The happines of a religious state diuided into three bookes. Written in Latin by Fa. Hierome Platus of the Societie of Iesus. And now translated into English.

THE THIRD BOOKE, OF THE HAPPINES OF A RELIGIOVS STATE. (Book 3)

THE PREFACE. Of the pleasantnes of a Religious course of life; and the impediments, which are wont to occurre therin, by example of the Children of Israel going out of Aegypt.

IN the deliuerie of the Iewes from the Seruitude of Aegypt, and their long and laboursome peregrination to the desired Land of Promise, God an∣ciently shewed vs a perfect patterne of the whole course of a Religious vo∣cation; and this our happie state is so natiuely expressed, and as it were drawne to life, by that admirable and famous work of al the works, which God wrought for the benefit of that people, that so farre as carnal things can expresse the spiritual, & outward things, which are farre inferiour, declare the inward, it could not haue been set forth in more natural of liuelie colours Which diuers of the holie Fathers, and particularly S Bernard doth obserue in one of his Sermons,* 1.1 discoursing of this whole mysterie, as if al things had hapned to them in a figure and shadow, & the fruit & sub∣stance had been wholy communicated to vs.

There, sayth he, the people was brought out of Aegypt, here a man is drawne out of the World; There Pharao, heer the Diuel, is vaquished; there Pharao his chariots are ouerturned, heer carnal & secular desires, which warre against the soule, are ouerthrowne; they in the, waues, these in teares; they are brackish, these are bitter; and I verily think, that when the Diuels happen vpon such a soule, they cry out: Let ••••fly Israel; because God fighteth for th••m. Thus sayth S. Bernard, and much more to the same purpose.

2 Let vs therefore, following so good a leader, acknowledge (according to the grace which is giuen vs) in this benefit bestowed vpon the Iewes, as in a picture, a farre greater benefit bestowed vpon ourselues. For if in the cleare light, wherin by the goodnes of God we now are,* 1.2 we behold the Secular state, in which formerly we liued; what was it but a seruitude?

And in verie deede a farre more hard and cruel seruitude, then that of Pharao; because it was not our bodie that was held captiue, wherin people apprehend so much miserie, but it was our soule, which was in captiuitie, the thraldome wherof is much more to be lamented. Besides that, for one man to be a slaue to ano∣ther man, is not so very dishonourable; but nothing can be more base, then to be a slaue to Sinne and the Diuel; nothing more vaine, then to serue the World. The vile∣nesse, togeather with the trouble and tediousnes, of the works, which we were forced to vndergoe vnder so seuere a command, wil lay it more plainly before our eyes. For what was our dailie occupation in the world, but to worke, as they did, in base and seruil businesses, in dirt, in gathering straw, in making bricks? For when people bestow their whole time and al their labours and thoughts, as the fashion is, in heaping of honours and riches, they handle nothing day and night, but earth; their harts, their thoughts, their cares are set vpon nothing but earth; because al these are earthlie things, and indeed nothing else but earth. And there wanted not in the world cruel extortioners, to wit, our disordered desires with a hard hand continually calling vpon vs, and pressing vs, and compelling vs to double our labours, and to vndertake more then 〈◊〉〈◊〉 were able to wealde, and affording vs no rest nor respit; so that in effect we did then leade a most miserable life, not only ful of trouble and pressure, as the word Aegypt doth signifie, but a base and

〈…〉〈…〉 kind of life, otherwise then people ordinarily take it to be, out of the foolish conceit which they haue; because it did inuolue so vile and so abiect a kinde of slauerie, as I sayd.

* 1.33. Out of which seruitude if by Diuine instinct a man goe about to withdraw himself, with what fiercenes, with what furie doth the cruel Pharao, the World, and, he that dominee∣reth in the world, the Diuel, set vpon him? Then, as it were, beating his drumme, and soun∣ding his trumpet, he makes al the forces he can to cut of those holesome thoughts, or to diuert them. On the one side he rankes the pleasures and commodities of this world, the sweetnes of libertie, the hope of preferment, the greatnes which worldlie wealth brings a man vnto, the loue of his kindred; and with these he bids him battail: On the other side, he layes before him the austerities of a Religious life, the incommodities of Pouertie, the trou∣ble of Obedience, and twentie such considerations, which are apt and able to fright a man. And if these inward assaults, which he makes, haue not the effect which he desireth, he beta∣kes himself to his outward engines; he stirres-vp friends to giue him euil counsel, he tempts his companions to laugh at him, he oftimes makes vse of the power of great men, by force to withdraw him. Among al which diuelish deuises, none are vsually so ful of venom as when he laboureth to make vs stoope to the authoritie of a father commanding vs, or of a tender weeping mother beseeching vs, or of our bretheren and kinsfolks entreating vs. These be the horse-men and chariots, with which the Enemie of mankind doth pursue them, that 〈◊〉〈◊〉 from him.

* 1.44. On the other side, our Lord and God, who calleth vs out of Aegypt to offer a perpe∣tual Sacrifice vnto him in the Desert, doth fight for vs, as if the cause were not ours, but his owne; and doth not only breake the wicked encounters of the Diuel, and bewray his trea∣cheries, but commonly doth lay most grieuous punishments vpon al such, as aduenture to be his instruments in so wicked an enterprise, as he dealt with King Pharao; and we shal scarce finde anie one sinne so seuerely and so presently punished, as this; and not without great reason. For what greater wrong can a man offer God, then to ta••e away his spouse from him, to prophane his temple, to raze and demolish the workman∣ship, of which he maketh greatest account? what greater dammage can a 〈◊〉〈◊〉 doe his neighbour? or what hath a man more precious wherin to suffer? So that S. Hierome writing to ••usto••h••um (who had shut-vp herself in the famous Monasterie of the Cittie of B••thl••••m) sayd both sagely and truly:* 1.5

Our Lord hath deliuered thee from the cares of this world, that forsaking the strawes and brickes of Aegypt, thou mayst follow Moyses in the Desert, and enter into the Land of Promise. Let no-bodie hinder thee, nei∣ther mother nor sister, nor cosin nor brother; and if they attempt to hinder thee, let them feare the scourges of Pharao, who, because he would not let the people of God goe to wor∣ship God, suffered those things, which are written.

But God is not only quick in puni∣shing those that doe oppose, but much more readie to assist the Religious themselues, and to bring them out with a powerful hand and a mightie arme; and if neede be, he diuides the sea before them, he dries-vp the waues, and breaking through al impediments, he brings them out of Aegypt, singing, that is, ioyful, and with a light hart, and giuing thanks to him, that cast the horse and rider into the sea. This is that ioyful Canticle, which S. Bernard de∣scribeth,* 1.6 speaking to his Brethren in these words:

Reflect vpon that, which yourselues haue experienced in the victorie, wherin your fayth hath ouercome the world; in the going out of the lake of miserie, and of the dregs of dirt, you haue also sung a new Canticle to our Lord, who hath wrought wonders. Againe, when he first gaue you to settle your feet vpon the rock, and directed your steps. I imagine, that then also for the newnes of life bestowed vpon you, a new Canticle was put into your mouth, a Song vnto our Lord.

5. S. Gregorie discoursing of the Plagues of Aegypt, and the Benefits bestowed vpon the Children of Israel, doth particularly ponder, that the Aegyptians were punished with a multitude of flyes,* 1.7 the Children of Israel rewarded with the Rest of the Sabbath, because, 〈◊〉〈◊〉, the people, which followeth God, receaueth a Sabbath, that is, tranquillitie of minde, 〈…〉〈…〉 anie more in this life, with the motions of carnal desires.

But Aegypt 〈…〉〈…〉 of this world, is punished with flyes; for a flye is an insolent and vnquiet 〈…〉〈…〉 else doth it signifye, but the intemperate cares of the self-same desires of 〈…〉〈…〉▪

6 When the Children of Israel were gone out of Aegypt, there remayned two things. A 〈◊〉〈◊〉, and the Land of Promise. Both signifye Religion; the Desert, the beginning••▪

the Land of Promise, the proceedings and perfection thereof, when a Soule cultiuated and manured by Rule and order,* 1.8 enioyeth with time the plentiful fruit of so happie a course. Religion is a Desert, because it seuers a man from companie and conuersation with Secular people, and withdrawes him from al worldlie businesses, leading him into a place, where the trouble and noyse of this turbulent world is not so much as heard of.* 1.9 These be the Deserts, which those Consuls of the earth (of whome Iob speaketh) doe build for themselues;* 1.10 which S. Gre∣gorie construeth to be nothing else, but to expel the turbulencie of earthlie desires from the closet of our hart, & ayming only at our eternal Countrie, to pant with loue of that inward quiet. But what comfort, what ioy doth a man find in this Desert, howsoeuer in outward shew it seeme vncouth and distastful? For as, when the Iewes suffered thirst, the verie rocks furnished them with water;* 1.11 and when the waters fel to be bitter, they presently tur∣ned to be sweet by putting a peece of wood into them; so whatsoeuer difficultie or trouble may occurre in a Religious life, it vanisheth instantly, a man knowes not how, and is so tempered and seasoned by the power of God, that it is not felt; insomuch as fasting, and watching, and (that which is more hard then al this) the continual striuing to breake our owne wil, and whatsoeuer belongs to Religious discipline (which when a man lookes afarre-of vpon it, seemes so harsh and heauie, that the verie sight of it doth make people afrayd) when we come to act, it proues pleasant and delightful; and no labour is so hard, not so much aboue the strayne of humane strength,* 1.12 but, by the grace and help of God, it becomes easie and facil, and, as the Apostle speaketh, we can doe al things in him, that com∣forteth vs.

7. And the Diuine bountie & goodnes is not contented barely to wipe away the bitternes of this state,* 1.13 but seasons it moreouer with a great deale of sweetnes, in seueral kindes, very proper and peculiar vnto it, figured also in that, which hapned to the people of Israël. For God sent them quayles, without anie labour of theirs, brought vnto them with a blast of winde, in such infinit numbers, that al the countrie round-about was ful of them; and, that which is more wonderful, he rayned Manna from heauen, a food made by the hands of Angels. This doth apparently set before our eyes the heauenlie daynties, wherewith the soules,* 1.14 which forsaking Aegypt haue betaken themselues sincerely to the seruice of God, are refreshed and fatned.* 1.15 For as that ancient Manna had this qualitie, that in itself alone it had the right sauour of al kinds of meat or sawce a man could think of:* 1.16 so the spiritual deli∣cacies, which Religion affordeth, doe not only goe beyond the sweetnes of al earthlie things, but containe in a more plentiful and more eminent degree al that in matter of dayn∣ties is to be found vpon earth; and as a man, that hath drunk an excellent cup of wine, ••••••teth not to drink water, nor anie other lickour of a sowrer grape: so Religious people are so satisfyed with this heauenlie food, that they desire no other, and experience in their owne soules that,* 1.17 which the Prophet sayd of himself: He that replenisheth thy desire with good things.

8. Besides these daynties and sweet-meates, with which God is continually feeding Re∣ligious people,* 1.18 he hath a particular prouidence ouer them, to leade them and direct them in their iourney with a great deale of care and loue, defending, protecting, and preseruing them in al their trauels, and, as it is sayd of the Children of Israel, guiding them by a clowde in the day, and al the night by the light of fire: which is to say, he tempereth the scorching heates of this life, and remoueth the darknes, carrying as it were a canopie ouer them against the heat of the sunne, and in the night-time going before them with a light in his hand, to preuent the incommodities and dangers, that might come vpon them.

9. We haue also our Moyses among vs,* 1.19 to wit, the gouernours and Superiours, whome God hath placed as his vice-gerents ouer vs, which is a benefit ful of comfort, in regard they declare vnto vs, what is the wil of God; they deliuer his commands, they are mediatours betwixt God and vs, and continually pray for vs; and when we are asleepe, or at our re∣creations, they watch in our behalf vpon the hil, and earnestly deale our busines in presence of the Diuine Maiestie. And notwithstanding (as anciently the Children of Israel) we want not enemies to confront vs in this our iourney,* 1.20 to wit, temptations, rising either from the in bred corruption of our nature, or from the malicious hatred of our sworne enemie the Diuel; which, if we were alone and were to fight it out by ourselues, were certainly a feare∣ful thing; yet by the help of God, who alwaies assisteth vs, and directeth vs in al our wayes, nothing is more easie, then to goe through al, with great encrease of glorie, and much greater reward. For by his assistance and by his strength, that which was written of the people of the Iewes,* 1.21 hapneth also to Religious people: One pursues a thousand, and two put to

flight ten thousand;* 1.22 the enemie's walles and strongest works fal downe at a ••illie blast; and though whole armies rush-in vpon vs, we beate them downe, and discomfit them, by only holding vp our hands to heauen.* 1.23

10. But where be these benefits to be found? where be these delicacies and delights? who be the men, vpon whome they are bestowed? They are not to be found (as I sayd before) but in the Desert; they are not bestowed but vpon them, that haue wholy and vtterly de∣parted out of Aegypt. Wherefore in those dayes also the Manna, which was a figure of that, which heer we speake of, did not come downe from heauen, before the meale fayled them, which they had brought out of Aegypt with them, and ceased againe to fal so soone, as going out of the Desert they began to taste of the fruits of the earth. Whereby we vnderstand, that no bodie can taste of this Diuine sweetnes, but he, that doth wholy and entirely withdraw himself from the world and al worldlie things. Whervpon S. Gregorie sayth,* 1.24 that this sweet foode, which falleth from aboue, is called Manhu; as who should say: Whiti•• this? Because, when a soule is entangled in inferiour thoughts, it admireth that, which is "represented vnto it from aboue, as a thing vnwonted.

* 1.2511. But if the Desert abound with so much heauenlie comfort, what shal we think of the Land of Promise, which is the end of our iourney, & the reward of our labour some trauels! Heer doubtles we shal finde farre more solidly and plentifully al that, which did set so sharp and edge vpon the minds of the Iewes, when the promise was made vnto them, a fertile soyle, store of fresh springs and running waters abundance of wheate and barley, of wines, figs, and oliues, and al kin•• o•• fruits, a land flowing with milk and honie; and if from these grosse and earthlie figures, wherin the mysteries of our soule are deliuered vnto vs, we ascend to the spiritual vnderstanding, which is hidden vnder them, we shal easily fal vpon the happines, which is in Religion, though we may better know, what it is, by experience and by tryal of it, then we can by hearing or reading vnderstand it.

12 Hauing therefore discoursed in the precedent Bookes, of the Commodities, and of the Excellencie and dignitie of a Religious life, in this third Booke we wil declare the Plea∣sure, which is found in following it, that euerie bodie may see, that al kind of happines and perfection attends vpon it, as I proposed in the beginning. And we haue some more reason to enlarge ourselues in this subiect of the sweetnes of a Religious state, because it is gene∣rally lesse knowne; and Secular people hardly beleeue, there is anie pleasure at al in it. They wil easily grant that a Religious life is an excellent course of life, and much more easily, that it is a profitable and safe kinde of course for a man's soule; but as for pleasure, they vtterly denye, there is anie in it, and rather apprehend it to be extreme harsh, and ful of vnsufferable difficulties. This errour we haue heer vndertaken to confute, and to proue, that this State is not only a pleasant state,* 1.26 but much more pleasant then a Secular life. S. Iohn Chrysostome doth often spend his eloquence in commendation of a Religious course, and par∣ticularly in one of his Homilies vpon S. Matthew, he preferreth the sweetnes of it farre before the pleasures of the world, and before al those iollities, and pastimes, and delights, which are esteemed greatest among them, before the curious sights and pageants, which were wont to be represented publickly in the Theaters with great cost and state, and before what∣soeuer pleasure can be thought-of in intemperate lust; shewing euidently, that there is as much difference betwixt these two kinds of life and delights, as betwixt the harmonie of the Quires of Angels sweetly singing, and hogs in their filth confusedly grunting. And be∣cause the cruel stinking Pharao, whome I paynted-out before, doth neuer cease to pursue & molest those, that flye from the seruitude of the world into the Desert of Religion, either by himself or by his followers, armed with weapons of his owne forging, we wil dis-arme him and them, and take away al the weapons we can from them, and shew, that the deceiptful reasons and fallacies, with which they are wont to labour to peruert mens iudgements, are of no force or soliditie; to the end, that drowning our enemies againe in the Red sea, al de••out soules, that either purpose to get out of Aegypt, or haue alreadie got loose, and forsaken it, and arriued in the Desert and this happie Land of Promise, may enioy the pleasures therof with more satisfaction of minde, and more setled assurance.

THE THIRD BOOKE, OF THE HAPPINES OF A RELIGIOVS STATE.

That the pleasures of the Mind are farre greater, then the pleasures of the Bodie. CHAP. I.

AS in the precedent Booke, to proue the excellencie of a Re∣ligious State, we first searched and setled, wherin true Ho∣nour and Excellencie did consist; so heer we must lay the like foundation, and consider, what is true Pleasure, wherof we are to treate. For manie, and perhaps I may say most men, know no pleasure, but that, which is the obiect of their tast, or touching, or other senses; and consequently make account, that indeed there is no other,* 1.27 or at least, that these are the principal, and most to be stood vpon. A perswasion befitting rather beasts then men. For they speake and passe their iudgement of things, as if they had not a reasonable Soule, but a bodie only. If they did reflect, that they are reasonable creatures, and haue a Soule and vnderstanding in them, they would conceaue also, as the truth is, that their Soule so farre surpassing the other part of them, which is their bodie, hath also functions and pleasures proper vnto it.

2. Aristotle,* 1.28 though he were a Heathen, and wanted the light of Fayth, which by the grace of God we haue, was of a farre other opinion; and in his Seauenth Booke of Morals writeth much more aduisedly to this purpose,

that al men by instinct of Nature desire pleasure, because al haue, as it were, a sparke of Diuinitie instilled into them, which inclineth them to that, which in best.

But because the pleasures of the bodie are most knowne, and euerie bodie hath a natural inclination vnto them, they haue in a manner en∣grossed the name and title of Pleasure to themselues, as it were, by here∣d••••••rie prescription; insomuch tha•• manie are perswaded, that no other thing

can be delightful.* 1.29 And in his Tenth Booke he sayth, that dishonest and filthie pleasure is not properly and absolutly to be called Pleasure, because no man takes it for such, but they are intemperate. That is to be taken for true pleasure, which an honest and vertuous man accounteth pleasure; for such an one is the rule of al the actions and pleasures of men; and that is only true pleasure, which is an honest man's delight. That others finde pleasure in other things, comes by corruption; and consequently those things are not absolutly in al respects pleasant, but to them only, that are accordingly disposed. For as when children take a fancie to a thing and loue it, they think for the present, that it is the excellentest thing that can be; and yet when they come to be men, they make no account at al of it; so good people take delight in some things, and wicked people in others; but they only leane to the pleasures of the bodie, that haue not the right tast of sound and vncorrupted pleasure.

* 1.303 ••l this is Aristotle's discourse; and S. Thomas enlarging himself vpon the same ground, sayth, that Pleasure requires three things: first, some thing that is good, which may be conioyned; secondly, the thing, to which it is ioyned; and thirdly, the coniunction itself; and the more perfect these three things be, the greater the pleasure must necessarily also be. Now certainly a spiritual good is greater then the good of the bodie, and man naturally loues it more, and makes more account of it, as we may plainly see, because there is no man, that wil not rather choose to want the sight of his eyes, then the light of his minde, and to be as a beast or a mad man. Besides that, the knowledge of the minde is more noble and more searching, then that which we haue by Sense, as euerie bodie knowes. And as for the coniunction, it is certainly more inward, more firme, and more perfect; more inward, because Sense reacheth no further, then the outward accidents, and rests in the tast, and colour, and such like; a man's vnderstanding searcheth and diueth into the Essence and substance of euerie thing; It is more perfect, because Sense cannot be ioyned with the obiect without motion, which is an imperfect action; and therefore also no sensible pleasure can be al of it togeather, but part of it must passe away, tha•• the re∣maynder may haue place; the pleasures of the minde are without motion, al wholy togeather, as the things themselues are in our minde, when we think of them; Finally it is more firme and permanent, because the things, in which the bodie taketh pleasure, are corruptible, and quickly gone, as meate, and drink, and such like; but spiritual goods remayne for euer, and waste not with age or handling.

* 1.314. Following this ground therefore of S. Thomas, the pleasures of the bo∣die, compared with the pleasures of the minde, are apparently the worse of the two. First, because the ground of bodilie pleasure, is euer a creature, and consequently, it is subiect to whatsoeuer accident and miserie can be incident to creatures; wherof it is none of the least, that euerie creature doth naturally runne poast to an end, and in time endeth; and is euer falling away betwixt our fingars, when we most thinke to vse and enioy it; and whatsoeuer sweetnes can be ima••ined in a creature, is much of the nature of time, now a peece and then a peece, heer a bit and there a bit, and slideth away as fast as time itself, then which nothing can be swifter.* 1.32 S. Augustin expresseth it liuely in one of his Sermons in these words: Where are the delights, for which you walk your

wicked wayes?

I doe not aske, where they wil be, when this life is past; but where are they now? This day hath thrust out yesterday; to morrow wil thrust out the day, in which now we are. What therefore of al that, which you loue, doth not poast, yea fly away from you? What part of it doth not euen slip out of our hands, before we haue it? For we cannot stop so much as one howre of the day, wherin we are. The first howre is thrust out by the se∣cond, the second by the third; so that of this one howre, which is present, nothing indeed is present, but euerie part and euerie moment of it is stil running away from vs.

Thus spake S. Augustin.

5. Secondly,* 1.33 the matter of al corporal delights is base. For take a dish of meate, that is wel dressed and excellently seasoned, or anie such thing; what is there in it, that can be sayd to be worthie of a man's employment? Al things of this nature are base and earthlie; and consequently the delight, which they yeald, is neuer a whit better. S. Bernard obseruing it,* 1.34 sayth thus: The comfort of this world is base and nothing worth, and, which is more to be feared, a hindrance to true and holesome comfort. Besides that, most commonly there is some kind of vnseemelines, more or lesse, in the pleasures of the bodie; and it is easie to be seen, because (if we marke) they that are anie thing temperate, dissemble the desire, which they haue of them, euen in things, which are otherwise necessarie; an euident signe euen in Nature itself, that it is but an vnworthie thing for man to place his affection vpon them; whereas in the solaces of the minde it is quite contrarie; for naturally they quicken and cleare it vp, and are an honour vnto it.* 1.35 Whervpon S. Augustin sayth very wel, that happie is the Soule, which is taken with those delights; for it is not stayned with anie vncleannes in them, but cleansed with the clearenes of truth.

