence see and embrace.

To my Father in law, M^r. George Wenyffe. EP. IIX. Exciting to Christian cheere­fulnesse.

YOu complaine of dul­nesse: a common dis­ease, and incident to the best mindes, and such as can most contemne vanities. For, the true Worldling hunts after no­thing but mirth; neither cares how lawlesse his sport be, so it be plea­sant: he faines to himselfe false de­lights, when he wants: and, if hee can passe the time, and chase away [Page 170] Melancholy, hee thinks his day spent happily. And thus it must needs be; while the world is his God, his deuotion can be but his pleasure: whereas the mortified soule hath learned to scorn these friuolous and sinfull ioyes; and affects either solid delights, or none; and had rather bee dull for want of mirth, than transported with wanton pleasures. When the world, like an importu­nate Minstrell, thrusts it selfe into his chamber, and offers him Musicke, vnsought; if he vouchsafe it the hea­ring, it is the highest fauor he dare, or can yeeld: He rewards it not, he commends it not; yea, he secretly loathes those harsh & iarring notes, and reiects them. For, hee findes a better consort within, betwixt God and himselfe, when he hath a little tuned his heart with meditation. [Page 171] To speake fully, the world is like an ill foole in a play: the Christian is a iudicious Spectator, which thinks those iests too grosse to be laught at; and therefore entertaines that with scorne, which others with ap­lause. Yet in truth, we sinne, if we reioyce not: There is not more er­our in false mirth, than in vniust. heauinesse. If Worldlings offend, that they laugh when they should mourne: we shall offend no lesse, if wee droupe in cause of cheereful­nesse. Shall we enuie, or scorne, to see one ioy in red and white drosse, another in a vaine title; one in a daintie dish, another in a iest; one in a booke, another in a friend; one in a Kite, another in a Dog; whiles we enioy the God of heauen, and are sorrowfull? What dull metall is this we are made of? We haue the [Page 172] fountaine of ioy, and yet complaine of heauinesse. Is there any ioy with­out God? Certainly, if ioy be good, and all goodnesse bee from him; whence should ioy arise, but from him? And if hee be the Authour of ioy; how are we Christians, and re­ioyce not? What? doe we freeze in the fire, and starue at a feast? Haue we a good conscience, and yet pine and hang downe the head? When God hath made vs happie, doe wee make our selues miserable? When I aske my heart Dauids question, I know not whether I be more angry, or ashamed at the answer; Why art thou sad, my soule? My bodie, my purse, my fame, my friends; or per­haps none of these: only I am sad, because I am. And what if all these, what if more? when I come to my better wits, Haue I a father, an ad­uocate, [Page 173] a cōforter, a mansion in hea­uen? if both earth and hell conspi­red to afflict me, my sorrow cannot counteruaile the causes of my ioy. Now I can challenge all aduersaries; and either defie all miseries, or bid all crosses, yea death it selfe, wel­come. Yet God doth not abridge vs of these earthly solaces, which dare weigh with our discontentments, and somtimes depresse the ballance. His greater light doth not extin­guish the lesse. If GOD had not thought them blessings, he had not bestowed them: and how are they blessings, if they delight vs not? Books, friends, wine, oile, health, reputation, competency, may giue occasions, but not bounds to our re­ioycings. We may not make them Gods riualls, but his spokes-men. In themselues they are nothing; but, [Page 174] in God, worth our ioy. These may be vsed; yet so as they may be ab­sent without distraction. Let these goe; so God alone be present with vs, it is enough: He were not God, if he were not All-sufficient. Wee haue him, I speake boldly; Wee haue him in feeling, in faith, in pled­ges, and earnest; yea, in possession. Why doe we not enioy him? Why doe we not shake-off that senselesse drowsinesse, which makes our liues vnpleasant; and leaue-ouer all hea­uinesse, to those that want God; to those that either know him not, or know him dis­pleased.

To M^r. W.R. Dedic. to M^r. Tho. Burlz. EP. IX. Consolations of immoderate griefe for the death of friends.