6. If we look yet further into the nature and vse of corporal delights,* 1.36 we shal finde, that the reason, why they are so pleasing & so much desired, is, be∣cause they serue vs as a salue & solace of the griefes whervnto we are subiect. Which Aristotle also noteth,* 1.37 commending the studie of Philosophie as won∣derful delightful, in regard of the permanencie and puritie, which it hath; because it is not mingled with those sorrowes, which accompanie the delights of sense in eating, and drinking, and the like; the pleasure wherof lasteth no longer, then we suffer hunger or thirst.* 1.38 S. Bernard sayth the same thing in farre better tearmes and more fully, shewing that al these things are not indeed to be called good, but lesser euils; and that, which we seeke in them, is but to exchange heauier irons into lighter.

Thou desirest to eate (sayth the Saint) because hunger molests thee; both are troublesome; but be∣cause hunger is more troublesome, thou thinkest it is no trouble to eate. But marke, when thy hunger is past, if it be not more trouble to eate, then to abstaine. This is the nature of al things vnder the Sunne; there is nothing truly delightful in them, but a man is alwaies desirous to passe from one thing to another, that by often change he may ease himself of the trouble, which he findeth in both; as if a bodie should leape out of the water into the fire, and out of the fire into ••he water againe, being able to endure neither. For the remedie of eue•••• trouble, is the beginning of another trouble.

7. Moreouer, to giue euerie thing his due, there is none of al these corporal delights intirely and absolutely delightful,* 1.39 but they are stil coupled with manie inconueniences and sorrowes, and by that meanes they leese a great part of their sauour, as a smal quantitie of wine mingled with a great deale of water.* 1.40 Euerie one doth finde this to be so true by his owne daylie experience in al things, that we shal not neede to seeke farther proofe of it. Yet S. Basil ex∣presseth it naturally in these words:

There is more trouble then pleasure in the delights of the bodie. Barrennes, and widdowhood, and iealousie wayte vpon marriage; vnfruitfulnes vpon husbandrie; shipwrack vpon marchan∣ding; deceiptful practises vpon wealth; the pleasures themselues, the saturitie, the continual vse of them, bring diseases and manie distempers.

S. Gregorie applieth to this purpose that, which is spoken in holie Iob of worldlie people:* 1.41 They that reioyced in the midst of these things, and made account, that vnder thornes were riches.

Their ioy (sayth S. Gregorie) is most commonly mingled with vexation; and they are beaten with the things themselues, wherof they are proude. For they cannot without trouble and care either get temporal things, which they haue not; or conserue those, which they haue gotten. To aspire therefore to honour aboue their equals, alwayes to be working some mis∣chief, and yet to watch with feare that they may not haue the name of being wicked, certainly doth miserably gal them; but ouercome with the loue of temporal things, they feele not the sting. They reioyce therefore vnder thornes; they, I say, that reioyce in temporal things; and yet not being able to dispense them without vexation, the care, which presseth them, galleth them. They re∣mayne vnder thornes, and they esteeme it a pleasure, because they suffer much hardnes for the loue of this life; and yet entangled in the affection of their ouer-greedie desire, they account the verie trouble of their suffering a pleasure.

And much more sayth S. Gregorie to the same effect, and particularly he like∣neth these kind of people to the Children of Israel, that sighed after their pots of Aegypt, and their pompions, and onyons, and chibols.

For what is signi∣fyed, sayth he, by the flesh-pots of Aegypt, but the carnal works of this life, which boyle in the sorrowes of tribulation, as in the fire? What are pompions but earthlie sweetnes? What is figured by the onyons and chibols (which most commonly make them weepe that eate them) but the difficulties of this present life, which the louers of it passe not without lamenting, and yet loue it euen with teares. Forsaking therefore the Manna, they desired onyons and chibols with their flesh and pompions; because wicked minds contemne the sweet guifts, which they may haue by grace in quiet; and for their carnal plea∣sures couet the laboursome iournies of this life, though they be ful of teares; they refuse to haue that, wherewith they may reioyce spiritually, and desire greedily that, wherewith they must lamēt carnally. Iob therefore with his truth-telling voice doth reprehend their follie, in that out of an erroneous iudgement they preferre trouble before tranquillitie, harsh things before the milde, sharp before the sweet, tēporal before the eternal, things deceiptful before those that be assured.

Thus speaketh S. Gregorie, not only truly, as he doth alwaies, but also eloquently, whervnto we may adde another reason out of S. Bernard, to wit, that if our mind be sensible of the pleasures of the bodie, to which it is vnited; how much more sensible must it needes be of the pleasures, which properly

belong vnto itself, and are more neerly and truly in it? For as a man doth relish the busines after another fashion, when his horse feedes vpon his hey, and when himself feedes vpon meate, that is conuenient for him, so it fareth with our soule in regarde of our bodie, which is but, as it were, the beast, which carrieth it.* 1.42 Doe not therefore mistake (saith S. Bernard) doe not deceaue thy self so farre,* 1.43 as to think, that thy Soule is not more delighted with spiritual then with corporal things.

8. Another consideration to proue this,* 1.44 which we are saying, is, that the more sutable a thing is to our nature, it is also the more pleasing and delightful. For so we see, that men take delight in one kind of foode, beasts in another; and among beasts some feede vpon flesh, others vpon corne, others graze; and euerie kind of thing findes most contentment in that, which agreeth best with the nature, which it hath. The nature of man is to be gouerned by reason; for though he haue also sense, and motion, and the facultie of growing, yet these belong the inferiour part of him; and are not proper to him alone, but common betwixt him and beasts. Reason and vnderstanding is that, which is peoper to Man, and belongeth so neare to the perfection and constitution of his nature, that without it he were not a man, but a beast; and consequently the delights, which are conformable to reason, and grounded in it, are both more sutable to human nature, and for the same cause more plea∣sing; specially, if we consider withal (as we may iustly) that among the seueral qualities and powers, that are in man, the higher and the more noble the power is, it is also the more pregnant and effectual in operation; so that Reason being farre more noble then Sense, it exerciseth the functions belonging to reason with more perfection and vigour, then Sense can per∣forme the offices belonging to Sense; and as it is more pregnant in al other operations, so it is more apt to take delight in the things, which are agreable vnto it.

9. Finally,* 1.45 whensoeuer we compare these delights togeather, that, which S. Gregorie sayth excellently wel of them, is very important to be considered. The difference, sayth he, betwixt the delights of the bodie, and of the minde, is this: The delights of the bodie, when we haue them not, breed a burning desire to haue them; and when we take greedily of them, presently through satietie they breed a loathing in him, that takes them. Contrariwise spiritual delights,* 1.46 when we haue them not, are tedious; when we haue them, they proue desireful; and he that feedes vpon them, hungers after them the more, by how much he feedes vpon them with the greedier appetite.

In corporal delights, the desire is pleasing, the trial distastful; In spiritual delights, the desire is cold and contemptible, the trial delightful. In the first, desire breedeth saturitie, saturitie loathsomnes; in the second, desire brings saturitie, saturitie againe whetteth our desire of them. For spiritual delights encrease a desire in our hart, while they fil it; because the more we perceaue the right fauour of them, the more knowledge we haue of that, which we must needs loue more eagerly; and therefore we cannot loue them, when we haue them not, because we cannot know the true relish of them. Nothing can expresse more perfectly the difference, which is betwixt the delights of the bodie and of the minde, then that, which S. Gregorie heer sayth of them,

to wit, that the vse of corporal pleasures breeds a loathing of them; but spiritual delights contrariwise the more eagerly we feed vpon them, the more they winne our affection to them.

For as we cannot discerne, which is good wine, and which is bad, better, then by tasting it, and our tast is in fine the best iudge of it; so by duly weighing the ioy, which is true and solid, and also that, which is false and deceiptful, and comparing them togeather, we shal be best able to discouer, how that in the one there is nothing but emptines and falshood, and in the other, truth and soliditie euen beyond expectation, and abundantly enough to delight vs more and more without end.

10. It is therefore sufficiently apparent both by reason and authoritie of the holie Fathers, that the pleasures of the Mind are the principal and the chiefest of al other pleasures; yet because manie are iealous of that which the holie Fathers say, and think that they goe further, and speake in a more sublime strayne, then humane infirmitie can ordinarily beare, I wil conclude this Chapter with a discourse of Plato (besides that,* 1.47 which I sayd before out of Aristotle) where he clearly proueth this, wherof we are speaking.

As hunger and thirst (sayth he) are an emptines of the bodie, so ignorance & imprudence are emptinesses of the mind; and as our bodie is filled, when we take corporal sustenance, so our mind with science and knowledge. Which repletion there∣fore is the more solid? Is it not that, which is made by things, which in them∣selues are more truly solid? And which things are to be accounted such, and of a more pure substance, meate and drinke, victuals, and whatsoeuer sustenance, or perswasions of truth, knowledge, and, in a word, al kind of vertue? Certainly we must needs confesse, that that is most solidly and most truly exi∣stent, which doth alwaies abide in an immortal and vnchangeable thing, and which itself also is immortal and vnchàngeable (such as is the essence of eue∣rie thing, and consequently also the knowledge of it) rather then that, which is in a changeable thing, and itself is changeable; such as are al things per∣tayning to the oeconomic of the bodie. Wherefore if it be a delightful thing to be filled with that▪ which is sutable to our nature, the more solid the things be, and the more truly we are filled with them, the more true and more natural pleasure it must needs be, which we enioy by them. And thus it fareth with vs, when our mind is filled. Wherefore people, that are voide of vertue, and giuen to their bellie and the like, neuer tast the least parcel of true and solid pleasure, but as beasts haue their eyes alwaies vpon the ground, and spend their time in doing homage to their bellies; and fight with one another with their heeles, and with their hornes, and with their nayles, for those base and abiect things. And so the pleasures, which they follow, must needes be mingled with manie sorrowes, and are indeede but pictures and shadowes of true pleasure, as the Poet Stesichorus sayd of the Troians; that, not knowing at al the true Helene, they fought only for the imagination of her.

Al this is Plato his discourse.

That true content of mind is only in God. CHAP. II.

HAuing proued, that true contentment is only to be had in the pleasures of the Mind, it remaineth to consider, wherein the Mind itself doth take most contentment, which is easie for a Christian to determine, and not farre to seeke; be∣cause euerie Christian knoweth, and doth most certainly belieue,* 1.48 that GOD alone is the true food and true life of a Soule. And it is so cleare and euident besides, that the best learned Philosophers among the Heathens could think no other. For Aristotle discoursing at large of Beatitude,* 1.49 wherin al pleasures are in their height, con∣cludeth at last, that it consisteth in the knowledge and contemplation of GOD, and of Minds (as he calles them) abstracted from the bodie, and free from al composition; in regard that the function of the Vnderstanding in Man is the sweetest and pleasantest of al others, and compleat within itself, and so farre from standing in need of anie outward thing, that they rather hinder a man, that desires to giue himself to Contemplation. And wheras we must necessa∣rily acknowledge, that God and those spiritual Intelligences are alwaies in some action or other (for no man can think that they are so dul as to be idle, and, as it were, asleepe) the noblest action, which we can giue them, is to be alwaies in perpetual Contemplation; and consequently men vpon earth, that giue themselues to such a kind of life, take the perfectest course, that can be thought of, and most like to God. This is the discourse of a man, that wanted the light of the Euangelical truth; what therefore ought we to think or say in this busines?

2. Let vs heare a Christian Philosopher speake.* 1.50 S. Augustin beholding this thing farre more clearly and more particularly in the light, then Aristotle could doe in the dark, sayth thus: O soule! seeke thy owne good.

For one thing is good for one, an other for another; and euerie creature hath a good by itself, the good of the integritie belonging vnto it, the good of the perfection, which is natural vnto it, and there is a great deale of difference in that, which is necessarie for the perfection of euerie thing. Seeke thy owne good. No∣bodie is good,* 1.51 but GOD alone, the Soueraigne Good; that is thy good. What doth he want, that hath the Soueraigne Good for his good? There be infe∣riour goods, which are good to this thing, and that thing. What is the good of a beast, but to fil his bellie, to want nothing, to sleepe, to play, to liue, to be in health, to attend to generation? Dost thou seek such a good? Co-heyre of Christ, wherin dost thou reioyce? in that thou art a companion to beasts? Rayse thy hope to the Good of al goods.

Where you see S. Augustin layes the likenes of a beast to them, that like beasts know no other good, no other de∣light, but that, which is confined within the bounds of Sense; and giueth vs to vnderstand moreouer, that such a kind of perswasion is so much the more

vnworthie, because al men are created with a possibilitie to be Heyres of God, and Co-heyres of Christ, that is, such as may be stiled, and truly be, the sonnes of God. He sayth also, that meate, & drink, and sleepe, and other more vnworthie things, are not the good of a Soule, but only God; because that is the good of euerie thing, as he sayth, by which the thing is perfected & made better; wher∣as these inferiour things doe not perfect a Soule, but rather make it worse; be∣cause they draw it frō higher things, for which it was created, & make it stoop to base and earthlie things, by the loue and vse wherof it comes to be defiled.

* 1.523. Another ground of that, of which we are speaking, is this. It is certain, and it cānot be denyed, that as al other creatures haue their appointed ends so Man much more hath some end prefixed, at which he doth ayme; otherwise so excel∣lent a nature, as his is, should want so great a good, of which al other goods doe in a manner depend. This end of Human nature, at which al doe ayme, is Hap∣pines; and no other Happines, but GOD; which S. Thomas proueth,* 1.53 because the good, wherin we place our happines, must be so great a good, that it may fil our desire, & absolutely satisfye it to the ful. For it cannot be sayd to be our last end, if there remayne anie thing further to be desired. Seing therefore the obiect of the wil of Man is al Good, & the obiect of his reason & vnderstāding al Truth, nothing can absolutely satisfye two Powers so capacious, but an vniuersal En∣titie, which also is an vniuersal Good, which cānot be found among creatures, because the nature and goodnes of al creatures is limited and confined; GOD therefore is the onlie felicitie of man, in whom al things are infinit.

* 1.544. S. Augustin hath a learned and elaborate discourse to the same effect in the Booke, which he wrote of the Manners of the Church. He sayth, that euerie bodie doth naturally desire to be happie; & that three things are required to Happines. First, that the thing, wherin we place our happines, be the best, secōdly, that we loue it; thirdly, that we possesse it. For a man, that desireth that, which he can∣not compasse, is vexed with it; a man that cōpasseth that, which is not to be de∣sired, is deceaued in the busines; and he that desireth not that, which is to be sought after, is in an il disposition. Then he sayth further, that that which is best for man, cānot be worse or lesse then man himself, for whosoeuer seekes after that, which is worse then himself, makes himself worse then he was before, therefore that only can be best for man, which is better & more excellent then man and withal that he be able so to compasse it, as not to leese it against his wil; for if a man be not assured of the good, which he hath, the feare of leesing it, takes away the happines, which he might haue in it. And consequently Vertue and GOD,* 1.55 to whome by vertue we are conioyned, is our onlie Happines; if we attend vpon God, we are wel; if we comprehend him, we are happie. These are truthes, which S. Augustin deliuers, and which no man can denye.

5. The nature of the End or final Cause & But of euerie thing, is, that whatsoe∣uer hath an End prefixed,* 1.56 it can not be at quiet, til it haue obtayned the End, and when it hath obtayned it, there it must needes rest; & the nearer it comes by de∣grees to the obtayning of the desired End, the more pleasure it takes, and the in 〈◊〉〈◊〉 is at quiet; the further it is from the End, the worse & more vnquiet it is. Wherefore as it is most certain, that then we shal haue perfect ioy and rest, when face to face we shal set God, as 〈◊〉〈◊〉; so it doth most certainly follow, that the nearer we approach to God in this life, the longer we conuerse with him, the clearer

knowledge we haue of him, the more contentment of mind also we shal enioy; and this contentment is of the self-same nature with that, which we shal haue in heauen; but only with this difference, that heer our ioy and contentment is smal, there it shal be infinitly great.

6. What should I stand making large discourses vpon a thing,* 1.57 which is euidēt? So farre as the nature of God doth excel the nature of whatsoeuer creature, so much difference is there betwixt the pleasures of the bodie, and the delights of the mind. What is there in the dayntiest fare that is, in the fayrest gardens, in al the pleasures of this life, that can be compared with God? Which is better, God who is Al-Good, or a peece of veale, or a partridge, or anie dayntie dish? If the difference be so great, that it is a shame to make such a cōparison, it must neces∣sarily follow, that the delight, which riseth by enioying this Good, tasted & sa∣uoured in the palate of the Soule,* 1.58 is incomparably greater, then those other de∣lights of the bodie; which S. Bernard expresseth in these words: Certainly that only is true contentment, which is taken in the Creatour, and not in the creature; the contentmēt, which once possessed, no man can take from thee, and in comparison wherof al other mirth is sadnes; al pleasure, sorrow; al sweetnes, bitter; al beautie, il-fauoured; finally al that breedes delight, is troublesome.

7. I wil conclude with one thing more,* 1.59 which indeed is the ground of al, and therefore I wil lay it downe as plaine as I can, but yet briefly. In creatures there is nothing, which can be truly sayd to be, no sparke of goodnes, no degree of beautie, which is not farre more abundāt & more perfectly in God. First, because the nature of God is infinit; and if anie thing were wanting in it, it were not infi∣nit; secōdly,* 1.60 whatsoeuer creatures haue in them, they haue it frō G••d; & no man can giue another that which he hath not himself; whervpon S. Bernard maketh this reflection: ••n the Sunne thou admirest the light; in a flower, beautie; in bread, the sa∣uour; in the earth, the fertilnes of it. Al these things haue their being from God; & no doubt but he hath reserued to himself farre more, then he hath bestowed vpon creatures. Which being most true, it doth necessarily follow, that whosoeuer hath God, hath in him al other things; & cōsequently the verie selfsame delight, which ••e should haue taken in other things, if he had enioyed them seuerally, he enioye••h it in God in a farre greater measure & more eleuated. For as a man, that hath a peece of coyne in gold, hath the value of manie peeces of siluer, as much as if he had the seueral peeces of siluer thēselues, & so much the more cōmodiously, because he is rid of the trouble, which the weight and bulk of siluer brings with it▪ so he that is vnited with God, hath the verie marrow or quintessence, as I may cal it, of al that goodnes, which, dispersed in this great varietie of the things of this world, cannot choose but be mingled with manie incommodities & imperfec∣tions, incident to the penurious, and limited, and corporal nature of euerie thing; from which incommodities he, that hath them in God, is free.

8. Which is the reason, why S. Francis,* 1.61 as we reade of him, had alwaies this saying in his mouth: My God, and al things. A saying, which he was so wedded to, that he could almost think of nothing els,* 1.62 & oftentimes spent whole nights in this one Meditation. S. Augustin discoursing excellētly wel of it, speaketh thus to God:

What doe I loue, when I loue thee: Not the beautie of a bodie, not the co∣melines of time, not the brightnes of light so pleasing to these my eyes, not the sweet melodious sounds of al sorts of pleasant songs, not the fragrāt sauours of flowers or ointmēts, or delicate spices, not Mā••a or honie, not the 〈◊〉〈◊〉, which

flesh doth so welcomely embrace. These be not the things, which I loue, when I loue my God; and yet I loue a kind of light, and a kind of sound, and a kind of sauour, and a kind of food, and a kind of embracing, when I loue my God▪ the light, the sound, the sauour, the food, the embracing of my inward man, where that shineth to my soule, which no place is capable of; and where that soundeth, which time carrieth not away; and where I smel that, which the wind disperseth not; and where I tast that, which eating diminisheth not; and where that remayneth fast vnto me, which no fulnesse doth diuert me from. This is that, which I loue, when I loue my God.

This is of S. Augustin.

9. Wherefore seing it is so euident by al these reasons, which I haue curso∣rily pointed at, that God is the chiefest delight of euerie nature, that hath rea∣son and vnderstanding, euerie bodie must necessarily also see, how delightful a Religious course of life is, which is so wholy set vpon the enioying of God, and hath so manie easie meanes and wayes to enioy him. But it wil be yet more euident, when we shal haue discoursed of the seueral delights, which are very manie in it.

The first reason, why a Religious life is delightful; because it is free from worldlie trouble. CHAP. III.

AMong the manie pleasures, which are in a Religious course of life (wherof I am now going to speake) I may wel rec∣kon in the first place, the freedome, which it enioyeth from the vexations and encombers, wher••with a secular life is pe∣stered. To conceaue the greatnes of this benefit, it were suf∣ficient to vnderstand,* 1.63 that some ancient Philosophers of no meane rank, were of opinion, that the Happines of man consisted in being free from payne and grief, and al kind of trouble. For thereby we may con∣clude, that it was alwayes held to be no smal good, to be free from al euil. But yet no man can throughly enter into the importance of it, vnlesse he first vn∣derstand, how infinit the miseries and calamities of the world be, so grieuous, and so different, and so frequent, and obuious, that we may sooner behold them with our eyes, th••n declare them by word of mouth; and in respect ther∣of may iustly say,* 1.64 the world is another Aegypt, when (as we finde recorded in Exodus) there was not a house in it, which did not ring with most lamenta∣ble cryes at the death of their first-begotten. And though (as I sayd) this be a thing, which we may sooner see with our eyes, then learne by discourse, yet manie of the ancient Fathers hane handled this point at large and very elo∣quently.

* 1.652 In particular S. Iohn Chrysostome, to shew the happines of Virginitie, which he had vndertaken to commend, doth lay togeather so manie misfor∣tunes of married people, that it is a horrour to reade them. For he proueth, that

before their marriage,* 1.66 and when they marrie, and euer after, al is trouble and vexation, and ful of a world of miseries; and that, if they haue anie touch of delight, it is not comparable to their griefes; because it is drowned in their present calamities, and in those, that hang ouer their head for the future.

3. S. Gregorie Nyssen is so large in his discourse of the self-same miseries,* 1.67 that (as he sayth himself) it were matter enough to make a Tragedie. For not to repeate al that goes before, the paynes of child-bed are intollerable, because not only the wombe of the mother is most pittifully torne in pieces, but the husband, if he haue anie feeling, must needs be exceedingly grieued at it. When this is ouer, and the danger past togeather with the paine, and the child borne, which was so long desired, the causes of lamenting are not lesse, but ••reater. For then begins the care of bringing-vp the child, the con∣tinual feare least it come by some mischance (which chances al ages and states are subiect vnto, but specially the tender age of an infant) then they are iea∣l••us 〈◊〉〈◊〉 it catch a feuer, or fal into some other disease.

Finally (sayth he) the miseries, which come of marriage, are very manie: for children bring 〈◊〉〈◊〉, w••en they are borne, and before they are borne, while they are a∣liue, an•• when they are dead. If a man haue cause to ioy in the number of his children, he hath cause of sorrow, because he hath not wherewith to maintaine them. Another perhaps hath laboured much to scrape a great deale of wealth togeather, and hath not an heyre, to whome to leaue it. So that one man's happines is another's misfortune, while neither of them would haue that befal him, wherat he sees an other tormented. This man's sweet child is dead, the other's liues deboisht: both certainly are to be pittied, one grieuing at the death, the other at the life, of their owne child. Who can number the di∣stempers, the troubles, the branglings, which rise euerie foot betwixt them, vpon true causes, and false suspicions?

This and much more to the like effect is the discourse of S. Gregorie Nyssen,* 1.68 which almost word for word S. Basil takes vp, and enlargeth himself in it with a great deale of Rhetorick in the Booke, which he w••ote of true Virginitie.* 1.69 And S. Hierome no lesse copiously and ef∣fectually repeates the same against Iouinian.

4. For my part, I am of opinion,* 1.70 that S. Iohn Chrysostome sayd very truly of this world of miseries, which married people are subiect vnto, that no man can conceaue the greatnes of them, vnlesse he haue tryed them; and they that haue had the experience be the onlie men, that truly find, that there is farre more sorrow and bitternes in the delights, which people make account they shal haue, then pleasure and contentment. Besides that, it is to be obserued as a certain truth, that both these and al other sorrowes seeme much lesse, when we only reade or imagine them, then when we feele them. For no grief can go so neare vs, when we imagine it afarre off, specially if it concerne not our∣selues, as when we actually feele it in our owne person.

5. These therefo••e are the general miseries common to al Secular people,* 1.71 and from which they, that ••iue most at ease, and meddle not with anie pub••ick busines at al, but attend only to the menaging of their owne priua••e estate & bringing-vp of their children, which people commonly account a happie kind of life, are not exempt. But there be others, that labour & toyle in 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of the world like horses. For what shal we say of the life of a S••••••di••, in the

midst of so manie dangers of life and limmes,* 1.72 and incommodities of wind and weather, heat and cold, and the like? Or of Marchants, that spending their whole time in thinking of their aduentures, in writing, and casting-vp their ends togeather, take as much toyle as if they were day-labourers; and there is litle difference betwixt them, but that the one labours in the sunne, the other in the shade; for as for care, and solicitude, and anxietie, and feare the mar∣chant hath farre greater, stil taking thought, what may be come of his ship, whether it be cast-away or no, whether the plentie of corne be like to pul downe the market, or least some other mischance of thousands befal him, & sweep al away in an howre, which he had so long sweat for.

6. What shal I say againe of them that aspite to preferrement? Doe they not bereaue themselues altogeather of their libertie,* 1.73 and out of a greedie de∣sire of command ouer others (which God knowes whether they shal euer attaine vnto, or how long they may enioy it) make themselues verie slaues in present to other m••ns humours, wayting vpon them like pages, and putting themselues vpon a necessitie of obseruing euerie turne of their head, & euerie change of their countenance? What doe they not endure by day, and what pensiue nights must they needs haue? What fire would they not runne-through to compasse their ends? And when they haue gotten that, which they aymed at, they burne with a greater fire within them,* 1.74 and make S. Au∣gustin's words good:

Riches, and the shadowes of honour, and al other things of like nature, wherin men think themselues happie, being voyd of true happines, what comfort can they bring, seing it is farre more honourable not to stand in need of them, then to be eminent in them; and the feare of leesing them doth torment a man more, then the burning desire did of getting them▪

Which kind of miserie S. Paulinus also expresseth excellently wel in a long Exhortation, which he wrote in verse to Licentius a yong man, that followed the Court of Rome for preferrement-sake, labouring to draw him from the world to the seruice of CHRIST; where among other things, he sayth thus:

* 1.75Vaine Rome, and powerful to deboish the strong, With diuers shapes sollicites thee aw••y.

That which he sayth of Rome in those dayes, that it was powerful to deboish the strong, that is, euen such as might be grounded in vertue, and diuert them from the course therof, may be sayd of al other places in the world. Then he shewes the vanitie and dangers of preferment:

Now hope to rise, now feare to fal, doth throng. Thy hart. Stand sure; 't is worse to fal from high.

And who is there, that can stand sure in so slipperie a place? who is there, that doth not rather stand very tickle? Wherefore he foretelles him also of the late repentance, which experience of such things is wont to bring:

Too late, and then in vaine, thou wilt bewaile Deceiptful hope, and wish to breake this iayle, Which now thou buildst.

For oftimes we rush into the snares and nets at vnawares, & afterwards would fayne breake out of them, and we cannot, vnlesse we looke to ourselues be∣times. Wherefore hauing discoursed at large of the miserie of such a kind of life, he inuiteth him to the more easie and more happie seruice of Christ, in this manner:

Shake-of the yoak betimes; Christ's burden's light; His yoak is sweet; his word is truth; his seruice, Freedome; and to stoope to him, is, in right Of sonnes of God, to command ouer vice, And proudest Lords and Kings &c.

And enlarging himself in the comparison between these two liues, sheweth how the seruice of God is true freedome, and the seruice of the world is verie slauerie, to which al such are subiect, as (to vse his phrase) by

Frequenting Court And Princelie pallaces, And suffering Rome, Make choice of miseries.

Where, as you see, he tearmeth the liuing in Rome (suffering Rome) as a toyle∣some & a trouble something; a new manner of speach, yet fitly expressing the matter he speakes of;* 1.76 and yet more neatly, where he stileth them voluntarily miserable, that leade such a life; which is as much to say, as to be twice misera∣ble. For if a man suffer miserie against his wil, yet he is sound in his iudgemēt, which is a great comfort, and not only a comfort, but oftentimes a remedie of his miseries; but he, that loues the miserie in which he is, doth not only erro in his iudgemēt, which is of itself a great miserie, but doth not so much as seek to auoid it, and consequently there is no hope of remedie for him.

7. A Religious life is free from al these euils,* 1.77 vexations, and miseries, which are in themselues so manie and so great, and perplexe people of this world so much, and teare their verie harts in peeces. How much this free∣dome from miserie is to be esteemed, may be partly vnderstood by that, which passeth in our bodie. For though we haue no special thing to take pleasure in, yet, if we be in health, if we haue no feuerish distemper vpon vs, if the humours of our bodie be not altered and out of order, we take great pleasure euen in that want of disturbance; as on the other side, it is a great vexation to be troubled with a payne in our side, or in our feete, or in anie other part of vs. The self-same effect therefore, which perfect health and tha•• general temper of humours worketh in our bodie, the freedome from worldlie troubles and vexations, worketh in our soule; and is of itself alone a wonderful pleasing and delightful thing. Wherefore seing people loue their health so dearly, and spare no cost to get it, nor time to attend vnto it, and manie spend their whole substance, with the woman in the Ghospel, to purchase it,* 1.78 and abide fire and lance, suffering their flesh to be cut and burnt, rather then fayle of it; who can think but the tranquillitie of a Re∣ligious life is much more earnestly to be desired, and al litle enough to be∣stow and spend in the compassing of it? For that, which S. Iohn Chrysostom writing in defence of a Monastical life,* 1.79 sayth, is very true: Which is easier and more ful of quiet? to be intangled in so manie and so pickant cares, subiect to such watch and ward, and slauerie, to liue in continual fea••e and daylie sollicitude, least fortune fayle vs, our substance wholy perish; or to be at libertie, free from these bonds and cares?

For though a man desire no more then he hath, though he labour not to adde more weight to the burden of his wealth; though we grant al this, is it not

farre better, to discharge himself of his burden, then to be crushed by tha••, which he hath alreadie vpon his shoulders? Finally, as I sayd before, if it be a great happ••nes to be content with a few things of smal value, it must cer∣tainly needs be a greater happines, to be aboue al necessitie.

And the same Saint discou••sing to the same purpose in one of his Homilies proueth,* 1.80 that howsoeuer the world takes the life of Monks to be a distastful and burden∣some life, yet in verie deed it is much sweeter, and more desireful (for al these are his owne words) then anie other life, seeme it neuer so sweet and easie, and for proof therof appeales to secular people themselues, to whome then he spake,* 1.81 and sayth of them, that when they see themselues hedged-in with the trouble and vexations of this world, then they cal them happie, t••at free from marriage liue at quiet in Monasteries; because they haue not such worldlie sa••nes & grief to oppresse them, they are not subiect to al those cases, and dangers, and deceitful plots, they suffer not by enuie, or iealousie, or phansies of loue, nor anie other thing of that nature.

* 1.828. Where we must note, that in this one happines there be two great bene∣fits inuolued. For first we are eased of the burden and heauie carriage (as S. Iohn C••rysostome calles it) of the world; secondly, being discharged of it, & as it were let loosse, we are at libertie; which libertie is accōpanied with vnspeak∣able delight. And God through his power and mightie hand being the sole au∣thour of it, it is not without great reason, that in holie Iob he glorieth of this his work,* 1.83 and professeth, that it is himself, and no-bodie els, that vnloose 〈◊〉〈◊〉 bonds of t••e 〈◊〉〈◊〉d Asse, and sets him free, and giueth him a dwelling in the desert. Which passage S. Gregorie vnderstands of Religious people,* 1.84 giuing this excel∣lent exp••sition of it:

The wild Asse, that abideth in the desert, doth not vn∣properly signifye the life of them, that liue remote from the troubles of the world. And this Asse is fitly sayd to be free, because the se••uitude of secular businesses, wherewith the mind is much broken, is very great, hows••euer the paines, which men take in them, be voluntarie. And to couer nothing at al of the world, is, in effect, to be free from this seruil condition. For prospe∣rous things lye like a yoak vpon a man's neck, while we couet them; and things cr••••sse and aduerse, while we feare them. But if a man once pul the neck of his mind from vnder the command of temporal desires, he enioyeth a kind of libertie in this life, because he is not rackt with desire of prosperitie, nor straightned with feare of aduersitie. For it is a hard thing, and a heauie bonda••e to be subiect to temporal things, to be ambitious of earthlie things, to labour to holde that which is alwayes slipping, to stand in things that cannot stand, to desire that which is stil running from vs, and yet to be vn∣willin•• to go with that which is alwayes going. He therefore is at libertie, that trea••ing those desi••es vnder foot by tranquillitie of minde, is discharged of the loue of temporal things.

Al this is of S. Gregorie.

9. Wherefore to conclude, as a man that hath his irons knockt off, & is let goe out of prison, or is taken out of the water, where he was half drow∣ned, thinks he hath a great benefit in it, though nothing els be done vnto him, in like manner shal not a man, that is drawne out of the world, and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 no•• from one onlie euil and trouble, as they are, but from very manie g••eat mischiefs and calamities, make account, that he hath gotten

a great matter, and esteeme highly of this one thing, though there were nothing els in it? Certainly, it is reason he should. And if we beleeue S. Ber∣nard, this is the reason, why the Holie-Ghost in the Canticles describeth a Religious life vnder the title of a bed strewed with flowers;* 1.85 because as a man takes most ease in his bed, so people are at most ease in Religion. I think, sayth S. Bernard, that the bed, wherin we rest in the Church, are Cloisters and Mo∣nasteries, where we liue quietly, voyde of secular cares, and free from the anxieties of this life.

And this bed is manifestly strewed with flowers, when the life and conuersation of the Religious Brethren shineth with examples and practises of the ancient Fathers, as strewed with so manie odoriferous flow∣ers.

Thus sayth S. Bernard.

That Religious discipline is easie. CHAP. IV.

IT is not enough to haue shewed, that a Religious course of life is free from the difficulties and troubles, which are in the world; for a man might say, that though it haue not the troubles of the world, it hath other vexations, which make it irksome and tedious. We wil therefore heer make it plaine, that the whole order and practise of Religious disci∣pline is easie and pleasant; a thing contrarie to the conceipt, which vsually people make of it, apprehending a Religious course to be intollerably burden∣some, as if one should lay a whole hil vpon a man's shoulder;* 1.86 and therefore that, which we are to say of it, requireth a litle more attention. And to ground ourselues vpon the principles of Nature, we must vnderstand, that nothing is so pleasing and so conformable to Nature, as Vertue. For what is Vertue, if we consider it wel, but Reason cultiuated and perfected? Seing therefore Rea∣son is as natural to man, as man is to himself, because without it he is not Man, Vertue must consequently be in the same measure agreable vnto him. Which may be proued also by the natural & in-bred inclination and propen∣sion, which Man hath to Vertue, manifesting itself in the ioy, which we feele within ourselues, when we doe wel, & the sadnes on the other side, & de∣iection of mind, when we doe amisse. If therefore Nature be so desirous of Vertue, the practise of it must needs be easie and pleasant; for so we see it hapneth in euerie thing els. Al things take most conten••ment in that, which is most sutable to their nature, as, birds in flying, fishes in swimming, and euerie liuing creature in the food, which is most natural to it. For though thi•• inclination to Vertue, of which we speake, be much weakned by Ori∣ginal sinne, and the multitude of our owne offences; yet these are but out∣ward encombrances, as clowdes betwixt vs and the sunne, or ashes heaped vpon the embers; inwardly Nature stil inclineth to Vertue and good life, and Reason doth alwayes sway vs that way, whensoeuer these outward im∣pediments happen to be remoued.

* 1.872. And thus much concerning the superiour part of our soule; let vs see•• how the inferiour part therof stands affected. Aristotle sayth, that naturally it is subiect and obedient to the vpper part, which is Reason, and that therin it differeth from the rest of our vital functions, which are not pliable to the command of Reason, as the faculties which serue for nourishment, augmen∣tation, and the like. And though this sensual appetite of ours haue certain motions and inclinations to that which is delightful, which are peculiar to itself, yet in itself, and in euerie motion of it, it hath a reference to the light of Reason; for otherwise, sayth Aristotle, it were in vaine for our betters to repre∣hend vs, or our equals to admonish vs, or inferiours to entreate vs. And it is a strong argument, that it is so; because euerie thing doth naturally take contentment in that, which is like itself, and of the same rank and strayne. Our soule therefore being wholy spiritual, must necessarily be most delighted with things, that are spiritual. Whervpon Abbot Isaac, a most holie man (as Cassian relateth) compareth our soule to a feather.* 1.88

For as a feather, sayth he, if it haue no water or other grosse humour vpon it, is easily lifted vp from the earth on-high with euerie litle blast of wind; so the soule of man, being a spirit, hath a natural lightnes, which easily mounteth it to things supernal and Celestial, contemning base and earthlie things, if vice and worldlie care doe not oppresse it.

* 1.893. Finally, we shal not neede to demurre long vpon the proof of this point, seing no man can doubt of it, vnlesse he wil wrong the Diuine Wise∣dome, and accuse it of imprudence. For hauing created al men to the end, they might purchase eternal felicitie by good works and vpright liuing; it belonged to the self-same Prouidence (the nature wherof is to dispose al things sweetly) to make them of such a mold, as might not be repugnant and ad∣uerse to the end, for which they were created, and draw them from it, but rather further them, and put them forward, as farre as the strength of Na∣ture can goe, howsoeuer of itself alone it is not sufficient and strong enough to beare them quite through. And I see no reason, why we should make anie question, but that God hath dealt so with vs, seing he hath dealt so with al other creatures in the world. For because the end of the Fire is to be aboue al other Elements, God hath put a natural lightnes in it, proportionable to that end; in like manner the Earth is naturally heauie & lumpish, because the Cen∣ter therof is the midst of the world; & the same is in al things, that haue life, & in others also that haue no life. God therefore holding this course in things so farre inferiour to man, & ordained to ends farre vnequal in dignitie & worth; shal we think, he swarueth from it in a nature, that is the noblest of them al, & ordained to the highest End, that can be? S. Basil speaking of Charitie pro∣ueth by this verie argument, that it is easie and very natural for Man to loue God; and what he sayth of Charitie, may be applyed to al other Vertues. Charitie,* 1.90 sayth he, towards God, doth not depend vpon precepts of lear∣ning.

For as we doe not learne to looke vpon the light, and take pleasure in it; or to loue our owne life, or our parents, and those that haue giuen vs our breeding, much lesse doth anie outward learning teach vs to loue God, but at the instant that man entreth vpon his Being, he hath withal a natural instinct of reason ingrafted in him, contayning the beginning of a kind of

necessitie of louing him.

And proueth this his Tenet at large; because God hauing giuen Man diuers other natural abilities proportionable to the per∣formance of whatsoeuer he hath commanded, to the end he might not com∣plaine, that his Commandments are grieuous, it was farre more necess••rie he should do the like in the Commandment of the Loue of God, it being the greatest of al, and consequently most necessarie we should from our cradle haue an impulsion towards it, which might carrie vs vnto it. This and much more to the same effect is the discourse of S. Basil, which though it were of force only in Charitie, yet it were a great help in nature to al goodnes, in re∣gard of the command, which Charitie hath ouer al other vertues; but indeed that, which he sayth of Charitie, holds in others also: for the reason, which he giueth, takes place in al, to wit, it was necessarie, that in Nature itself there should be some beginnings of vertue, which might help it, not to resist, but the more readily to runne with the Commandments of God, to the end we might the more easily obey them.

4. That which we h••ue hither to sayd,* 1.91 is grounded vpon the facilitie of doing good, which God hath planted in our verie nature, which is nothing to that, which the force of Grace doth put into vs. That which is in Nature, is but a beginning, and a kind of seed, which of itself alone can doe nothing. Grace giueth the true forme and soule, as I may say, out of which vertuous actions doe proceed,* 1.92 and, in a word, it maketh man a new man, as the Apostle speaketh, Celestial and Diuine; and giueth vs a new hart, and reneweth an vpright spirit in our bowels. S. Macarius in one of his Homilies setteth forth the effect of this Grace very liuely, telling vs, that our Sauiour Christ came downe from heauen to change, to transforme, to renew our nature, and to new-molde this soule of ours, by sinne intangled in manie euil affections and dispositions, tempering it with his Diuine spirit.

He came, sayth he, to giue vs a new mind, a new soule,* 1.93 new eyes, new hands, a new spiritual tongue, and, to be short, to make those, that beleeue in him, new men. For he that encreased & multi∣plyed the substance of fiue Loaues; and gaue speach to the Asse, which by na∣ture was absolutly dumb; & made the Fire like a wind of dew blowing, not∣withstanding that naturally it burneth; and tamed the rage of the Lyons for Daniel's sake; he can also turne a soule into his goodnes and peace, & fil it with a good spirit, though of itself it be like a desert growne wild with sinne.

••. This S. Macarius speaketh of the Grace,* 1.94 which God offereth to al; but besides this, the peculiar Grace of a Religious vocation doth put so much new life and strength into them, that are endewed with it, that they performe with a great deale of facilitie, and, in a manner, with no labour at al, that, which others cannot away-with, that haue not that grace, and that, which indeed themselues could not do before. For as a beast, that hath no reason, cannot per∣forme anie thing, that properly belongs to reason, as, to inferre a Conclusion, to iudge of a thing, to giue aduice, to foresee that which is to come; but Man being endewed with reason, doth these things as easily as vse his hands & feet: so if a man haue not the vocation and spirit of God, which includeth Pouertie, & Obedience, and other vertues, it is wonderful hard for him to be content to haue nothing, and to yeald himself ouer to an other's wil; but if he haue this vocation, he taketh great comfort in it.

* 1.955. Finally, besides Nature and Grace, dailie practise breeds a custome and habit of doing wel, which is another Nature, altogeather as forcible and efficacious as Nature itself; and when it is once gotten and grounded in the mind, al vertuous actions are easie and pleasant. To which purpose S. Leo sayth very wel:* 1.96

The affection, which excludeth earthlie loue, is strengthned by custome of doing wel; because a man's conscience must ne∣cessarily take delight in good works, and willingly do that, which it is glad it hath done.

Religion therefore being nothing els but a continual prac∣tise and trading in al kind of vertue, the exercise of vertue must needs grow euerie day easier then other, and in time, as so manie goodlie trees, bring forth abundant fruit, and furnish a Religious soule with plentie, and profit, and heauenlie pleasure. This is the habit, which Cassian describeth in a certain place in these words,* 1.97 to wit:

When a soule is transformed into a habit of vertue, that is, when a man hath so accustomed himself vnto it, and gotten so much loue of it, that he thinks it the pretiousest thing in the world, and takes the transgression of vertue, or the poyson of sinne, to be the grieuousest torment that can be; when a man is come to this, he must needs take more contentment in his sober and continent life, then others doe in their incontinencie and riot; the flower of chastitie must needs be sweeter to him, then the filth of sensual pleasure to them that are sensual; finally, he cannot but reioyce more when he is humbled, and hapneth vpon an occasion of suffering for Christ, then worldlie ambitious people in the applause, and glorie, and preferments, which they so eagerly hunt after.

6. Vpon these and the like grounds we constantly auerre, as in the be∣ginning, that a Religious life is so farre from being harsh and difficult, that it is rather wonderful sweet and pleasant. And we may adde the testimonie of Reginaldus a Dominican-Friar, one of the first and principal companions of S. Dominick. He was a rich wealthie man in the world, and liued daintily at ease; after he had vndertaken that rigorous and paineful kind of life, they that knew him before, often asked him (not without some astonishment) whether he were not mightily troubled with it; and he alwaies answered with a chearful hart and countenance:* 1.98

I would haue you know▪ that al these things are so sweet and pleasant vnto me, that often I haue been grie∣ued at hart, that I liue so easily; and haue thought, that I merited nothing in this life by reason of it.

This was Reginaldus his answer; and manie more, yea al good Religious people, if they were asked, would answer the same. I myself haue heard manie speake to the same effect, and complaine grieuously, as if they lead an idle and lasie life; wheras notwithstanding they applyed themselues Religiously to those courses, which in a Secular eye, measuring al by Sense, seeme so harsh and rigid.

Of the pleasure, which is in a Religious life, by reason of the mortification of the Passions. CHAP. V.