WHile the streame of sor­row runnes full, I know how vaine it is to oppose counsell. Passions must haue leasure to digest. Wisedome doeth not more moderate them, than time. At first, it was best to mourne with you, and to mitigate your sorrow, by bearing part; wher­in, would God my burden could be your ease. Euery thing else is lesse, [Page 176] when it is diuided; and then is best, after teares, to giue counsell: yet, in these thoughts I am not a little straited. Before you haue digested griefe, aduice comes too early; too late, when you haue digested it. Before, it was vnseasonable; after, would be superfluous. Before, it could not benefit you; after, it may hurt you, by rubbing-vp a skinned sore afresh. It is as hard to chuse the season for counsell, as to giue it: and that season is, after the first di­gestion of sorrow; before the last. If my Letters then meet with the best opportunitie, they shall please me, and profit you; if not, yet I de­serue pardon, that I wished so. You had but two iewels, which you held precious; a Wife, and a Sonne: one was your selfe diuided; the other, your selfe multiplied: you haue lost [Page 177] both, and well-neere at once. The losse of one caused the other, and both of them your iust griefe. Such losses, when they come single, af­flict vs; but, when double, astonish vs; and, tho they giue aduantage of respite, would almost ouerwhelme the best patient. Lo, now is the tri­all of your manhood, yea of your Christianitie: You are now in the lists, set-vpon by two of Gods fierce afflictions; shew now what patience you haue, what fortitude. Where­fore haue you gathered and layd-vp, all this time, but for this brunt? Now bring forth all your holy store to light, and to vse; and approue to vs in this difficultie, that you haue all this while been a Christian in ear­nest. I know, these euents haue not surprised you on a sudden: you haue suspected they might come; [Page 178] you haue put-cases if they should come. Things that are hazzardous, may be doubted: but, certain things are, and must be expected. Proui­dence abates griefe, and discounte­nances a crosse. Or, if your affection were so strong, that you durst not fore-thinke your losse; take it equal­ly but as it falles. A wise man and a Christian, knowes death so fatall to Nature, so ordinarie in euent, so gainfull in the issue, that I wonder he can for this either feare or grieue. Doth GOD only lend vs one ano­ther, and doe we grudge when hee calles for his owne? So I haue seene ill debters, that borrow with pray­ers, keepe with thanks, repay with enmitie. We mistake our tenure; Wee take that for gift, which God intends for loane; we are Tenants at will, and think our selues owners. [Page 179] Your wife and childe are dead: Wel; they haue done that for which they came.

If they could not haue died, it had been worthy of wonder; not at all, that they are dead. If this condi­tion were proper only to our fami­lies, & friends, or yet to our climate alone; how vnhappie should wee seeme to our neighbours, to our selues! Now it is common, let vs mourne that we are men. Loe, all Princes and Monarchs dance with vs in the same ring: yea, what speake I of earth? The God of Nature, the Sauiour of men, hath trod the same steps of death: And doe wee thinke much to follow him? How manie seruants haue we knowen, that haue thrust themselues betwixt their ma­ster and death; which haue died, that their master might not die? and [Page 180] shall wee repine to die with ours? How truly may wee say of this our Dauid, Thou art worth ten thousand of vs; yea, worth a world of Angels? yet he died, & died for vs. Who would liue, that knowes his Sauiour died? Who can be a Christian, and would not be like him? Who can be like him, that would not die after him? Thinke of this, and iudge whether all the world can hire vs not to die. I need not aske you, whether you loued those whom you haue lost: Could you loue them, and not wish they might be happie? Could they be happy, and not die? In truth, Na­ture knowes not what shee would haue; Wee can neither abide our friends miserable in their stay, nor happie in their departure: We loue our selues so well, that we cannot be content they should gaine by our [Page 181] losse. The excuse of your sorrow is, that you mourn for your selfe. True: but, compare these two, & see whe­ther your losse or their gain be grea­ter. For, if their aduantage exceed your losse; take heed, lest while you bewray your loue in mourning for them, it appeare that you loue but your selfe in them. They are gone to their preferment, & you lament: your loue is iniurious. If they were vanished to nothing, I could not blame you, tho you tooke vp Rachels lamentation: But now, you know they are in surer hands than your owne: you know, that he hath taken them, which hath vndertaken to keepe them, to bring them againe: You know, it is but a sleepe, which is miscalled Death; & that they shall, they must awake, as sure as they lie downe; and wake more fresh, more [Page 182] glorious, than when you shut their eyes. What do we with Christianitie, if we beleeue not this? and if we do beleeue it, why doe wee mourne as the hopelesse? But the matter, per­haps, is not so heauy as the circum­stance: Your crosses came sudden, and thicke; You could not breathe from your first losse, ere you felt a worse. As if he knew not this, that sent both: As if hee did it not on purpose. His proceedings seeme harsh; are most wise, most iust. It is our fault, that they seeme other­wise than they are. Do we thinke, we could carue better for our selues? O the mad insolence of Nature, that dares controule, where she should wonder! Presumptuous clay! that will be checking the Potter. Is his wisdome, himselfe? Is he, in him­selfe, infinite? Is his Decree out of [Page 183] his wisdome; and do we murmur? Do we, foolish wormes, turne again when he treads vpon vs? What? do you repine at that which was good for you, yea best? That is best for vs, which God seeth best: and that he sees best, which he doth. This is Gods doing. Kisse his rod in si­lence, and giue glorie to the hand that rules it. His will is the rule of his actions; and his goodnesse, of his will. Things are good to vs, be­cause he wills them: He wills them, because they are good to himselfe. It is your glorie that he intends, in your so great affliction. It is no praise to wade ouer a shallow ford: but, to cut the swelling waues of the Deepe, commends both our strength & skill. It is no victorie, to conquer an easie and weake crosse These maine euils haue crownes [Page 184] answerable to their difficulty: Wre­stle now, and goe away with a bles­sing. Be patient in this losse, & you shall once triumph in your gaine. Let God haue them with cheere­fulnesse, and you shall en­ioy God with them in glorie.