IF we looke wel into ourselues, we shal find within vs a great diuersitie of Affections, which God hath planted in our nature for good ends, that as faithful and obedient seruants, they might be readie to execute vpon al occasions the commands of Rea∣son, and be at a beck in al things Whereby we may also see, that nothing can be more vnseemelie or more dangerous,* 1.99 then to let these our Passions loosse. For casting-of the yoake of Obedience, they trayle a man whi∣ther they list; and rule him, that should haue ruled them; as a horse without a bridle doth ouer-rule and endanger his rider.* 1.100 For this inferiour part of ours, which is the seate of anger and lust, is like to that, which is in beasts, and con∣sequently it hath no gouernment or wisedome in it, nor anie kind of light or vnderstanding. As therefore, if it were possible for a man to walk with his head downwards and his feet vpwards, besides the incommoditie, that al the filth and ordure would light presently vpon his face, which is the beau∣tifullest part of man, it would be an intollerable toyle, and labour, and payne to him, to suffer that alteration, so contrarie to the natural situation of his limmes; the like inconueniences doe happen in our inward man, when the order, which God hath setled betwixt the superiour and inferiour part of our soule, is turned vp-side downe. Aristotle himself saw the miserie of it,* 1.101 and describes it in these words:

Vitious people cannot be at quiet within themsel∣ues, but haue their minds turmoiled and distracted into seueral factions, as in a ciuill warre: one part of the mind grieuing at that, which it wanteth; the other reioycing in that, which it is a shame to enioy, and so is, as it were, dis∣ioynted & pulled hither and thither: and though no man can grieue and reioyce al at once, yet they presently grieue, because they did reioyce; and their life is alwaies ful of repentance. As therefore they, that are continually haled and hanted with these turbulent affections, as with so manie furies, are extreamly vnhappie; so they, that are voyde of passion, and haue al things quiet within them, must needs enioy that incomparable peace, which surpasseth al vnder∣standing, and leade a most sweet and pleasant life.

2. It wil not be amisse to heare,* 1.102 what one of the ancient Philosophers, and he that was the eloquentest among them, though a Heathen, doth speake in this matter.

What (sayth he) shal we say, when we see a man burning and raging with passionate affections, mad with vnsatiable desires of eue∣rie kind of thing,* 1.103 and the more profusely he followeth his pleasures in al things, the more tormented with firie thirst after them? may we not iustly say, he is a most miserable creature? what? he that set vpon a light pinne giueth himself to idle mirth and vnconsiderable gestures, is he not the more vnhappie, the more happie he thinks himself? As these therefore are miserable creatures, so they are happie, whome feare doth not fright,

whom sorrow doth not consume, whome passions of lust doe not disquiet, whome vaine mirth doth not dissolue into languishing pleasures. Now if there be a man, that can abide the brunt of Fortune, and think al things tollerable, that can anie way befal him in this life, and consequently is not touched with feare or grief, or moued with disordered desires, or set a-gog with some idle fancie of delight, why should we not account him happie? And if vertue be the cause of these effects, why should not vertue alone make vs happie?

This is that Heathen Philosopher's discourse,* 1.104 of which I know not what to say other, then that which S. Augustin, bringing his words vpon another occasion, sayd of him:

What doe you think of these words? were they not spoken by Truth itself by whose mouth he would?* 1.105 And that, which the Apostle sayd of the Cretensian Prophet: This testimonie is true.

3. We reade the like discourse in another Philosopher, who was also a Hea∣then, and giueth moreouer this reason of his saying:* 1.106 As health and the constant temper of our bodie is the ground of al the delight, which our bodie feeles, inso∣much that, when our bodie is distempered, we loathe the daintiest fare that is; so to the end, that we may taste the pleasures of the mind, our mind itself must be in good temper, that is, it must be voyd of feare, and enioy peace and tranquil∣litie within itself;* 1.107 if this health be wanting in our mind, we shal neuer know, what belongs to pleasure. For though we may be put in good hope for a while, and haue, as it were, a glimpse of delight; some care or other, some crosse anxietie rushing vpon vs, wil suddenly dash it, and amaze vs, as marriners at sea, when sayling with a prosperous gale, vnexpectedly they see thēselues vpon a rock. If our mind be in good order, as when we recouer of a sicknes, and our stomack begins to grow vpon vs, we relish coorse bread & cheese, and feed with delight vpon such grosse fare, though before we could not looke vpō the dayntiest fare that was, so if a man haue his mind purged of euil humours, he is alwaies con∣tent, euen in greatest want. Thou wilt be content, sayth he, with thy self, if thou once know what is good and vpright. Thou wilt abound in pouertie, and be a king; and a priuate ordinarie life wil be as welcome vnto thee, as to beare rule and be in office.

* 1.1084. Seing therefore there is so much happines, & so much pleasure to be had by healing and composing the turbulent humours of our mind, and that it is so much the more to be desired, the more agreable it is to Nature; let vs see, what helps Religious discipline doth afford towards the curing of them. First, it cut∣teth off the causes and occasions of them. For as Phisitians prescribe abstinence from certain meates that are hurtful and breed il humours in a man's bodie; so Religion barreth al things, by which disorder may rise; for that, which S. Gre∣gorie sayth,* 1.109 that al breach of charitie growes vpon desire of earthlie things, because others take that from vs which we loue, may be applyed to manie other things. For when∣soeuer we break forth into passion, and fal vpon others, the ground of it is the loue of some earthlie thing. This is the cause of strife, and debate, and brang∣lin••s, and that we runne ourselues vpon the pikes, and disquiet ourselues, and ag••tieue others and the like; with which disorders the world is so much di∣stracted and torne in peeces. Which made S. Macariu•• say,* 1.110 that the Sonnes of this world are like wheate in a siue or vanne. For being, as it were, cast into this world, as into a ••anne, they are continually tossed to and fro with vncon∣stant

thoughts, and tumbled vp and downe as in a tempestuous wind of earth∣lie cares and desires. And as the corne is neuer at rest, but throwne now against one side, now against the other, and in continual motion; so the authour of al wickednes, the Diuel, doth continually molest, and trouble, and disquiet them, hauing once intangled them in worldlie businesses, and giueth them not an howres respit. This was S. Macarius his conceipt of worldlie people. And S. Iohn Chrysostome wil tel vs,* 1.111 what we are to think of those, that liue in Reli∣gion. In one of his Homilies vpon S. Matthew he sayth, that there is as much diffe∣rence betwixt the most delightful life of a Monk (for so are his words) and the pleasures of Secular people, as betwixt a quiet hauen and a boisterous sea; and the ground of this felicitie, which Monks enioy, is, because auoyding the noyse and distraction, which publick places and markets are ful of, they liue where they haue nothing to doe with things of this world, where no human thing disquiets thē, no sadnes, no grief, no anxietie, no hazard, no enuie, no sinful loue nor anie thing of this nature; but giue themselues wholy to the contēplation of the Kingdome which is to come, and whatsoeuer leades to it. This is the first help, which Religion affords towards the alaying of the heate of our Passions.

* 1.1125. Another medecine it hath, which takes away the verie root of the disease. Two things set our Passions on fire: the apprehension of good, and the appre∣hension of euil. For when a thing is represented vnto vs as good, the verie ap∣prehension, which Nature hath of a thing sutable vnto it, stirres vp loue; if we haue not the thing, loue breedes desire; if we haue it, it breedes content and pleasure. Contrariwise if we conceite a thing to be euil or hurtful; we hate it; hatred makes vs fly from it and auoyd it; if we cannot auoyd it, but that it wil come vpon vs, then comes grief and sadnes. In like manner, in that part of our Appetite, which is the seate of Anger, two seueral motions rise vpon the apprehension of good, to wit, hope and despaire, two vpon the appre∣hension of imminent euil, feare and audacitie; one vpon the euil which is pre∣sent, to wit, anger, which differs from sadnes, in respect it doth not yeald to the euil, that presseth vpon vs, but striueth against it and resisteth it. Seing therefore the whole troupe of our Affections is lead by this one Apprehension of Good and Euil, looke what apprehension or iudgement we make of good and euil, such shal we find the desires and affections of our mind to be.* 1.113 Now the whole drift of Religion is to alter our apprehension from earthlie things, which falsly vsurpe the name of good, to spiritual things, which are truly good, and indeed to rid vs wholy of them, and free our hands from them, to the end we may attend the more perfectly to the pursuite and purchase of that, which is spiritual only; which whosoeuer doth compasse, doth as it were at one blow cut-of al the roots and strings, that feed Passiō. For what should trouble a man, that is thus setled? what shal he need to be afrayd of? least his marchandise perish by shipwrack? or his corne & wine by hayle? or his sonne dye vnder age? or least men be offended with him? or he leese the fauour of his Prince? He hath voluntarily stolen himself from al these things,* 1.114 and consequently preuented al▪ such casualties, and made himself impregnable for whatsoeuer assault of For∣tune.

6. Finally, there is this mayne difference betwixt temporal and spiritual things. Temporal things are easily lost, and subiect to infinit casualties;

and therefore the getting of them, and the holding, are alwaies ful of endlesse care and anguish: Spiritual things are giuen vs by God; & no power vpon earth nor in hel can take them from vs against our wil; and consequently they that trade in them, liue voyde of al feare, sauing that which the Prophet calleth a holie feare, which keepeth vs alwaies in subiection to God, acknowledging his infinit power ouer vs; and this feare is not only quiet and peaceable, but (which a man would wonder at) encreaseth confidence and securitie.

7. The endeauour of euerie Religious man in particular togeather with the assistance of his gouernours and Superiours, is moreouer no smal help to the rooting-out of al disordered motions; specially being a thing, which eue∣rie one doth apply himself with feruour vnto, as the chief exercise and ex∣ploit, in which he is to play his prize. And what shal I say of the honour and pleasure, which a man findes in following of Vertue? or of the ioyes of spirit, and that most sweet repast of mind, which we enioy by conuersing with God▪ Which from the Mind diffused into Sense, doth so satisfye the hunger therof with food of a higher nature, that it loatheth euer after al ordinarie and vulgar meates. Finally sobrietie and moderation in diet and apparrel helpeth to the or∣dering of our Passions. For as fulnes of meate, and drink, and dayntie fare doth dead the spirit, and quicken sense; so sobrietie tames that part of vs, which gapes after pleasure, and makes it not so forward to kick; as a beast, that is abridged of his oates,* 1.115 is the tamer by it; and the other part, which is the seate of Reason and counsel, is the more quick and able; both which S. Basil expresseth in these words:

As a fountain of water drayned into seueral bran∣ches, makes the land, through which it runnes, fertil and fresh; so if the vice of gluttonie spreading itself through the veynes of our hart, and running from thence, water al our senses, it must needs turne our soules into a wood of lustful desires, and make it a receptacle of wild beasts.

7. These be the helps, by which Religion brings a Soule to that quiet state of mind we speake of; and composing and keeping downe our Passions, deliuers the command and rule into the hands of Reason,* 1.116 which only ought to rule; and Reason free from the violence and encombrance of them, is wil∣lingly subiect to the wil of God, and consequently, as in a wel-ordered fami∣lie, there is no dissension, no discord, no contradiction; but euerie one atten∣deth to his office, and performeth his dutie with ease and diligence. Who ther∣fore can doubt, but such a Soule so ordered, is in a most happie and most de∣lightful state, tasting vpon earth the first fruits of the Celestial habitation, where euerie thing shal be brought to a most perfect peace and concord? Which I take to be that peace, and that sitting at rest and quiet, and that in∣ward silence, which is promised by the Prophet Esay to Vertue by the gene∣ral name of Iustice, which giues euerie one his due. For no State doth so per∣fectly giue euerie one his due as Religion, giuing, and restoring, and perfectly subiecting vs to God, whose we are al of vs by right, as I shewed else-where. And the work of Iustice, sayth he, shal be peace; and the performance of Iustice, silence and securitie for euer. And my people shal sit in the beautie of peace, and in tabernacles of con••idence, and in a quiet ful of wealth. What doth man desire more then rest and quiet? not that rest which is idle and vnfruitful, store wherof we see in idle people of the world; but such as is wealthie, and profitable, and furnished with al spiritual commodities; as the holie Prophet describeth it.

Of the pleasure, which Religious people take in Prayer. CHAP. VI.

TO the delights, which we haue hitherto spoken of, we may adde the comfort of Prayer and Meditation, which taketh-vp great part of a Religious life. How great the sweetnes of it is, and how properly Religion may be sayd to be the true seate of it,* 1.117 Esay the Prophet wil tel vs, comprizing both in these few words:

The sonnes of the stranger, who adhere to our Lord to worship him, and loue his name, and to be his seruants, euerie one that keepeth the Sabbaoth, least he pollute it, and obserueth my Couenant; I wil bring them to my holie hil, and make them ioyful in the house of my prayer; their Holocausts and their Sacrifices shal please me vpon my Altar, because my house shal be called the house of prayer to al people. This is the large pro∣mise of the Holie-Ghost, which not only for the inward sense, but euen for the outward sound of the words doth so properly agree to euerie Religious per∣son, that we may spare to interprete it further,* 1.118 least (as S. Augustin sayth in a certaine place vpon the like occasion) 〈◊〉〈◊〉 dead the sauour of the Prophetical speach.

And what wonders is it, that God shewing his Prophets his Church, that was to come, should withal shew them so long-before the beautie of a Religious course, which is so noble a part of the Church?

2. First therefore the name of Strangers doth fitly sute with them;* 1.119 because they haue nothing in the world of their owne, but, as pilgrims, vse it as if they did not vse it; they haue no permanent cittie of abode, but seeke that which is to come; they adhere to our Lord, being fastned vnto him with the strong and indissoluble bond of their Vow; and are truly his seruants, and so stiled by al, because they liue continually in his seruice, and their glorie is, to be called as they are; they offer vnto him Holocausts and Sacrifices, and that often, because they offer themselues wholy; and they keepe his Sabbaoth, liuing, not lazily without profit to themselues or others, as the people of the world oftimes do, but a quiet and retired life ful of holines and deuotion, keeping holie-day from the works of the earth, and bestowing themselues wholy in the contemplation and loue of God.

3. Now why may not Religion be called also the House of Prayer,* 1.120 which God doth so much honour as to stile it His House; seing it requireth so much exercise of prayer, and affordeth so much commoditie of performing it, as it ought to be performed? For first Religion riddeth vs of al outward care not only of following husbandrie, or trading in marchandize and such like ne∣gotiations of greater consequence, but of those, which are of lesse note, as the care of household-busines, education of children, finally of al. These are the banes of Meditation and Contemplation, not only because they take vp al our time, but much more because they stirre vp so manie passions of anger, and feare, and sadnes, according to the seueral euents which happen. These

Passions partly disquiet our mind, that it can settle to nothing, and con∣sequently absolutly hinder Contemplation; partly they do so ouerwhelme it, that they dead our spirits, and suck-out al the iuyce, which is in vs.

For that,* 1.121 which Abbot Isaac (a great man) in Cassian doth deliuer, cannot be denyed: to wit, that to pray wel, it is necessarie vniuersally to cut-of al care of carnal things (for so he speaketh) Secondly, that we doe not only shot out care, but the verie memorie of al kind of busines; thirdly we must cut off al detraction, multiplicitie of idle words, and, aboue al, the passions of anger and sadnes; finally, vtterly roote-out the remaynder and occasion of auarice and carnal concupiscence.

Which if it be true, certainly the true exer∣cise of prayer is as rare in the world, as these hindrances and inconueniences are frequent in it; and contrariwise in Religion it is easie to practise it; because the state itself hath alreadie barred al these impediments.

* 1.1224 Moreouer Chastitie and a single life is a great help to Prayer; which in reason euerie bodie may see to be true, and the Apostle sayth it, commending Virginitie and a single life; because (as he speaketh) it giues a man leaue to pray to our Lord without hindrance. The reason wherof among others, as I take it,* 1.123 is, because as our mind growes lumpish, and beareth alwayes downewards to base and earthlie things, by the vse of corporal pleasure: so by continencie it becomes light and quick, and able, as it were with certain wings, to life itself vp to God; the puritie, which is in itself, furthering the coniunction of it to that puritie,* 1.124 which is God. The humilitie also of so poore an estate, and so farre from al human glorie, is a special disposition to Prayer. For as we reade of our Sauiour, that in his life-time he louingly embraced the little ones, that were brought vnto him, and checked his Disciples that would haue forbidden them, saying: Let the little-ones come to me; for of such is the Kingdome of heauen.* 1.125 So we haue iust cause to think, that he practiseth the same now in heauen; and conuerseth familiarly with such as be little. For if he made so much demonstration of loue towards them, that had nothing humble in them, but the tendernes of their age, how much greater signes of loue wil he shew to them, that haue voluntarily humbled themselues, and brought themselues to that excesse of Pouertie and meane estate, which the Reli∣gious liue in? So that for these and manie other reasons there can be no doubt, but that Religion is the House of Prayer, that is, the most com∣modious, and most conuenient place that can be, to exercise our mind in prayer, and continue our thoughts in contemplation of heauenlie things.

* 1.1265. Now to speake of the delight and pleasure, which is in this noble Exercise, God expresseth it in the words following: I wil make them ioyful in the house of my prayer. He makes himself the authour of this ioy, and truly he is so; because it proceedes from him, and is of him. It proceedes from him, because he infuseth it into our soules, the beames of his light shine vpon vs, his holines and his inspirations fal vpon our harts. It is of him, be∣cause there is nothing els before our eyes to cause this ioy; neither can so great ioy and contentment rise but of God. So that we find S. Bernard's saying to be true:* 1.127 By prayer we drink the wine that reioyceth the hart; the wine of spirit, which maketh vs drunk, and bringeth obliuion of

carnal pleasure; And S. Augustin's: The teares of them that pray, are sweeter then the ioyes of them that goe to playes.* 1.128 S. Francis was often wont to commend spiritual mirth and chearfulnes to his Religious, as a spe∣cial defence against the temptations of the Diuel;* 1.129 and sayd, that the ground of this chearfulnes was puritie of mind, and that it was to be purchased by good works, but chiefly by Prayer; and therefore whensoeuer we find a storme of sadnes come vpon vs, we should betake ourselues to prayer, as to a harbour or quiet hauen. And certainly if we find so much delight in con∣versing with men of learning and wisedome, that we can spend whole dayes with them to our great contentment and satisfaction; what shal we think of the communication and conuersation, which we may haue continually with the holie Angels, to whome we are so manie wayes obliged for their charitie & care ouer vs? or with the other Saints of Heauen, that know by experience, what it is to carrie this burden of flesh with which we are loaded? or with the Queene of Saints and Angels, then whome vnder God there is nothing in this world more beautiful, nothing that thought or affection can fixe itself vpon, with more delight and sweetnes?

6. What shal I say of GOD himself? First, the infinitnes of his Nature,* 1.130 his endlesse Goodnes, Power, and al things of excessiue perfection conteyned in it, affordeth a Soule a boundles scope to walk in; and walking without end, it cannot but be absorpt in a bottomlesse deapth of delight. From thence againe reflecting vpon the consideration of the benefits, which God hath powred forth vpon vs, either out of the superabundant bountie of his loue and good wil, or out of the natural inclination, as I may say, which he hath to liberalitie; and much more vpon those, in which so great a Maiestie hath taken so much paynes for our sakes; calling to mind his sorrowes, his torments, the manger, his pouertie, his whipping, his crowne of thornes, his Crosse, and pondering euerie thing with attention, and seazing vpon them in contempla∣tion, as vpon an infinit treasure of wealth and riches now belonging to our∣selues, and made to our vse; what ioy, what gladnes, what contentment must a Soule needes take in it? This causeth a fountain of teares to gush forth from our eyes, this melts vs into a most sweet veyne of weeping, this maketh our hart to leape for ioy within vs, and diffuseth itself to our verie flesh; beholding such infinit testimonies of the Diuine loue towards vs, which of itself is enough to rauish vs with delight; and againe tasting so manie wayes of the fruits of this loue, by his heauenlie care and prouidence ouer vs, grace in this life, and assured hope of eternal blisse in the life to come. And though we lay aside the consideration of the profit, which comes vnto vs, the verie approaching to God by prayer and communication with him, is a thing of another world. For as they, that come neare the fire, grow warme by the heat of it, and whatsoeuer is mingled with honie, doth taste of the sweetnes of honie; so whosoeuer conioyneth himself with God, and, as I may say, plungeth himself into the fountain of al goodnes and happines, must needes by in great measure happie; as we reade in the holie Scripture, that Moyses by the communication,* 1.131 which he held with God, receaued so much light inwardly in his mind, that it was seen in his face, as two hornes in his forehead.

7. These be the incomparable delights and daynties, which the seruants of God enioy, and the dailie food where with they are fatned; that we may not wonder, if ful of this spiritual marrow and fatnes, they be so strong and able, and compasse so great works in matter of vertue and the seruice of God, with ease.* 1.132 This enabled S. Antonie so farre, that, as it is recorded of him, oftentimes beginning his prayer at the shutting-in of the euening, he was found at break-of-day in the same posture; complayning of the light, that it rose too early. We reade almost the same of Arsenius,* 1.133 that setting himself to his prayer in the euening, and leauing the sunne behind him going downe, neuer stirred til in the morning the sunne shined againe in his face.* 1.134 Syluanus was euer wont to keepe his eyes shut, after he had been long at his prayers, that coming, as be sayd, from the wonderful sight of heauenlie things, he might not be troubled with the deformitie of earthlie obiects.* 1.135 What shal we say of S. Francis, who was sometimes lifted vp from the ground to a man's height, sometimes as high as the tops of trees, often also as high as the clowdes? Or of others without number, whose extasies, and rapts, and long prayers are ful of such like mi∣racles? Of which kind we might find plentie in our dayes, if it were not from our purpose to stand rehearsing them al. And we that are of the manie, and cannot looke for such extraordinarie fauours at God's hands, yet in the verie mediocritie, which he is pleased to imparte vnto vs, find so much sweetnes, that the little,* 1.136 which we enioy, is desireful aboue gold and precious stone, and sweetes then home and the home-combe.

Of manie other spiri••ual delights, which Religious people enioy. CHAP. VII.

* 1.137IT is recorded of S. Laurence Iustinian (of whose sanctitie and wisdome we haue had often occasion to speake) that he was wont to say in commendation of a Religious life, among other things; that God hath of purpose concealed and hidden the pleasure of it; because if men did know what it was, they would not be able to stay themselues from running to it,* 1.138 and the world be wholy dispeopled.

2. This testimonie of so great a man is the more weightie, because he spake of his owne experience in commendation of the life, in which he had been bred vp, and continued from his youth, and was a man of so great a wit, and, which is the principal, so abundantly furnished with the light of Grace, that his verdict must needs be of great authoritie; though he is not alone of this opinion; for al men concurre in the same, and they most of al, that haue most constantly & with most feruour followed this course of life.* 1.139 Palladius relateth of Apollo, who was a famous man among the ancient Heremits, that hauing fiue hundred disciples, he was wont to bid them to be alwayes chearful and merrie; And a man should not meete vpon earth such mirth and exultation as

was continually among them. For he sayd, it was an vnseemlie thing for anie of them to be sad and heauie,* 1.140 that had such assured hopes of eternal happines. The Infidels, and Iewes, and wicked Christians might with reason be truly sorrowful; but the seruants of God should alwayes reioyce. For if people, that traffick in earthlie things, reioyce in them; why should not Religious people, that are in present possession of so manie good things▪ and doe so certainly hope for the happines of the life to come, be in perpetual gladnes? This was the saying of that ancient Father; and he sayd true.

3. For first in this state people haue the comfort of a good Conscience,* 1.141 which, if things goe wel with vs, doth much encrease our ioy; if they happen crosse as sometimes perhaps they wil, it is a great solace vnto vs, and in fine giueth life to al the howres a Religious man doth liue. For a good Conscience is, as it were, a Maister or Tutour, that stādeth at our elbow, both in regard of the light belon∣ging vnto it, which without much ad••e easily discerneth good from euil, iust from that which is vniust; and in regard of the propension, which it giues to our wil, to loue that which is good, and to shunne that, which appeares to be euil; so that whosoeuer resisteth this light, and this inclination or propension, must needs be in continual torment and vexation; whosoeuer goeth with it & obeyeth it,* 1.142 liues in ioy and comfort. This we haue out of S. Iohn Chrysostom, who speaketh thus; Though there be some paynes to be taken in the practise of ver∣tue, yet it sils a man's conscience with a great deale of pleasure, and brings so much inward delight with it, that it cannot be expressed in words.

For what is delightful in things present? a board wel furnished? health of bodie? riches? But al the sweetnes that is in anie of these, is bitter, compared with that delight. For nothing is more pleasant then a good Conscience, and good hope.

4. And this contentment of a good Conscience, which according to S. Iohn Chrysostom is so ful of sweetnes, is not alone in Religion, but bringeth manie other pleasures with it; which S. Macarius speaking of this verie abundance of spiritual comforts in one of his Homilies setteth forth in liuelie coulours,* 1.143 and sayth thus:

It fareth with the seruants of God sometimes, as with them, that sit at a Prince's table royally set-forth with al kindes of choice meates, and there they exult with a gladnes, which no man can come neare to expresse in words, and with admirable satietie and contentment. Sometimes they are like a bride melting with vncōceauable heauenlie delight in the armes of God their Spouse. Sometimes they are like Angels, that haue no bodies, & arriue to such a lightnes and freedome, that the weight of their bodie troubleth them no more, then if they had none at al. Sometimes they are so ful of pleasure, as if they had drunk largely of the best wine that is; and are euen drunk with a holie drunkennes of Diuine mysteries, & are not sensible of anie thing that passeth in this life Some∣times they are like mourners, lamenting the miseries of mankind, powring forth their prayers to God for the saluation therof, readie to lay downe their owne life and soule at stake, for the good of others. Sometimes they do so burne with this spiritual loue of their Neighbour, that, if it were possible, they would hide al men, good and bad, within their bowels. Againe at other times they cast themselues so farre vnder al mens feet, through humilitie of spirit, that they make account they are the least, and the lowest, and the worst of al men in the world. Contrariwise sometimes they resemble a stout warrier, that

gathering his weapons to him, goeth of his owne accord into the field, and valiantly encountreth his enemies. Oftimes their soule reposeth in profound silence, enioying most sweet and quiet peace, and taking vnspeakable delight in it. Finally oftimes their mind is so cleared by the guift of the Holie-Ghost, which we cal Vnderstanding and Wisedome, that in an instant it conceaueth things, which no tongue can expresse.

Al this is out of S. Macarius.

5. How rare and admirable therefore must that course of life needs be, which swimmeth in al these delights, and is serued with ioy after ioy, and contentment after contentment, as a sumptuous bancket with dish after dish? Which the Prophet Dauid deseruedly admireth in these words:* 1.144 How great is the multitude of thy sweetnes, ô Lord, which thou hast hidden for these that sent thee? It is great, but hidden, and knowne to them only, that truly feare God. And they are in a great errour that think, that they that vow themselues to God, prouide wel for the good and safetie of their Soules, but buy this sa∣fetie at a high rate of excessiue toyle.* 1.145 For it is not so; this spiritual iourney hath also pleasure with it; and greater pleasure, then flesh and bloud is capable of; and conformably thervnto nothing is more often repeated in holie Writ, or more seriously inculcated. Light (sayth Dauid) arose to the lust, and gladnes to the vpright of hart;* 1.146 as who should say: That is true gladnes, which riseth of the light of our mind, and the vprightnes of our hart. And againe: How sweet are thy speeches to my tawes, aboue honie to my mouth! And: A 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of exultation and health in the tabernacles of the Iust. Let the iust make feasts and exult in the sight of God. My soule that exult in our Lord, and delight in the Sa∣uiour therof; al my bones shal say: Lord, who is like to thee? But he comes most neare vnto vs, and speaketh in a manner particularly to vs, that dwel in the House of God, when he sayth: They shal be drunk of the plentie of thy House, and thou wilt make them drink of the torrent of thy pleasure. He calles it a Torrent, in regard of the plentie; and because the source of it is not in the earth, but in heauen, and raynes downe abundantly from about. He likeneth it to drunkennes; because they that are silled with these com∣forts, like people that are drunk, haue not only perfectly drowned and quenched their thirst, but see not the things, which are vpon earth, or at leastwise take no heed to that, which is before their eyes, and inwardly burne with a spiritual fire and feruour,* 1.147 putting them vpon manie actions, which others perhaps may think foolish or impertinent. The Prophet Esay speaketh to the same effect in diuers places, and particularly when he sayth: I wil put the desert therof as delight, and the solitude as a garden of our Lord. 〈◊〉〈◊〉 and gladnes shal be found in it, thankes-giuing and a voice of prayse. A happie Desert, wherin so much ioy abundeth! And what can this Desert or solitude be more truly thought to be, then Religion, which is a place seuered from companie, from honour, riches, and al worldlie commodities?

* 1.1486. Finding this and much more in holie Writ, which can not deceaue vs, though we could not feele anie thing of it by experience, it should be notwithstanding sufficient to make vs beleeue it more certainly and more vndoubtedly then anie thing which we see with our eyes, or touch with our hands; because our senses may deceaue vs, the Word of God can not. And yet we may strengthen this, which we haue sayd, by consideration of

the natural disposition, as I may say, of God, and his infinit goodnes; which hauing shewed itself so farre, as to make him come downe from heauen, and suffer himself to be bound to a pillar, and whipped, and crowned with thornes, and nayled vpon a Crosse for his enemies, what wil he not doe for his friends? what wil he not doe for his children? specially the first costing him his life and bloud, wheras in affording these comforts, he is to be at no labour, nor to suffer the least blemish of anie happines belonging vnto him. So that there can be no doubt, but that his infinit bountie wil be alwayes liberal towards his seruants, according to his wonted custome and good Nature.

7. What trouble therefore can there be in this life so great, which these comforts wil not sweeten? or what infirmitie so weake as not to be fully strengthned by these heauenlie guifts? or what other thing so hard and harsh to man,* 1.149 which seasoned with these delights, wil not haue a daintie relish and easie disgestion? S. Bernard sayd wel in a long and eloquent Sermon, which he made of the happines of Religious people:

It was part of the liberalitie of God, not only to lay before vs the reward of eternal life, but to promise vs spiritual ioyes euen in this life. For so also the workmen of this world are wont to haue their meat at their work, and their hire in the end. In like manner souldiers receaue their pay, because their labour re∣quires it; and at last they are rewarded with a larger Donatiue, according to the measure of their labours.

So the Children of Israel, til they entred vpon the Land of Promise,* 1.150 wanted not their Manna in the Desert. This double promise is euidently also expressed by the Prophet, when he sayth: God wil repay the reward of their labours; and leade them in a wonderful way. This way is the way of the testimonies (of the Commandments) of God;* 1.151 wherin another Prophet testifyeth, that he delighted as in al the riches of the world.

8. We haue manie examples,* 1.152 which proue this abundance of spiritual comfort, of which we are speaking. Cassian relateth, that a holie Abbot, ••amed Iohn, was wont to be filled with such wonderful inward sweetnes, that he did not remember,* 1.153 whether he had eaten anie thing the day be∣fore. Blessed Ephrem finding his hart readie to burst with heauenlie ioy,* 1.154 was wont to cry out: Depart from me, ô Lord, a little; because the weaknes of this vessel is not able to abide it.* 1.155 S. Bernard was so absorpt with the like ioyes, that riding al day long by the side of a lake, he did not marke, that there was anie such thing; and liuing a whole yeare in a Celle, did not know, whether it were open at top or no. And it is so ordinarie to reade of this kind of fruits in those dayes, that we way spare a labour of rehearsing them. Neither is our Age barren of them; or can they indeed be wanting in anie, because God neuer leeseth of his bountie and liberalitie, which is the stock from which they grow; though they may perhaps not be so apparent, because they are fresh, and people be yet aliue, and consequently their actions haue not that authoritie, which Antiquitie affordeth.

9. They that were inward with our Father and Founder S. Ignatius,* 1.156 re∣port of him, that he had such continual abundance of spiritual teares, that his eyes decaying with it, he almost lost his sight; and had doubtles vtterly lost it, but that vpon aduice of Physicians and request of some of his

Companie, he obtayned of God the sauour to haue them as it were at com∣mand, to giue them scope, or restraine them, as he thought good.

* 1.15710. S. Francis Xauier was often seen to lay his hands vpon his breast, & with his eyes lifted vp to heauen, out of the abundance of heauenlie comfort, to cry out: It is enough, O Lord, it is enough; as if he could beare no more, as we sayd of S. Ephrem. And when he was in iourney, which he alwayes made on foot, his mind was so fixed and absorpt in God, that going out of his way, he often went vpon thornes, and bryars, and stones, and heeded it not; and by reason of it, his feete and his legs were alwayes bloudie, and ful of matterie sores; and he notwithstanding did not feele it. And of my owne knowledge, I know manie of this our Societie, and haue heard of more, that haue been so familiar with God, that they haue liued perpetually in these kinds of comforts and ioyes; & could name them, but that I haue a custome (and meane to hold it) to name no man, while he is aliue. But these fauours are extraordinarie; and doubtles happen not to al.

* 1.15811. There be other great comforts, and of great value, which are ordinarie, & very frequent, or rather daylie, and may be and are obtayned by following the common and ordinarie manner of a Religious life, as being grounded in puritie of hart, & the practise of vertue, & mortification, which are the daylie exercises of Religion. For as the Sunne communicateth his light to euerie thing, accor∣ding to the disposition, which it findeth in the thing itself; if the ayre be pure, it filleth it ful of light; if it be clowdie & ful of mists, it doth not therefore leaue it wholy destitute of light, but giues it so much, as the grossenes of the ayre wil admit of, and pearceth into a house by the passages & chinks, which it findes, as farre as the chinks wil giue it leaue: In like manner God dealeth with vs, his nature being no lesse inclinable to doe good, then the Sunne to giue light. To great men, where he findeth no hindrance, he communicateth himself largely & fully; others, that are not yet perfect, but haue certain clowdes within them, he doth not wholy forsake or neglect, but giueth them so much right, as is pro∣portionable to their capacitie. So that though our weaknes come farre sho•••• of the height, to which the Saints are arriued, yet God stooping to out infirmitie, neuer suffereth them that follow him,* 1.159 as I sayd before, into the Desert, to goe away fasting, least they saynt by the way, but filleth them in such abundance, that manie chests of fragments remaine. And these comforts and ioyes of themselues are so great, that the least drop of them is able to extinguish al feeling and desire of worldlie comfort.

* 1.16012. And thus much of the multiplicitie of delight, which the vse of spiritual things affords Religious people, which is the principal; and yet they are not altogeather debarred of pleasure in temporal things; yea oftimes they are so ful of contentment in them, that worldlie people haue not more, though they be neuer so greedie of them, & runne headlong after them. I speake not of fleshlie delights, or those which cannot be had without sinne; for no man in his right ••••its can place true contentment in them, the first being beastlie, and the second bringing a remorse, which alone tormenteth a man more, then al the rest, which is in them, can giue him ease. Setting therefore these aside, and speaking of a man, as he is truly Man, that is, of one that gouerneth himself by reason, I may truly say, that spiritual men take more contentment in the things

of this world, then anie carnal people whatsoeuer. For carnal people set their harts wholy vpon that, which is the least and meanest in euerie creature, to wit, vpon the outside of it only; and following that, inordinatly and too too gree∣dily, what doe they but that which S. Augustin confesseth of himself?* 1.161 They cast themselues deformedly vpon the beautieful things, which God created. But spiritual men proceede farre after another fashion, and take another way more apt to breed contentment.* 1.162 And we may declare it by that, which S. Bonauenture writeth of S. Francis; for thus he speaketh of him:

He tooke an incredible delight in the creatures themselues, and was wont to exult in them, beholding them al as the works of God; and, as it were, drinking of the fountain of his infinit goodnes in the streames of these seueral things that runne from him, and considering the natures, and qualities, and effects, which God hath bestowed vpon euerie one of them, togeather with the order, and connexion, and beautie, wherin they are ranked and set forth, it was like a heauenlie harmonie and consort of Musick to the eares of his soule, & in the beautifulnes of them he did acknow∣ledge and loue God, who is aboue al things beautiful. This was the manner, which S. Francis held, and al doe imitate him, that haue not eyes only in their bodie, as a horse and a mule, who haue no vnderstanding, but make vse of the eyes of their mind.

13. Now how farre this delight doth surpasse that, which ignorant and car∣nal people take,* 1.163 S. Cyprian wil tel vs, if we giue care vnto him; for he vseth this verie argument to perswade people from going to stage-playes:

A Christian, sayth he, hath better sights to behold, if he wil: he hath delights, which are ho∣lie and truly profitable, if he be think himself; and to omit those, which he can∣not yet behold, he hath the beautie of this world, which he may worthily stand to consider and admire. He may behold the rising of the Sunne, and againe the setting, the vicissitude wherof maketh day & night; the sphere of the Moone, marking-out the times by continual encrease and decrease; the multitude of glittering starres; and the parts of the yeare diuided by seueral changes.

And so discourseth at large of the wonderful works of God in Nature, shewing how a Christian may take much more contentment by contemplating these things, then anie man can doe in beholding a play or anie such idle trifle, wherewith the vulgar is so much lead away. So that if we lay al these things togeather, the outward and the inward contentments, those that are spiritual belonging to the mind, & those which I spake off last belonging to the bodie, it is euident, that nothing can be more delightful thē a Religious life, where euerie thing is so ful of ioy, and the pleasures therof so interlaced one with another, and so continual, and withal so real and solide, and (as S. Cyprian speaketh) so benefi∣cial, one ouertaking another, and most commonly at one and the self-same time, one following vpon the nick of another, that we may wel think, that our Sauiour makes his word good in it,* 1.164 when he sayd: He came to the end his Elect might haue life, and haue more abundantly, that is, a more d••lightful and more contented life, and more ful of pleasure, then worldlings themselues.

Of the contentment, which Religious people take in Pouertie. CHAP. VIII.

THere want not other fountaines of pleasure in Religion; and among them we may iustly reckon Pouertie; howsoeuer it may seeme a Paradox to them, that (to vse the words of the Prophet Dauid) cal the people happie,* 1.165 that abound in tem∣poral things, and haue manie sonnes and daughters very fayre and beautiful, multitudes of flocks of fruitful sheep, granaries so ful that they need to be emptied one into another. These people in the vogue of the world are accounted happie; but the holie Prophet in∣stantly correcteth this errour, and sheweth vs a truer and a better happines: Blessed is the people,* 1.166 whose Lord is their God. And who is there but wil grant, that Religious people haue God for their Lord and Soueraigne, and serue him alone so intirely, that they acknowledge no other Lord but him? And they are indeed a People, because they serue not God a-part, but associated togeather with certain lawes and rules, and in one place, with al things common among them, the number of them makes a familie, and, as it were, a nation of people. To this people therefore we may also fitly apply that, which the same Prophet sayth in another place:* 1.167 Blessed is the people, that knoweth Iubi∣lation. For wheras there be diuers other spiritual Soules, that abound with heauenlie comfort and sweetnes, and in their secret retirements enioy their delights by themselues; Religious people dwelling togeather, are as a multi∣tude that liueth in perpetual exultation, and the concurrence of so manie ioy∣ful Soules doubles their Iubilation.

* 1.1682. Blessed therefore is this people, though it haue none of that temporal wealth, wherin the world placeth so much happines; yea the more blessed, because it hath it not; for withal it is free from the infinit troubles and mole∣stations, which wayte vpon the abundance of worldlie wealth; and they that by the light of God's grace can discouer that, which is inward, doe plaine∣ly see, that one chief happines of Pouertie is, to be free from the vnfortunate goods of Fortune. S. Gregorie vnderstanding this very wel, applyed that place of holie Iob (When he shal be filled,* 1.169 he shal be streightned; he shal be in perplexitie, and euerie grief shal rush vpon him) to a wealthie man, that hath his fil of euerie kind of worldlie thing,* 1.170 and liues in al abundance.

For first, sayth S. Gregorie, he had sorrow in the tediousnes of his desires, how he might compasse his intentions, how he might come by some things by f••re meanes, and some by fowle. When he hath his desire by possessing the thin••s desired, then another grief vexeth him: he is sollicitous and feareful how he may keepe that, which he knowes he purchased with a great deale of labour. He is iealous or euerie bodie, and suspicious of deceipt, fearing that

he may suffer by another, that which he did to others. If he see a man more powerful then himself, he feares he may oppresse him. If he see a poore man, he suspects him for a theef; and it is no smal care which he hath, least the things themselues, which he hath gathered, waste of their owne nature, and by want of looking-to; and in al things feare itself being a torment, he miserably suffers, whatsoeuer he feares he may suffer.

Thus spake S. Gregorie very truly, iudiciously obseruing, that though there were no danger from abroad to be feared, that which is intrinsecal and in-bred in the verie nature of euerie temporal thing, can neuer be wanting, to wit, that things of themselues grow old and go to decay, and cannot be preserued without excessiue care, but are like a house, that is conti∣nually panching, vnlesse a man be alwaies vnderpropping and bolstering it vp, and haue his eye and care perpetually vpon it. And consequently the more wealth we heape togeather, the more we encrease with payne and sollicitude; and the verie sollicitude and labour about it, bereaues vs quite of the ioy, which is imagined in it. It is therefore no smal happines and comfort, to be free from so manie vexations, specially about things, which in themselues are so base, and indeed vnprofitable.

3. Secular people themselues, and the greatest louers of worldlie wealth among them, confesse that to be rich, is ful of trouble, but wil needs perswade vs, that the trouble is abundantly recompensed by the manie commodities and pleasures, which wealth doth bring with it. Let vs therefore see, what kind of compensation this is.* 1.171 If we looke into the grounds of Nature, as we ought, whatsoeuer is in the world, was made for the maintenance of man, to furnish him with meate, drink, cloath, house-roome, and the like. As for money, the vse of it of itself is impertinent to this purpose,* 1.172 but was introduced meerely for the easier exchange of things necessarie for sustenance, that (as Aristotle obserueth) he that hath plentie of one thing, might with his money purchase some others, which he hath not. So that money being a bare instrument for the get∣ting of necessaries, and, as it were, a supply, where they are wanting, it must needs follow, that there can be no other end or vse of hauing it, then that, for which we vse al other natural things, to wit, for our bodilie suste∣nance; that which is beyond this,* 1.173 is disordered, and superfluous, and vn∣profitable and in verie deed a burden. For Nature is content with a few ordinarie things; and if we wil follow the rule, and exigent, and mea∣sure, which Nature prescribes, it wil be very easie, not only to bring the desires therof within compasse, and furnish the necessities of it, but to satisfye it, and, as I may say, to glut it. In witnes wherof I shal not need to bring a Simeon Styl••••es, or Arsenius, or some Macarius, whose liues may perhaps seeme too-too aus••ere and rigid to imitate; but we wil heare,* 1.174 what a Heathen Philosopher discourseth aduisedly to this purpose, and very truly. I wil not haue you, sayth he, denye Nature anie thing. It is stubborne, and cannot be ouercome, but wil haue his owne.

But yet know, that whatsoeuer is ouer and aboue nature, is of courtesie, and not neces∣sarie. I am hungrie; I must eate; but whether the bread, which I eate, be coorse or fine, belongeth not to nature. Nature desires the bellie may be fil∣led; not that it be pleased. I am thirstie; Nature regardeth not, whether

the water, which I drink, be taken out of the next pond, or passed through a great deale of snow to temper it with a forraine coolnes. Nature requi∣reth only that my thirst be quenched: It importeth not, whether I drink in a cuppe of gold, or crystal, or glasse, or in the hollow of my hand. If hunger cal vpon me, I reach to that, which is next at hand. Hunger giues a relish to anie thing, that I lay hands on. He that is hungrie, refuseth no∣thing.

* 1.175 4. S. Hierome in his second Booke against Iouinian speaketh to the same effect in these words:

And that which a man may iustly wonder at, Epicure, the chief vpholder of Pleasure, filleth al his bookes with hearbes and fruits, and teacheth a man to liue vpon grosse meates, because it is an excessiue trouble and miserie, to prouide flesh and curious fare; and the care of prouiding it, ouerswayeth the pleasure which is in feeding largely vpon it, wheras our bodie requires barely meat and drink; and it is not possible to attend to the studie of wisedome, and busie our thoughts with a table wel-furnished, and with the trouble and care of prouiding it. The necessities of Nature may be supplyed with anie kind of meate. Cold and hunger are driuen away with ordinarie food and cloathing. Whervpon the Apostle sayth: Hauing food and cloa∣thing, let vs be content therewith. Daynties and choice of curious di∣shes are nourishers of auarice. It is an excessiue comfort to a Soule, to be contented with a little, and treade the world vnder foot, to exchange the power, and daynties, and pleasures therof (for which, riches are so greedily sought after) with coorse fare and a poore garment, and think itself wel rewarded with it. Take away excesse of bancketting and lust, and no man wil seeke to be rich.