To M^r. I. A. Merchant. EP. X. Against sorrow for worldly losses.

IT is fitter for me to be­gin with chiding, than with aduice: what means this weake distrust? Go on, and I shall doubt whether I write to a Christian. You haue lost your heart, together with your wealth: How can I but feare, lest this Mam­mon was your God? Hence was Gods iealousie in remouing it; and hence your immoderate teares for losing it. If thus; God had not lo­ued you, if hee had not made you [Page 186] poore. To some, it is an aduantage to leese: you could not haue beene at once thus rich, and good. Now, heauen is open to you, which was shut before; and could neuer haue giuen you entrance, with that load of iniquitie. If you be wise in mana­ging your affliction, you haue chan­ged the world for God, a little drosse for heauen. Let me euer lose thus, and smart when I complaine.

But, you might haue at once re­tained both. The stomach that is purged, must bee content to part with some good nourishment, that it may deliuer it selfe of more euill humors. God saw (that knowes it) you could not holde him so strong­ly, while one of your hands was so fastened vpon the world. You see, manie make themselues wilfullie poore: why cannot you be content [Page 187] God should impouerish you? If God had willed their pouertie, hee would haue commanded it: If hee had not willed yours, he would not haue effected it. It is a shame for a Christian, to see an Heathen Philo­sopher laugh at his own shipwrack, while himselfe houles out, as if al his felicity were imbarked with his sub­stance. How should wee scorne, to thinke that an Heathen man should laugh either at our ignorance, or impotence? ignorance, if we thoght too highly of earthly things; impo­tence, if we ouer-loued them. The feare of some euils is worse than the sense. To speake ingenuously; I could neuer see, wherein pouertie deserued so hard a conceit. It takes away the delicacie of fare, softnesse of lodging, gainesse of attire, and perhaps brings with it contempt: [Page 188] This is the worst, and all. View it now on the better side: Lo, there quiet securitie, sound sleepes, sharpe appetite, free merriment; no feares, no cares, no suspicion, no distemper of excesse, no discontentment. If I were Iudge, my tongue should bee vniust, if pouerty went away weep­ing. I cannot see, how the euils it brings, can compare with those which it remoues; how the discom­modities should match the bles­sings of a meane estate. What are those you haue lost, but false friends, miserable comforters? Else they had not left you. Oh slight and fickle stay, that windes could bereaue you of! If your care could goe with them, here were no dammage: and, if it goe not with them, it is your fault. Grieue more for your fault, than for your losse. If your negli­gence, [Page 189] your riotous misspence had empaired your estate, then Satan had impouerisht you; now would I haue added to your griefe, for your sinne, not for your affliction: But now, since windes and waters haue done it as the officers of their ma­ker; why should not you say with me, as I with Iob, The Lord hath taken? Vse your losse well, and you shall finde that GOD hath crossed you with a blessing. And if it were worse than the world esteemes it, yet thinke not what you feele, but what you deserue: You are a stranger to your selfe, if you confesse not, that God fauours you in this whip. If he had stripped you of better things, and scourged you with worse, you should still haue acknowledged a mercifull iustice: if you now repine at an easie correction, you are wor­thy [Page 190] of seuerity. Beware the next, if you grudge & swell at this. It is next to nothing which you suffer: What can bee further from vs, than these goods of outward estate? You need not abate either health, or mirth, for their sakes. If you do now draw the affliction neerer than he which sent it, and make a forraine euil do­mesticall; if while God visits your estate, you fetch it home to your body, to your minde; thanke your selfe that you will needs bee misera­ble: But, if you loue not to fare ill; take crosses as they are sent, and go lightly away with an easie burden.