Behold how S. Hierome teacheth vs to make Pouertie sweet, by rooting-out the desire of delicacies and disor∣der.

5. And seing the cause of Pouertie dependeth vpon this string, it wil not be amisse to consider, how little these earthlie daynties are to be esteemed, or rather how ful they are of gal and bitternes, seeme they neuer so sweet and sauourie to Sense.* 1.176 S. Iohn Chrysostome in the Booke, which he wrote of Virginitie, hath a large and eloquent discourse of this subiect, wherin he sheweth, that abundance of good meat and drink brings surfits, choliks, shortnes of breath, gyddines of the head, and diuers other troublesome affections presently, and in time, the gowte, hectick feauers, falling-sicknes, palsey and the like diseases, which are so intollerable; that so smal and so short a pleasure, as is the pleasing of our palate, cannot in anie reason be bought at so deare a rate. Frugalitie on the other side brings health, and pre∣serues it, and is not subiect to those mischiefs, wherof anie one is able to dead al the pleasure, which can be apprehended in them. And he proueth further, that though none of these euils were to be feared, there is yet more pleasure in Pouertie then in riches; which indeed is contrarie to the common apprehension;* 1.177 yet both heer and in another Homilie of his, he layeth it downe so clearly, that he puts it out of al question. There is one thing, sayth he, wherin riches seeme to haue the better of pouertie, to wit, that they that are rich, swimme dayly in delights, and haue their fil of al kind of pleasure

in their banckets; but the tables of the poore haue this also in a farre better manner.

For it is not (sayth S. Iohn Chrysostome) the qualitie of the meat, but the disposition of the people, that brings contentment in banckets. If a man come hungrie to table, anie ordinarie dish wil please him better, then your rare compounds and exquisit sawces: wheras they, that sit downe before they be hungrie, as vsually rich people doe, though they haue verie dayntie fare before them, they find no tast in it, because their stomack is not in order for it; which both experience teacheth, and holie Scripture also in these words:* 1.178A soule, that is ful, wil tread vpon the honie-combe; and a hungrie soule wil take bitter for sweet. And that which we say of meat, holds in drink. For as hunger is better then anie sawce for meat, so thirst giueth a re∣lish to anie kind of drink, though it be but a cup of fayre water. Which the Royal Prophet insinuateth,* 1.179 when he sayth: And he filled them with ••onie out of the rock; for Moyses did not strike honie out of the rock, but the Children of Israel were at that time so thirstie, that the water, which they then hapned vpon, seemed sweeter then anie honie. The like may be sayd of sleep; for it is not the soft bed, nor the guilded bed-steed, nor the silence about vs, nor anie thing of this nature, that brings vs a-sleepe, but through labour & weari∣nes, wanting it we are half a-sleepe, before we lye downe; to which purpose Salomon sayth:* 1.180 Sleep is welcome to a seruant, whether he eate little or much.

This is S. Iohn Chrysostome's discourse of Pouertie in general. S. Basil speaking parti∣cularly of Religious people, sayth, that they feede vpon their little pittance of coorse fare with more delight, then secular people doe vpon their great serui∣ces and abundance of al kinds of dayntie dishes.

6. Finally, it is worth consideration, that no man seekes to be rich, because he loues riches barely for themselues, but because he loues himself, & by them seeketh ease & contentment. Were it not therefore much better (if it could be done) to haue this self••same ease and contentment of mind, which riches fetch so farre about,* 1.181 and through so manie varieties of chances, without anie trouble of being rich, and so eate the fruit readie drest and pared? Certainly it were. And this is the fruit of Religious Pouertie. For a Religious man is as wel con∣tented, and takes as much pleasure in hauing nothing, as anie rich man can doe in possessing al that he hath, & farre more; because rich men, though they liue in abundance, and indeed though they had al that can be had, cannot haue the pe••ce and quiet of mind, which themselues desire and ayme at. For the mind cannot be at quiet, vnlesse it be filled; and it is not these outward things, that can f••••it, because they are outward, but Vertue, which is within, filleth it, and specially the voluntarie and affectionate embracing of Pouertie. Wher∣vpon S. Iohn Chrysostom•• alluding to a saying of the Prophet Esay,* 1.182 calleth Pouertie a fournace, wherin (sa••th he) the miracle of the Three Children is renewed, when as not only the flame of the fournace did not touch them, but a coole ayre did refresh them in the midst of the fire.

Pouertie considered in itself is a scorching and payneful fire: but if a man cast himself voluntarily into it, and being in it giue thanks to God, his bonds fal asunder, and the fire goeth out; or if it doe not goe out, in steed of the scorching flame, he feeleth a coole dew, which is much more wonderful. This is plainly to be perceaued in the seruāts of God, who vow Pouertie; for in their Pouertie, they are richer, then the rich

of the world, and in the midst of the fire, there descēdeth a most pure dew vpon them. Not to desire to be rich, is a heauenlie dew naturally refreshing the soule; and as the Three Children by contemning the command of the King, grew more conspicuous then the King himself: so they that set al the rich pre∣sents of this word at naught, are the more respected and honoured for it by the world itself.

This is the discourse of S. Iohn Chrysostom.

7. But because the verie name of Pouertie is growne odious, and the onlie noyse of it doth instantly bring a world of miseries into our thoughts, let vs diue into the ground of this errour, and see, how people come to be so much deceaued.* 1.183 The ground of the errour is, because (as we touched once before) there is a kind of Pouertie, which indeed is base and vnworthie, and withal very irksome and tedious; a vulgar kind of pouertie, as we may cal it, which people apprehending, and not weighing things with their due cir∣cumstances, but carried away with the likenes of the name, are iealous, least Religious Pouertie haue the self same inconueniences annexed vnto it, which that other hath. But it is not so; for they differ in manie things, but chiefly in two. For first, the Pouertie of the world growing vpon necessitie, and not of vertue, is alwayes accompanied with a desire of being rich; and desiring it, they seeke to compasse it; and not being able to compasse it, thence comes their grief, and sadnes, and woeful cares. Religious people voluntarily choo∣sing to be poore, and being desirous euer to remaine so, are not only free from al trouble of mind, but doe not so much as feele the want, in which they are, because they desire and loue it. To which purpose Seneca sayd truly: It is much one,* 1.184 not to desire a thing, and to haue it. And consequently this kind of Pouertie is so farre from bringing trouble and disquiet, that a man hath ful as much contentment in it, as if he had al the riches in the world.

* 1.1858. The other difference is, that Religious Pouertie hath a great stay and comfort (which other poore people ordinarily haue not) in the care and prouidence of God, and his vndoubted promise. For (as S. Francis was went to say) there passeth a kind of couenant and bond betwixt God and Reli∣gious people; they on their part forsaking al things, and God on his part promising to maintayne them,* 1.186 and prouide for them, not only as a maister for his seruants, but as a father for his children, and such children as for his sake,* 1.187 and for his loue haue abandoned al human helps & comforts. Wherfore if a crow, as meane a bird as it is, haue naturally so much loue, that it brin∣geth the yong-ones meate to the nest, when they cal for it, and goeth for it a-farre of; shal we not with farre more reason think, that God wil haue the like care of those, whom he hath begotten, and bestowed vpon them a life incomparably more excellent?

9. Nay Religious Pouertie is yet more to be admired and loued, because it is free from al the inconueniences of worldlie riches, as we shewed before, and hath notwithstanding al the commodities, which worldlie wealth can bring a man, & neuer wanteth necessarie sustenance, prouided by other folkes labours, and sent-in by the bountiful goodnes of Almightie God; which addeth greatly to the pleasantnes of this life, wherof we are speaking. For when a man vnderstands truly, that the Soueraigne King of Kings hath so particular a care to prouide al things necessarie for him, and experienceth daily

so manie euident tokens of this care; how can it choose but sauour more sweetly to him, then al the riches of the world besides? We might testifye this be very manie examples of holie men; but S. Francis shal serue for al, because he did particularly affect this vertue of Pouertie, and often discouered the manie benefits of it, and once in particular the pleasantnes of it, by this occasion.

10. As he trauelled into France, he sat downe to dinner at the edge of a fountaine,* 1.188 with his Companion Masseus; and powring forth the peeces of broken bread, which they had begged betwixt them from doore to doore as they went, manie of the peeces being moldie and hard, the Saint exulting in spirit, and turning to his Brother, began to summon him to giue thanks to God for so excessiue a treasure of Pouertie, & repeated often this word treasure, raysing his voice euerie time a note higher. His Brother Masseus asked him, what that treasure was, seing themselues in such apparent want of al necessa∣ries, and hauing neither meate nor wine, nor table to eate on. The Saint answered: This is the excessiue benefit, which I speake of, that God hath supplyed al our wants, and sent vs this bread and this water, and this stone to dine on. And going from thence into the next Church that was vpon the way, he earnestly beseeched God to giue him and al his Brethren a particular loue of holie Pouertie; and prayed with a great feruour, that his face did seeme to be on a burning fire. In this feruour, turning to his Brother Masseus with his armes wide open, he called him vnto him with a lowde voice. Masseus astonished cast himself into the armes of the holie Saint; but S. Francis did so burne with that diuine fire, that the breath that came from his mouth, car∣ried Masseus manie cubits high into the ayre; in which posture, as he often after related, he found in himself such inward sweetnes, as in al his life-time before, he had neuer felt the like. Then S. Francis spake thus vnto him:

Let vs goe to Rome, to beg of the holie Apostles S. Peter and S. Paul, that they wil teach vs to possesse, as we ought, and with fruit, this so excellent a treasure of Pouertie; for it is so rare and so diuine, and we so vile and abiect, that we are vnworthie to contayne it in such vessels as ours are. It is a vertue deriued into vs from heauen, teaching vs voluntarily to treade vnder foot al earthlie things, and taketh away al impediments, that the soule of man may freely, and with al expedition conioyne itself with his Lord and God.

Of the pleasantnes of Chastitie and Obedience. CHAP. IX.

THE pleasures of Chastitie and Obedience are not lesse then those of Pouertie,* 1.189 but rather so much the greater, by how much these two vertues are farre more noble and excellent in themselues. Abbot

Chaeremon in Cassian discoursing of Chastitie,* 1.190 among manie other rare com∣mendations of it, sayth very truly, that neither he that hath not tryed it, can possibly conceaue the pleasure of it, nor he that hath tried it, declare it.

As, sayth he, if a man had neuer tasted honie, and another should goe about to tel him, how sweet it is, the one would neuer be able to conceaue by hearing, the sweetnes which he neuer tasted, and the other could neuer compasse to expresse in words the pleasure, which his taste tooke in the sweetnes of it; but taken with the delightfulnes of it within his owne knowledge, he must of force admire in silence within himself alone the pleasantnes of the sauour, wherof he hath had experience.

But yet though we cannot so wel declare, how sweet it is in itself, there be certain wayes, whereby we may giue a guesse at it, and particularly by comparison therof with the troubles of marriage; a married life hauing no time free from grief and bitternes; insomuch that S. Hierome writing of Virginitie a∣gainst Iouinian sayth:* 1.191

We not kn••wing how matters passe, did conceaue, that marriage enioyed at least the pleasures of the flesh; but if married people haue also tribulation in flesh, in which only they seemed to haue pleasure, what is there left to moue a man to marrie, seing both in spirit and in soule, and in the verie flesh, there is tribulation.

2. It were easie to reckon-vp an infinit number of miseries and vexa∣tions, which partly man and wife are cause of one to another, partly come by their children, or by the charge of house-hold, and manie other wayes; but al these are too wel knowne, and I haue spoken of them be∣fore. Wherefore we wil content ourselues with one onlie famous saying of Cato,* 1.192 a Hea••hen, but yet a wise and aduised man: If the world could be without wiues, our life would be like to the Gods of heauen; and consequently they are an euil, yet a necessarie euil. Wherin he sayth truly for a man that liued in that darknes of Infidelitie,* 1.193 that it is an euil, to marrie, & that it is a life ful of miserie and inconueniences; but not so truly, when he sayth, it is necessarie, and not to be auoyded. For the Grace of Christ doth so blesse this infirme and corrupt nature of man, that in the beds, that is, in the harts, where before dragons did dwel, to wit, filth and vncleannes, thy greennes of the reed and ••ush should rise, and the sweet odour of Chastitie and holines of life;* 1.194 and hath made it not so hard a thing, as that few are able to compasse it, but common and easie, to the end no age nor sexe might pleade infirmitie, or be afrayd to ayme at so high a dignitie. This is that, which our Sauiour in S. Matthew did intend to expresse by the name of Eunuchs,* 1.195 giuing vs to vn∣derstand, that as easie as it is for an Eunuch to abstaine from that, to which he is impotent, and consequently must haue no thought of it; so easie is it for them to abstaine, that are voluntarily continent; because that which Nature doth in those others, Grace doth in these: though in these there be manie more, and more efficacious things, which make Chastitie farre more easie and more delightful to them.

Think with thyself,* 1.196 sayth S. Iohn Chrysostome, if either by nature thou wert an Eunuch, or wert made so by violence what thou wouldst doe, seing of necessitie thou must then abstaine from that pleasure, and haue no reward for abstayning.

Giue thanks therefore to God, because thou shalt haue a great reward and a glorious Crowne, if thou liue as they doe, without anie reward, nay farre more easily, more safely, & more pleasantly; both because the hope of restibu∣tion doth strengthen thee, and the knowledge, that it is an act of vertue, doth comfort thee.

And truly considered, what effect may we iustly think the hope of a reward in heauen, which S. Iohn Chrysostome speaketh of, wil worke in a Religious soule, seing the greedines of an earthlie recompence, or the serious application to studie, or to anie other worldlie busines▪ is forcible enough easily to diuert a man's thoughts from al obscenitie?* 1.197 Insomuch that Plato him∣self (which a man may with reason wonder at) exhorting yong men to liue chaste, bringeth an example of a certaine man of ••arentum, and diuers others besides, whome there he names, that abstayned from al pleasure of that na∣ture, to the end to preserue their bodilie strength intire and in the ful vigour, which it ou••ht to be, for the Olympical Exercises.

They therefore, sayth he, abstayned from that pleasure, which vulgarly is esteemed happie, that they might ouercome others in Wrastling, & in the Race, & such other exercises; and shal not our youth be able to doe the like for a farre more noble victorie? what victorie? to wit, that subduing pleasure, they may liue happily; & more∣ouer shal not feare of cōmitting a grieuous offence be able to make thē ouer∣come that, which others, that are farre worse then they, are reported to haue ouercome? What would Plato haue sayd, if he could haue had experience of the force of the loue of God, seing he thought the loue of earthlie things to be so effectual? wheras the loue of God doth so wholy possesse a soule, that it taketh no delight but in things Diuine and Celestial, and abhorreth more then death itself,* 1.198 anie thing that sauours of vncleannes.

Which S. Macarius pro∣ueth in this manner:

If the loue of carnal marriage separate a man so farre from father and mother and brethren, that esteeming them al strangers, he loues his wife only, and cleaues to her and hers, as to his owne; if, I say, the loue of flesh doth so breake with al other loue, how much more shal they contemne al loue and delight in other things, that haue so neerly linked themselues to God, and drunk so plentifully of his loue?

3. These are the reasons, why the abstayning from al pleasure in this kind is so easie and pleasant, and the ground, whervpon S. Hierome deliuereth these words in commendation of this vertue:* 1.199 How great happines is it, not to be a slaue to a wife, but to Christ? not to serue the flesh, but the spirit? For he that cleaueth to God, is one spirit. And S. Bernard accordingly speaking both of Chastitie and other vertues accompanying it, applyeth to this purpose that saying of the Prophet, short in words,* 1.200 but large in sense: Delight in our Lord; auerring that al Reli∣gious people are so plentifully made partakers of this delight in our Lord, that none of them al can denye,* 1.201 but that they feele it. My Brethren, sayth he; Se∣cular people may say so, you cannot say so. For who is there of you, that hath not often experienced the delight of a good Conscience, tasted the sweetnes of Chastitie, Humilitie, and Charitie? This is not like the delight in meate or drink or such like: yet it is a delight, and a greater delight then al these. For it is not carnal delight, but Diuine.

4. S. Ephrem also,* 1.202 as it were astonished with the pleasures of Chastitie, discour∣seth in this manner:

O Chastitie, mother of loue, resemblance of an Ange∣lical

life! O Chastitie, cleane of hart, sweet in tast, chearful in counte∣nance! O Chastitie, which maketh men like to Angels! O Chastitie, reioycing the hart of him, that possesseth thee, and giuing wings to a Soule to fly vp to heauen! O Chastitie, which bringest a spiritual ioy, and takest away sorrow! O Chastitie, which dost diminish the passions of the mind, and free it from per∣turbation! O Chastitie, a spiritual Chariot, lifting him on high, that posses∣seth thee! O Chastitite, that buddest like a rose in the midst betwixt the soule and bodie, and fillest the whole house with a fragrant smel!

This and much more sayth this holie ancient Father. And certainly if we grant, that filthie obscenesse hath naturally so much force to allure vs, and to set vs so much on fire, notwithstanding the vnseemelines of it; we cannot think but that hone∣stie, and puritie, and the beautie of so rare a vertue must needs be much more forcible. For what comparison is there betwixt light and darknes? or betwixt dirt and mire,* 1.203 where hogs doe tumble? and those lillies among which the Spouse doth so willingly feed, that he refuseth al food without them? And thus much of Chastitie.

* 1.2045 The delights of Obedience are somewhat more apparent; because Obe∣dience hath none of the incommodities of Pouertie, nor yet so fel an enemie as Chastitie, our owne bodie making warre against Chastitie, and being both vncapable of feeling anie delight in puritie of life, and carrying vs rather head∣long to al kind of sensualitie. Obedience dependeth of the mind only; which being capable to conceaue the beautie of so great a vertue, may easily also per∣swade itself to loue it; and being so perswaded, there remayneth litle or no contradiction from abroad. Besides other things, which encrease the sweetnes of it, first that if freeth vs from the troubles and anxieties, which are wont often to occurre in setling or gouerning our estate, in vndertaking or leauing this or that busines, & indeed, in al occasions and howres of our life; secondly, because it putteth vs into the hands of God, and placeth vs in his armes to be carried, and ruled, and cherished by him, then which what can be more de∣lightful or more to be desired? For if we ayme at honour, which doubtles in itself is pleasing, nothing can be more honourable then to be so tenderly loued, and so louingly dealt-with by so great a Maiestie; if it be profit that taketh vs, which also is ful of pleasure, nothing can be more profitable then to relye our whole life, and al that we doe, vpon such a guide. Finally al manner of comforts & delights are contayned in this one, to see ourselues so inwardly linked to him, who is the onlie Father of mercies (as the Apostle stileth him) and the God of al comfort;* 1.205 which, as al other spiritual things, no man can rightly value, but he that hath tryed it; and they that haue tryed it, doe so louingly and so passionatly affect Obedience, that libertie is a crosse vnto them, as we reade of B. Aegidius a Franciscan-Friar. For when S. Francis by reason of his eminent sanctitie had giuen him freedome to go whither he would, and dwel where he would, within lesse then foure dayes, his soule finding no rest in that kind of largenes, he returned to S. Francis, earnestly beseeching him, to ap∣point him some certain aboad; because in that free and loose Obedience, he had no contentment at al.

Of the pleasure, which Religious people take in conuersation with their spiritual Bretheren. CHAP. X.

I Come now to a solace of another nature, grounded in the sweetnes of conuersation with our spiritual Bretheren, which rests not in the mind, but diffuseth itself to sense, & is taken in seing, speaking, & hearing; & consequently is more ap∣parent and more vniuersal, & a man needs not take paynes to perceaue it. The greatnes of it may be easily vnderstood, in regard it inuolues not one but manie comforts.* 1.206 For first, to loue and to be loued, is of itself excessiue pleasing, and we shal not neede to haue recourse to grace to conceaue it; nature itself sheweth it, by the in bred pro∣pension and desire, which it hath of companie, and hatred to be alone; and an euident proofe of the sweetnes of it is, that no man to choose would abound in al kind of wealth, and be bound withal to loue no man, nor to be loued of anie. So that this drawing and cleauing of man to other men, being so agreable to Nature, the effecting of it must needs be ful of delight and pleasure.

2. Aristotle is of the same opinion,* 1.207 and sayth, that therefore Friendship is so pleasing, because it consorteth with Nature; for as the beasts of the earth, and the fowles of the ayre, and the fishes of the sea, and al kind of liuing creatures, whether they be wild or tame, take a kind of contentment, to be with others of their kind; so Man much more. For there is no man that would not choose a poore and meane estate in companie of other men, rather then a life in al other respects most happie, vpon condition, that he should see no man. And from this principle, both Aristotle, and al other ancient learned writers doe deriue the chiefest commendation of Friendship, not so much in re∣gard we stand in need of one another's help (though this be something) as by reason of the natural inclination, which we haue to loue. To which purpose Laertius recordeth, that Aristotle was wont to cal Friendship, the greatest Good of al good things. Which perhaps Aristotle tooke from Socrates,* 1.208 who, as the same Laertius reporteth, had often in his mouth, that no free-hold was com∣parable to a true friend; nor nothing in the world could yeald man so much profit and pleasure. Which if we grant, we may easily also discouer, how farre the comfort of Religious Conuersation doth extend itself, and how much pleasure they feele in the mutual loue betwixt them, finding themselues to loue, and to be so intirely loued; and both being so natural to euerie bodie, as nothing more.

3. Now if we consider,* 1.209 that of this kind of true friends, which the Philo∣sophers describe vnto vs, there were scarce three or foure couple to be picked out of so manie Ages, such as the bloudie Tyrants themselues did enuie,

how farre more fruitful and more happie is Religion, where we finde so manie swarmes of men so intirely linked togeather in the bond of Charitie, that we may truly say, so manie persons, so manie vnseparable companions, so manie bosome-friends, so manie louing brethren both in hart, & effect, and name? If we diue to the bottome of that, which is commonly called Friend∣ship, we shal hardly find in this world anie worthie to beare the name. For they that loue for profit or for pleasure, loue not their friend, but themselues; and such loue cannot be called Friendship; for in like manner we loue our lands & our cattle; or speaking of men, we loue a Phisician or a Marriner, when we haue vse of them,* 1.210 or a common leaster, for the pleasure we take in his wit. The grounds therefore of true friendship is Vertue and Honestie; and that, which dependeth vpon this string, is the onlie solid and constant friendship. Aristotle speaketh to this purpose almost word for word; and the self-same reason conuinceth, that perfect friendship is rare, except it be among Reli∣gious people, who haue no other ground of their loue and coniunction, but Religion and Vertue; and consequently hauing so perfect friendship among them, it is also euident, that they must needs enioy al the commodities, and fruits, and pleasures therof, which the ancient Philosophers reckon to be very manie.

* 1.2114. Another ground of pleasure in conuersation, is likenes, which doth so much the more winne men's affections, by how much Nature is of itself exceeding greedie, as I may say, and extremely passionate, where it findes that sympathie and similitude; which among Religious people is more abso∣lute then in anie other thing. For they agree not only in nature as men, or in Fayth and beleefe, as Christians; but in life, and conuersation, and proiects, and intentions, in their endeauours, orders, and employments, in their verie habit and cloathing; which must needs wonderfully enflame their affections and their loue towards one another; and loue, the more ardent it is, the more sweetnes it bringeth with it. For as euerie bodie takes delight to liue, and to enioy himself, and cannot be truly wearie of himself; so the more inward our affections are towards other men, and the neerer they draw to this degree of vnion with ourselues, the more delightful they are. And if it be so in al men, as we experience it in our children and kinsfolke, louing them though they be wicked or deformed;* 1.212 and the more we loue them, the more we de∣light to conuerse with them; to what height wil this pleasure rise, where vertue meetes with this linck of friendship? For vertue, wheresoeuer it is, doth constraine a man to loue it, as we finde in those, whome we neuer saw, or perhaps were once our enemies: for if we perceaue anie incling of vertue in them, it silently speakes to our harts, to be friends with them. If therefore it make strangers friends; how much easier and more inwardly wil it binde those vnto vs, with whome we daily conuerse, and of whose vertue and Re∣ligion we are the more assured, the more familiarly we deale with them? So manie in the world take pleasure in hunting, and horse-races, and gallant ap∣parrel, and in their buildings, and in being popular, it were most absurd to think, that these pleasures are comparable to the pleasure; which a man may take in a soule adorned with vertue and holines of life, with ample returne also of loue for loue. Plato sayth truly and elegantly, that if Vertue could be

seen with our corporal eyes,* 1.213 it would wonderfully enflame the loue of people towards it. But in Religion in verie deede we see it; for as we see not the soule, which is in the bodie, in itself, yet we see it in the effects, in the motion, in the speech, in the discourse, which it makes, and so clearely, that we can no more doubt of it, then if we saw it with our corporal eyes: so we see Vertue in the acts therof, as if it were really before vs. We see Charitie extend itself to the seruice and tendance of our Brethren; we see Humilitie stooping to seruile offices, and often humbling itself vnto them, in Religion; we see Patience in enduring hardnes and embracing the Crosse; finally we see al other Vertues of the mind, and haue them in our eyes, when they walke out before vs, about the careful performance of their seueral duties.

5. And besides this comelines of Vertue and Sanctitie, there be manie other things in most Religious people,* 1.214 for which we ought in reason highly to esteeme and desire their conuersation. For some are eminently learned, others profoundly wise, others wel-spoken, a guift which the Apostle reckons among the rest And as for the pleasure, which men take in these things, I appeale to secular people themselues, who by their often repayre to Religious houses, doe sufficiently te∣stifye the contentment they take in their presence and conuersation, though otherwise their palate be distempered with the disordered pleasures of this world; and yet thither they come for comfort in aduersitie, for light and counsel in their doubtful questions, for aduise and holesome admonitions vpon al occasions; and they think, the world goes wel with them, if they can enioy this comfort for an hower or two, but with Religious people it is an ordinarie thing and continual, and they haue it at command as their owne, and cannot but imparte these com∣forts to those that liue in house with them, and are their Brethren, farre more abundantly and more confidently, then they can with strangers.

6. Whence we may deduce another branch of pleasure growing from Reli∣gious conuersation,* 1.215 to wit, that by liuing togeather, they haue often yea conti∣nual occasion and entercourse of such friendlie offices, as must needs entertayne and encrease the brotherlie loue, which is betwixt them, as fire is nourished with wood and coale. For first they liue togeather like bosome-friends, they meete often, they speake often courteously one to another; secondly they are alwaies doing and receauing good turnes from one another, they prosser their seruice, not as worldlie people doe, idly, and for the most part for their owne ends, but are really desirous to serue them in spiritual things; and ayme at nothing else in it, but to benefit their neighbours and brethren, and aduance the glorie of God. For we must n••t think, that Vertue and Sanctitie is so rigid and inflexible, as if it were of iron, or that it is alwayes mute, dreaming of nothing but of doing pennance. Rather in al occasions, but specially in conuersation with others, it is pliable and affable, the sweetnes of charitie inclining thervnto, and making people to con∣descend, and accommodate, and enlarge themselues to their neighbours. What therefore can be more delightful, then to be thus continually endeauouring ••o requi••e one another's courtesies, and striuing to ouercome their companions in charitable offices? specially where a man cannot wel ••el whether it be better to ouercome, or to suffer himself to be ouercome in Charitie. So that that, which Aristotle affirmeth of Friendship in general,* 1.216 is much more verifyed in this holie league of friendship: that though the ground of friendship be farre more noble

and honourable, then the pleasure of profit which comes of it, because it is groun∣ded in vertue and honestie, yet hauing so noble an ofspring, neither pleasure not profit is wanting, but rather it is very profitable in regard of the manie good offi∣ces, which passe betwixt friends, and much more delightful, then anie thing grounded vpon a meaner motiue, because the vertuous actions and behauiours of our friend is no lesse pleasant vnto vs, then our owne.

* 1.2177. We may adde for a complement, and as it were a delightful fawce to the meate, which is heer serued in, that ordinarie friendship is subiect to manie brang∣lings, by reason either of the difference of mens minds, or of their fashion and be∣hauiour, or of their state and calling, or by age growing vpon them, or by desire of something which both parties cannot enioy, and manie such like accidents, which oftimes are cause of great fallings-out and much hatred, and make an vtter breach of friendship when they happen, and before they happen breed manie suspitions and iealousies, insomuch that there can be no solid comfort almost in anie worldlie friendship, specially the world being so generally infected with the poyson of self-loue, euerie one drawing to his owne ends, which is the absolute bane of al true league and friendship. The league, which is betwixt Reli••ious peo∣ple on the other side, is ful of solid pleasure, because being grounded in charitie, and free from al priuate interest,* 1.218 it is not subiect to those dangers and casualties, which I spake of; but as Abbot Ioseph in Cassian sayth very wel, wheras al secular friendship (wherof there he recites seueral kinds) is fickle and vnconstant, that only is permanent and indissoluble, which is grounded in the likenes of vertue. This is not subiect to be broken by anie casualtie, distance of place, or length of time cannot shake it, nor death itself dissolue it.

8. And this pleasure, which I speake of, occurres vnto vs by conuersation with anie particular man among vs: what then shal I say of the whole familie, or Col∣ledge, or house-hold? & of the ioy which is to liue in such companie? For who is there, that hath not experienced in himself, that as often as he hath beheld so manie of his Brethren in that decent,* 1.219 & graue, and deuout manner of habit and carriage, which is vsual among them, either singing in the Quire, or going in Procession, or set at a sermon or Exhortation, or working at their manual exercises, or sitting at board in their dining-roome, who is there, I say, that hath not found himself ouerioyed at such a sight, and sayd in his mind: These are the hoast of God, armies not of souldiers, but of sonnes of the Highest. This made S. Leo say, that it did exceedingly reioyce him, whensoeuer it was his good hap to behold a companie of seruants of God, & that in so manie Saints he felt the Angels present, & made no question, but God did visit them al with more plentie of his graces,* 1.220 when they were al togea∣ther, as so manie glorious tabernacles of God, so manie excellent members of the bodie of Christ, shining with one light. A saying worthie to be noted, in regard he stileth them, that are consecrated to God, tabernacles of God, and excellent mem∣bers of Christ, hauing euerie one of them their particular light in themselues, but yet giuing a greater light, & much more contentment by it, when that, which is seue∣ral in them, meetes with al the rest togeather, and diffuseth itself farre & neere by that coniunction, that next vnto the blisseful ioyes, which we shal haue in the loue and contemplation of God himself, we may truly ranke the ioy & comfort, which we finde in the loue and conuersation with out spiritual Brethren.

9. The Saint-like familie of holie Iob was a liuelie resemblance of it. For he had manie children, and they liued al in such a league of perfect loue togeather, that

though euerie one of them kept a seueral house & familie, yet they were al of them, as it were, of one house-hold, and al things were common among them, they fea∣••••ed one another (as the holie Scripture relateth) in their turnes, and euerie one had his day. So that they liued alwayes togeather in mirth & iolitie, & continual banckets. The sisters could not inuite their brethren, but were euer inuited by them, & did eate & drinke with them. After this manner, euerie Religious man is, as it were, conti∣nually making a spiritual bancket for the rest of his Brethrē, with whome he liues; & the bancket is not set-forth with ordinarie dishes, but with exquisite vertues, & choice actions▪ & speeches of deuotion; they feast one another in their turnes, because euerie one doth reciprocally serue one another in the ••••ke kind. The chil∣dren of Iob could in one day meete but once at one of their brethren's table; we feed at euerie one of our Brethren's table, and al at once, which is farre more. And as there were sisters among them; so if among Religious people there be anie that are inferiour, and somewhat more imperfect in vertue and feruour, as they were in sexe (of which kind certainly there be few in comparison of the rest, as among the children of Iob there were but three sisters for seauen brethren) though they haue not so much prouision of vertue as to be able to feast others, yet by reason of the brotherlie vnion, which is among them, they haue the happines to be feasted with the rest, and enioy for the present the pleasure of the feast, & bettering them∣selues by litle and litle, furnish themselues with plentie, as I may say, of fat & mar∣row; so that at last they also grow able & sufficient to inuite others.

Of the pleasure, which Religious men take in Learning. CHAP. XI.

THE ground of the pleasures, of which I haue hitherto spoken, is super∣natural; it followeth, that we speake of one that is natural, to wit, Learning & varietie of al kind of knowledge; which how delightful it is, may he gathered by two things. First, if we consider the noblenes of knowledge, as belonging to the noblest part of man, & being the fruit of the mind & vnderstanding, & withal wonderfully enriching and embellishing it: Secondly, if we weigh, how proper and how agreable it is to the nature of man, to know & vnderstand. For (as Aristotle sayth) euerie man is naturally bent to desire know∣ledge; & he maketh an argument to proue it by the loue,* 1.221 which we naturally haue to the particular senses, which are most vseful to bring knowledge, as to the sense of Seing and Hearing. Now if a man be so naturally inclined to knowledge, it must needs be a great pleasure to be learned. For commonly euerie thing ••••kes most contentment in that, which is most agreable to nature; as the chiefest pleasure, which birds haue, is to flye; fi••hes, to swimme; and in our bodilie senses, our eyes are most delighted with seing, our tast with tasting, our eares with Musical cōcent. Why therefore should not our wit and vnderstanding be farre more pleased with the search and knowledge of truth, which is the proper food of it, and the diet, which it must naturally feed on.

2. Insomuch that Aristotle did not stick to say,* 1.222 that there was no other way to liue alwayes a contented life without sorrow▪ but to betake oneself to the studie of Philosophie, in regard of the abundance of pleasure, which i•• affords. And no

wonder,* 1.223 if we consider the number, the varietie, the extent, the rarenes of the things, which Philosophie treateth of. For Philosophie being nothing else, but the search of Nature, as Nature extends itself farre and neere, & is admirable to consider, so vniuersal & so admirable is the studie of Philosophie, leauing nothing in Nature, to the bottome wherof it doth not endeauour to diue. First it considers the beginnings & causes of euerie thing, time, motion, place, things obuious & dayly in our eyes & in our hands, and yet withal so obscure & intricate, that no∣thing more. It searcheth into the composition of man, soule & bodie, & al the properties & faculties of either part. It disputes of the earth, & of the ayte, & seue∣ral affections therof, as of the windes, thunder, lightning, rayne, & the causes of them. It beholdeth the heauens, and whatsoeuer belongeth to the know∣ledge of them, their greatnes, their light, and perspicuitie, the number of the spheres, the constancie of their motion, their power and influence into these inferiour things, for the continuance and preseruation of them. Among so manie things therefore, and infinit more, which cannot be numbred, but are exceeding∣ly delightful, can anie man make anie question, but that a mind, that is giuen to the contemplation of so manie, so great, so admirable things, so farre aboue the capacitie of ordinarie people, turning and tossing them vp and downe on euerie side, can otherwise choose, but liue in a perpetual paradise? For can there be anie thing more absurd then to acknowledge, as we must needs, that our eares and our eyes take pleasure in their seueral obiects, and to think that our mind, by which our senses come to be capable of pleasure, hath no pleasure proper vnto it?* 1.224 For if it be delightful to behold a horse that is wel limmed, or a tree that spreads itself abroad with faire and large branches; why should it not be more de∣lightful to contemplate the nature and essence of the horse or tree, seing in this second contemplation that is inuolued, which we see with our eyes, and much more and more excellent considerations? For as a picture, that is wel drawne and liuely set-forth in coulours, doth naturally delight euerie bodie that beholds it, but much more a skilful paynter, that besides the sight of the coulours, and draughts of the pensil, is able to iudge of the reasons of them, and the nature of the shadowes, and the conueniencie and proportion and connexion of euerie part of it: So in al things of this world, the vulgar sort beholds the outside of them, and rests there; they that are learned▪ consider that which is more inward, the nature, the properties, and seueral qualities, and dispositions of euerie thing, which as they are in themselues things farre more noble, so also more delightful, and indeed able sufficiently to entertayne anie man's thoughts, and accordingly al ancient Philosophers were so taken with them, that they thought no happines in the world comparable to this kind of studie. But Religious people haue yet one thing more, that giues the busines a sweeter relish, which no Heathen could arriue vnto, beholding al this world of things not so much as they are works of Nature, but as works of God the Authour of Nature; & entertayning themselues in contemplation of the Power, & Wisedome, and Loue of so great an Artificer in his works, as if they beheld al these his admirable attributs with their verie eyes; and what can be more pleasant or more profitable then such a sight?

* 1.2253. And thus much of the contemplation of natural things, which wil easily put vs into the way of conceauing the pleasure, which must needs be farre greater in the knowledge of things Diuine, layd open vnto vs by the light of

Diuinitie, which we finde diuided into three parts or branches, wherof one is called Scholastical, comprized and deliuered in a certain Method and way, in a manner, as humane Sciences; for the honour and commendation and sweetnes wherof, what can be sayd more then that the obiect of it is Godlines? and com∣prehendeth al that, which the wit of man can arri•••••• know touching the Vni∣tie, Infinitie, Power, Immensitie, Simplicitie, Kn••••••edge, and Prouidence of GOD ouer euerie particular thing of this world, but chiefly concerning Saluation of mankind; and moreouer seueral processions, either inward, constituting three Persons in one Essence, or outward, in the Creation of al things; among which the Angels being the principal, it discourseth of their Nature, their Excel∣lence, their Order and seueral Dictinctions. And Man also being a work of God next in dignitie to the Angels, hath his place and rank in this Disputation, where the End is discussed, for which he was created; and the meanes & helps ordayned for this End, chiefly the Grace of God, his Lawes & precepts, Vertues both Theo∣logical (so called, because their obiect is God) and Moral, among which Iustice and the branches therof, are disputed at large, and whatsoeuer belongeth to the dutie of a Christian in matter of Contracts.

4. But that part of Diuinitie is most copious and most delightful, which dis∣courseth of the mysterie of the Incarnation, & of the Sacraments, as effects therof, of the matter, forme, & efficacie of them, & also of the Ceremonies vsed in them, as conduits conveying the merits of the Passion of Christ to the benefit of our Rules. So that if the life of those, that are in heauen, be therefore blessed, because their mind is alwayes fixed vpon God; what pleasure must this science needs af∣ford, which is perpetually thinking of the same God? with this difference that in heauen they cōtemplate him face to face without anie veyle before their eyes, heer they goe vpon grounds of reason & most assured principles of Christian Fayth.

5. The holie Scripture,* 1.226 a second branch of Diuinitie, is like vnto the former for pleasantnes of the subiect, & for authoritie farre aboue it. S. Augustin doth deser∣uedly stile it the delight and riches of our soule; the riches, by reason of the fulnes and abundance of al goodnes requisite for the instruction and direction of man in the course of vertue, the delight, in regard of the vnspeakable sweetnes, which is in it; in which respect also else-where he sayth:* 1.227 It tasteth like honie, of the heauenlie honie, and is lightsome by the light, which it partaketh of God. S. Hierome in his Epistle to Rusticus a Monk, where he giueth him instructions to good life, compa∣ring holie Scripture to an orchard,* 1.228 exhorteth him to gather the seueral fruits ther∣of, to feede himself with those daynties, to solace himself with holding them in his armes.* 1.229 S. Bernard likeneth this holie Word of God to a bancket excelling in three things,

delightful to the taste, solid in respect of nourishment, & effectually medi∣cinable: the sweetnes of the sound of his words, delights our affections; the co∣piousnes of their seueral senses, fattens & nourisheth the mind; the deapth of the mysteries contayned in them, exercising our vnderstanding and keeping it in awe, wonderfully alayes the swelling of puffing science.* 1.230 Abbot Serenus in Cassian com∣pareth holie Scripture excellently wel to a fat & fertil peece of ground yealding varietie of fruits, wherof some are to be eaten raw from the tree, others by reason of the natural harshnes of them are not so pleasant, and perhaps are also hurtful, if they be not first set ouer the fire, & softned, and brought to a milder temper; others may be vsed both wayes, & are not distastful raw, and yet qualifyed by the heate of

the fire, are more pleasant & more holesome.

For in like manner the holie Scrip∣tures containe some things which yeald good nourishment, taken as the letter sounds; others, if they be not explained by some declaration, are rather hurtful; finally others againe may be vsed both wayes. Thus sayth Cassian, and truly.

6. For that which men 〈◊〉〈◊〉, haue left written, differeth from holie Scripture, in that men declare their 〈◊〉〈◊〉 by words; but God as Authour and directour of al things, & al mens actions, vseth the verie things themselues and actions to declare his secret intentions by them. Which causeth so much varietie of senses in holie Scripture; the delightfulnes wherof is excellētly wel expressed by S. Gregorie vpon these words of Iob;* 1.231 Then vpon the Omnipotent thou shalt flow with delights. To flow with delights vpon the Omnipotent, sayth S. Gregorie, is in his loue to be filled at the bancket of holie Scripture.* 1.232 In the words wherof we meete with so manie seueral delights, as we conceaue di∣uersities of senses for our benefit, feeding sometimes vpon the bare historie, sometimes vpon the Moral Allegorie, which lyeth hidden, as the marrow, vnder the context of the letter; some∣times raysing ourselues in contemplation of higher things, which in the darknes of this present life giueth vs, as it were, a glimse of the light of Eternitie.

7. This is the life, which Religious people leade in perpetual delights & pleasures, the true & solid happines wherof S. Iohn Chrysostome setteth forth liuely in a certaine Homilie, where discoursing at large of the cōforts of a Monastical life, & in parti∣cular of the pleasure,* 1.233 which they take in Prayer and Contemplation, at last he des∣cendeth to this, which they take in the studie of Scripture. Nayled to those sacred Bookes, sayth he, they take exceeding comfort in them. For most commonly, when they come out of the Quier, one betaketh himself to conuersation with the Prophet Esay, another with the Apostles; another readeth and contemplateth some thing in God or in his creatures, of things visible and inuisible, of the miserie of this life, of the happines of the life to come. They set not themselues to feede vpon the boyled flesh of brute beasts, but vpon the words of God, sweeter then honie and the honie-combe. This honie was not gathered by wilde bees, nor digested into their hiues, as their manner is; but the grace of the Holie-Ghost distributed it among the minds of Saints in steed of the combe, and the hiue, and those litle toulles, that whosoeuer would, might with ease eate of it. Like bees therfore they flye about the honie-combes of the holie Bible, and receaue great pleasure in them. Thus S. Iohn Chrysostome.

* 1.2348. The third branch of Diuinitie, is the studie of the holie Fathers, who, as they were eminent for learning, and holines of life, & eloquence, haue left so manie mo∣numents of learning behind them, that a man may spend his whole life time with pleasure in turning them ouer, & find more then he can haue time to cōpasse; God hauing moreouer prouided, that, as in a great bancket euerie dish hath his seueral re••••h, so among these great writers euerie one should haue his particular strayne of sweetnes to auoyd satietie. For if we compare the Greek Fathers one with an∣other, we shal finde the style of S. Basil to sauour of learning, & abound in precepts of sanctitie: S Gregorie Nazianzen more profound entring familiarly into the deepest mysteries,* 1.235 & declaring them in weightie tearmes & sentences. S. Athanasius is more facile, yetful, and with an equal style alwayes like himself, teaching with a great deale of authoritie. Epiphanius is eager against Hereticks; Theodoret plaine & careful in exposition of Scripture. S. Iohn Damascen ful of learning, & expert in explaining the hardest points of Faith. S. Iohn Chrysostome, as his name giues vs to vnderstand, eloquent & popular, easily insinuating himself into peoples minds; & with the co∣piousnes of his quaynt words, as with a torrent of Eloquence; carrying his Audi∣torie whither-soeuer he pleaseth.

9. Among the Latin Fathers,* 1.236 S. Cyprian hath a neate & copious style, & yet no∣thing too much, but graue & weightie, and (as S. Hierom's censure is of him) his speech runnes sweetly and quietly on, as a cristal-fountaine; and S. Augustin doth deser∣uedly stile him the sweetest Doctour.* 1.237 S. Ambrose hath a peculiar manner of expressing himself, very sententious, with choyce words knit cleanely togeather, that a bodie may iustly think when he reades him, that he heares a Diuine making an Oration, or an Oratour speaking like a Diuine; in commendation of whose sweetnes we shal need to say no more, then that God did seeme to foreshew it by that strange accident, which we find recorded of him, when a swarme of bees lighted vpon his mouth, when he was a childe. The style of S. Hierome is learned, ful of wit and examples of Antiquitie, expressing in natural colours, whatsoeuer he vndertakes, either for the litteral exposition of holie Scriptures, or Moral precepts for al kinds of states, or in commendation or disprayse of anie thing, or in exhortations to vertue; in al which he is so eminent, that his eloquence seemeth more Diuine then humane. S. Augustin is copious, ful of varietie, and withal facil, expert at al hands, both to dispute the profoundest questions, and to speak plausibly to the people; and in his Sermons both instructeth and moueth with a great deale of grace. Who can place his words more weighti••y, in better order, and come off more roundly then S. Leo? whose speaches are alwayes ful of maiestie, and come, as it were, thundering out of his mouth. S. Gregorie is altogeather Moral, & won∣derful rare in that kind, entertayning his reader with varietie of sweet examples and similitudes, and instructing him in the course of vertue with profound lear∣ning, and drawing him on to reade him by the pleasant and copious manner, which he hath, of declaring himself. What shal I say of S. Bernard? who is worthily called the Melli••luous Doctour; and is ful of spiritual documēts of highest perfection, and enterlaceth the sentences of holie Scripture so naturally with his owne dis∣course, that a man would think, he speakes nothing but Scripture, or that the holie Scripture makes vse of his tongue, as an instrument to declare itself; which is both graue, and pleasant, and wonderful effectual. And not to hold the reader anie longer, this doth sufficiently proue that which I sayd before, that euerie Fa∣ther hath his particular delightful manner of expressing himself, and that so much varietie must needs make the pleasure, in reading them, the greater, as it were wal∣king out of one garden into another; & by the often change of so manie curiosities as be in them, preuenting al wearisomnes, which might creepe-in vpon vs.

10. And certainly, if, when they liued heer on earth, it could not but be an exces∣siue comfort to deale with anie one of them, and to conuerse with men of so great worth as they were, can we think, ••he pleasure is lesse now they are in heauen? Me thinks it should be farre greater; both because the discourses, which are penned, are alwayes more elaborate & mor•• ••••fined then that, which is deliuered by word of mouth ex tempore; and the glorie, ••••ich they now enioy, doth adde weight and authoritie to their writings. To cōclude therefore this discourse of the three Bran∣ches of Diuinitie, I desire only people wil reflect, that, wheras the vnderstanding of matters so sublime & specially of the holie Scriptures doth come vnto vs more by being humble & long acquainted with spiritual things, then by strength of wit & assiduitie, it must needs be euident, that Religious people are so much the better disposed for the comfort, which may be had in that kind of studie, by how much they haue more plentie of efficacious meanes to enrich themselues with the ver∣tues, which prepare the way vnto it.

Of the ioy, which Religious people take in the good of their Neighbours soules. CHAP. XII.

MOst Religious men haue yet another comfort, which goeth beyond al carnal and earthlie comforts: when hauing had occasion to labour in cultiuating of numbers of Soules, they see them for∣sake their vicious courses, and take to vertues, or in sanctitie of life dayly to aduance themselues, and encrease in the seruice of God. Who can expresse the ioy, which this doth breed? or the teares, which it oftimes draweth from our eyes? For if, as the Prophet sayth, Conquerours exult, when they haue taken a prey,* 1.238 what greater exultation can there be, then in such a conquest, & such a prey? For in other victories the prosperous successe of one partie, is losse to the other; heer the benefit, which comes to vs, is beneficial also to our neigh∣bour; and the good of our neighbour, the encrease of our ioy. Witnes the labour, the sollicit••••e, the care, which most commonly this fruit doth cost vs; wherof the Apostle writeth thus to certain Disciples of his: My little children, whom I tra∣uail withal againe, vntil CHRIST be formed in you; comparing himself to a woman with child,* 1.239 to expresse the time, and labour, and payne also, which often accompanieth this charitable busines. And consequently there can be no doubt, but that, which our Sauiour sayth in the Ghospel, agreeth also to this child-birth: A woman, when she breedeth, hath sorrow; but when she hath brought forth, now she remembreth not the pressure,* 1.240 by reason of the ioy, because a man is come into the world. But heer the ioy is farre greater, because man is not borne into the world, but in verie deed into heauen. For the life of the bodie is short, but the life of the Soule, eternal. And what ioy, think you, should we conceaue of this euerlasting fruit, seing we find a Heathen Philosopher reioycing at the temporal progresse of his Disciples,* 1.241 and esteeming it a very iust and reasonable cause of ioy?

If a tree, sayth he, when it is come so farre as to bring forth fruit, reioyceth the husbandman; if a shepheard take pleasure to see the fruit of his flock; if euerie man beholding the child, which he nurseth, delights in the growth of his child, as in his owne; how dost thou think it fares with them, that haue nursed vp wits, when knowing the tender beginnings of them, they behold them suddenly flourish?

Thus spake this Heathen Philosopher of the brickle, & ••••ort, & momentarie fruit, which he could arriue to know. The fruit of our lab••••••s is spiritual & immortal; so that if, as our Sauior testifyeth, there be ioy in heauen vpon one sinner doing pennance, is there not the like cause of reioycing on earth, when we see a man either cōuerted to do pennance for his sinnes, or established in vertue, and taking great strides to perfec∣tion? Doubtlesse there is. For certainly in this one, we haue manie causes of ioy & cōfort, the glorie of God, the saluation of our neighbour, whom we are cōmanded to loue as ourselues; a ioyful & most admirable representation of the Diuine good∣nes, & clemēcie, & patiēce, not only in bearing with the lost sheep, but in bringing

it againe to the fold vpon his shoulders; of which goodnes and clemencie we are witnes and spectatours. Finally, it is no smal encrease of ioy, that we find our∣selues made partners in some measure, in so great and so noble a work, and able,* 1.242 in a manner, to glorie with S. Paul, and say: I planted. For it is natural for euerie bodie to loue and take delight in that, in which he hath taken some kind of paynes; and the more excellent the work is, the more pleasure he takes in it. And what greater work can there be, then to make men Saints? a work not only proper to God alone, but the greatest of al his works; a work, wherof S. Paul reioyced in the Philippians, saying of them: My ioy and my crowne; and in the Corinthians,* 1.243 stiling them his glorie in the day of our Lord; and to the Thessaloni∣ans: What is our hope,* 1.244 and ioy, or crowne of glorie? Are not you, before our Lord IESVS CHRIST in his coming? For you are our glorie and ioy. Wherefore seing Religious people labour so diligently in this haruest of Soules, and haue so manie peculiar helps towards the reaping of the fruit of it (as we haue shewed in the precedent Booke) their ioy and comfort in it must also necessarily be both most assured and continual.

Of the Hundred-fold promised to Religious people. CHAP. XIII.

THat which we haue hitherto sayd of the pleasantnes of a Religiou•• course of life, is very admirable; Yet one thing remayneth behind, more to be valued then al the rest, as contayning indeed al other things; and hauing it, we may iustly make account we haue al. This is the large,* 1.245 and ample, and magnificent promise, which Truth itself makes vs in these wordes: Euerie one that shal leaue father, or mother, or brethren, or sisters,* 1.246 or house, or lands, shal receaue a hundred-fold in this life. Of which promise S. Bernard discoursing sayth,* 1.247 and very truly:

These are the words, which haue per∣swaded men through the whole world, to contemne the world, and embrace vo∣luntarie Pouertie; words, that fil Cloysters with Monks, Deserts with Anchorets. These, I say, are the words which put Aegypt to pillage, & robbe it of the best ves∣sel it hath. This is that liuelie and efficacious word, conuerting soules by a happie ambition of sanctitie and faithful promise of truth. Finding therefore so great a promise vpon record, and knowing withal that he that makes vs this promise, cannot fayle of his word, nor forget how fa••re he hath engaged himself, it con∣cernes vs, diligently to search into the riches of it, and acquaint ourselues throughly with the treasure which it containeth.

2. Cassian in his last Collation relating a discourse of Abbot Abraham,* 1.248 sayth that the words of this promise are to be vnderstood plainely as they sound, to wit, that we shal receaue the verie things which we leaue, in quantitie multiplied.

For, sa••thl••,* 1.249 whosoeuer contemning the loue of one father, or mother, or child, for Christ's sake, doth passe into the most sincere loue of al those that serue Christ, shal receaue a hundred-fold in quantitie of brethren and parents, that is to say, for ••ne

he shal find so manie fathers and brethren, that wil loue him with a more ardent and more eleuated kind of loue, and shal be also enriched with possessions and lands in like manner multiplied; that is, whosoeuer abandoneth one house for the loue of Christ, shal possesse innumerable Monasteries as his owne in al parts of the world, and enter vpon them as vpon his owne land of inhe∣ritance. For how doth not he receaue a hundred-fold, and (if we may be so bold as to adde anie thing to the words of our Sauiour) more then a hundred-fold, that forsaking ten or twentie seruants that wayte vpon him by force, and are scarce to be trusted, is attented euer after with the volun∣tarie seruice of so manie men wel borne and of honourable descent?

A notable saying, comprehending not only Religious people that haue reuennues in common,* 1.250 but al in general, euen those that professe the strictest Euangelical Pouertie that can be, and haue nothing either in priuate or in common; for these also haue their hundred-fold of almes, which the faithful bring-in vnto them abundantly of deuotion.

Let vs giue care (sayth S. Bede discoursing of this kind of Pouertie) to the ioyful promises of our Lord and Sauiour, let vs see how out of the special fauour of his goodnes he promiseth them that follow him, not only the rewards of eternal life, but excellent guifts also in this pre∣sent life. Euerie one that shal leaue house, or brethren, or land, for my sake, shal receaue a hundred-fold.

For he that renounceth earthlie loue and possessions to follow Christ, the more he profiteth in his loue, the more he shal find that wil be glad to embrace him with inward affection, and maintayne him with their outward substance. The first degree therefore of this hundred-fold in this world, is to re∣ceaue it euen in these outward things.

3. But the inward treasures which God bestoweth vpon vs are farre grea∣ter and more to be esteemed;* 1.251 to wit, a sweetnes and satietie in our soules, incomparably better then al earthlie pleasure. S. Hierome conceaued right of it, and sayth,

that the promise of our Sauiour is to be vnderstood in this sense, that he that forsaketh ca••nal things for our Sauiour, shal re∣ceaue spiritual, which, for the worth of them, are in comparison of earthlie things,* 1.252 as a hundred for one.

And what shal we need to stand alleaging manie authorities? If it be pleasure which we seeke in these earthlie things, we see where it is to be had farre more abundant and more solid. For this is the tenure of the promise of our Sauiour: looke how much contentment a man receaued in his parents, and brethren, and kinsfolk, and acquaintance, or in the pleasantnes or fruitfulnes of his lands and territories, or in the vse and possession of whatsoeuer other thing he was maister of in the world, he shal haue the self same contentment in Religion, a hundred-fold more added vnto it.

* 1.2534. S. Gregorie in one of his Homilies deliuereth this which we are saying, and addeth moreouer that this Hundred-fold consisteth in a kind of habitual ioy and contentment of mind,* 1.254 giuing a man as much and much more satis∣faction in pouertie, then the richest men of the world can find in al their wealth and abundance. His words are these:

Holie men do not forsake earthlie things, to the end they may haue the self same in this world multiplyed; for whosoeuer doth forsake earth out of an earthlie intent, doth not forsake

earth, but desire it. Neither is it to be vnderstood, that he that forsaketh one wife, shal receaue a hundred; but in the name of a Hundred-fold we vn∣derstand Perfection, because whosoeuer despiseth earthlie and temporal things for God, receaueth heer so much perfection in his soule, that he desireth not the things which before he set at naught, and in the world to come he arriueth to the glorie of life euerlasting. He receaueth therefore a hundred times ouer that which once he gaue, because he receaueth the spirit of perfection, which maketh that he wanteth not earthlie things, though he haue them not;* 1.255 for he is properly a poore man, that wanteth that which he hath not. He that, when he hath not a thing, doth not desire it, is rich; for pouertie consisteth in the penuriousnes of one's mind, not in the quantitie of that which he possesseth; and he is not poore, that is not encumbred with pouertie. Cassian hath the like saying,* 1.256 and discourseth of the sweetnes of this Hundred-fold in this manner: Certainly a man shal receaue a hundred times more sweetnes by contayning himself from marriage, then people haue in the act of marriage. And for the contentment which they haue in the possession of one house, or one peece of land, he shal haue a hundred times more ioy of the riches which he shal possesse by being the sonne of God by adop∣tion,* 1.257 by vertue wherof he entreth vpon al that which belongeth to his eternal Father and possesseth it as his owne, and in imitation of that true Sonne sayth with like loue and vertue; Al which my Father hath, is mine; and enioyeth it without paynful care, or distractiue sollicitude, quiet and secure, as it were his owne in∣heritance, these words of the Apostle sounding dayly in his eares:* 1.258 Al things are y••rs, whether the world, or things present, or things to come; and that of King Salomon: Of a faithful man the whole world is his wealth.* 1.259 Thou hast therefore the reward of a Hundred-••old layd downe before thee in the greatnes of the merit, and in the in∣comparable difference of the worth and qualitie. For as if for a certain weight of brasse, or iron, or other grosser mettal, a man should returne the like weight in gold, he might wel be sayd to haue rendred more then a hundred-fold: So when for the contempt of earthlie loue and pleasure a man is rewarded with spiritual ioy, and the pleasure of most excellent charitie, though the number were alike, yet it is a hundred times greater and better.

This was Cassian's opinion in this bu∣sines.

5. And S. Augustin doth not only approue of it,* 1.260 but sticketh not to say further, that the pleasure of Religious people is more then a hundred times as great; and that the number of a hundred, being the perfectest of al other numbers, comprehendeth al that can be had or wished; and that the saying of the Apostle is verifyed in them: As hauing nothing, and possessing al things. And else-where he repeateth the same;* 1.261 and addeth moreouer, that such as were poore in the world, and had little or nothing to leaue, shal not be excluded from this happines, but al shal be partakers of so ample and so abundant a a reward of pleasure, which maketh the ioy of the hundred-fold incompa∣rably greater. And to this effect he construeth those words of the Psalme: There sparrowes shal make their neasts;* 1.262 vnderstanding by sparrowes, which are little birds, the poore and little ones, that hearing the words of the Ghospel (Go sel al that thou hast, and come follow me) embracing

it with al their hart, resolue neither to marrie, nor to trouble themselues with care of children, nor to tye themselues to anie certain dwelling, but to liue in common. What therefore (sayth S. Augustin) haue these sparrowes forsaken?* 1.263 what great matter haue they forsaken? One of them turnes to God; he leaues his father's poore cottage, perhaps scarce a bed in it, or a chest. Let vs not crowe ouer him; let vs not say: Thou hast left nothing. He that hath for∣saken a great deale, let him not be prowde of it.

We know that Peter, when he first followed our Sauiour, was a fisherman; what could he forsake? or his brother Andrew, or the sonnes of Z••bedee, Iohn and Iames? for they were also fishermen; and yet what did they say? Behold we haue left al, and fol∣lowed thee. Our Sauiour did not answer him: Hast thou forgotten thy po∣uertie? what hast thou left, that the whole world should be turned-ouer vnto thee? He forsooke a great deale, my Brethren, he forsooke very much. He for∣sooke not only al that he had, but al that he desired to haue. What man is there so poore, that doth not swel with the hopes of this world? who is there that doth not dayly couet to encrease that which he hath? This couetous mind is that which they cut off. It was once ayming at an immensitie of wealth; they confined it; and shal we say they left nothing? No certainly; Peter forsooke the whole world, and the whole world was turned-ouer vnto him, as hauing nothing, and possessing al things.

Manie doe the like; they that haue little, doe this, and become fruitful sparrowes. Al this is of S. Augustin, So that we may iustly conclude, that Religious people haue a promise, not only of a hundred times as manie goods, and a hundred times as much pleasure and happines by these goods euen in this life, but vnder the title of a hundred-fold, they haue a promise of the whole world.

6. Which is a rare and excellent thing; and yet there is an other degree of this hundred-fold, and indeed the highest that can be thought on, compre∣hending not only the world,* 1.264 and al that is in it, but God, the Authour of the world. So S. Ambrose vnderstandeth this hundred-fold to be God him∣self; because he that forsaketh al, beginnes to possesse God. He (sayth S. Am∣brose) is the perfect reward of Vertue, not counted vnto vs one by one to an hundred, but in the value of perfect vertue;* 1.265 and giueth an example in the Tribe of Leui. For by commandment of God himself, there being no portion of land set-out for them among the rest of the Tribes,* 1.266 God promised, that he would be their part and possession, and often renewed the like promise vnto them. Wherupon S. Ambrose speaking of this their honourable and delightful inheritance, sayth in this manner:

He that hath God for his portion, is maister of al that is in Nature. In steed of land, it is enough that he enioyeth himself; that is a good reuenew vnto him, which cannot perish. In steed of seueral dwellings, it is sufficient, that himself is the habitation and temple of God, then whom nothing is more pretious. For what is more pretious then God? This is a portion to which earthlie portions cannot be compared.

What is more noble then a Hea∣uen••ie guest▪ What is more happie then a Diuine possession?

7. This and much m••re sayth S. Ambrose of this Hundred-fold, and parti∣cularly that they that haue forsaken al, are farre more rich, then al the wealthie men of the world, because though their lands and dominions extend neuer so farre, yet they haue their bounds, and pay more out of them, then the profit of

them comes to: but, sayth

S. Ambrose, he that hath nothing, and serueth God only, hath his inheritance aboue the earth, where land doth not confine him, nor the sea bound him. Which being so, how can the wealth of anie King, or the earthlie riches, and commodities, and pleasures of anie man liuing, be comparable to the riches and pleasures of a Religious life?

8. We might bring manie examples to this purpose; but that which hapned to Arnulphus a Cistercian Monk,* 1.267 shal supply for al, whose wonderful conuersion is recorded in the historie of that Order. He being nobly borne, and a wealthie man in the world, bred vp in al manner of dainties, touched in a Sermon of S. Bernard, became a Monk in the Monasterie of Claire-vaulx. And in that poore and austere kind of life, among other infirmities being once grieuously tormented with the cholick, he lay for a good while togeather in a swound and speechles; and at last coming to himself, he cryed out alowde: Al it true, which thou hast sayd, ô Lord IESV; and repeated it very often. They that were about him, much am ze••, asked him how he felt himself; but he gaue them no other answer but as before: Al is true, which thou hast sayd, ô Lord IESV. And some of them whispering to themselues, and saying that they feared he was distracted with his paine, and spake idely, he spake thus vnto them:

That which I said, I sayd in my perfect senses; for our Lord in the Ghospel hath promised, that if a man renounce the wealth of this world, and al conuersation with his kindred, for his loue, he shal receaue a hundred-fold in this life. And this I find now by experience. For this very excessiue sharp torment is so sweet vnto me for the hope of the mercies of God which I feele in it, that I would not haue been without this grief, not only for al the world which I left, but not▪ if it had been a hundred times as much more. And if I, that am a wicked sinner, feele that these paynes are a hundred times sweeter vnto me, then al my ancient worldlie happines, what is that which good and feruent Religious people haue in their spiritual ioyes and comforts? For it is most certain that anie spiritual ioy, though it be but in hope, is a hundred thou∣sand times greater, then whatsoeuer secular ioy actually possessed.

These were the words of this holie man: and when he spake them, al that heard him, were much astonished, specially to heare a man, that had no learning, conceaue and vtter such things so pertinently; and thereby they were the more assured, that what he sayd, came indeed from the Holie-Ghost, that dwelt in his hurt.

A comparison of Religion with Paradise. CHA••. XIIII.

I Wil conclude this discourse of the pleasantnes of a Religious life with a conceit of S. Antonin's, who was both a very learned man, and a great Saint. He therefore in one of his Treatises, where he discourseth at large of this state of life out of the principles of Diui∣nitie, among other commendations which he giues it, sayth, it is like the terrestrial Paradise, a place of ioy, and pleasure, and delight, planted by the hand of God, the greatest and powerfullest Artificer that ca••••e, and fullest of

knowledge;* 1.268 & planted to the end that man should leade a most blisful life in it. Re∣ligion yealdeth nothing to paradise, for as much as concerneth the dignitie of the Authour of it: for so great a thing as Religion is, could not haue been inuented but by God, nor conserued to this day by anie other power or wisdome. This so holie & wholesome kind of life is his guift, he put it into the thoughts of men; He is the authour of this counsel and practise of making Vowes, and instilles into euerie man's mind the desire of vndertaking such a kind of course; he giues per∣seuerance and victorie in temptations; he orders the rules and seueral consti∣tutions and al things belonging to this Sate; and consequently it cannot be but that the whole worke proceeding from a fountain of so great wisdome and goodnes, must needs be euerie way perfect and compleate, and flow with ful streames of happines.

2. In that first garden and orchard of pleasure, God planted al kind of trees, fayre to behold,* 1.269 and pleasant to tast of, that no kind of delight might be wanting in it. Heer we haue plentie of spiritual fruits, much more delightful to the eyes and palate of our mind; to wit, the securitie of a sincere and vpright Con∣science, light of Vnderstanding to discouer things of an other world, the solaces of Prayer and Contemplation, and manie other things which we haue mentioned before, yealding excessiue contentment both by the varietie & dignitie, which is in them.

* 1.2703. Heer wanteth not the Tree of Life, which S. Antonine wil haue to be the Grace of God, in regard that the State itself is not grounded in Nature but in Grace, & con∣teyneth within itself manie easie and obuious wayes both to produce and encrease dayly the self-same Grace. And as in Paradise the ayre was alwayes of an euen tem∣per, neuer excessiue hot, nor excessiue cold, there was neither hunger nor thirst, nor aguish distemper, nor anie other thing that could be distastful for the bodie: So in Religion we find peace and tranquillitie of mind, free from al turbulent mo∣tions and distempers, and a constant kind of disp••sition and euennes of our in∣ward carriage, which if it were pleasing to the bodie, much more to the mind. As for the foure Riuers that flowed out of Paradise, S. Gregorie telles vs,* 1.271 that they signi∣fie foure Vertues, wherewith while our hart is watered, the heate of al carnal de∣sires is alayed.

* 1.2724. Let vs see how that agreeth to Religion which God sayd of Man: It is not good for man to be alone; let vs make him a help like to himself. What doth this signify but the help which euerie one findes in the companie of his Brethren for the benefit of his owne soule, and for the more profitable assistance of his Neighbour? Certainly it is not good for a man, that desi••eth vertue, to be alone; rather it is dangerous and hurtful, both because it is more easie for the Diuel to supplant him, and himself is more apt to be wearied with the labour 〈◊〉〈◊〉 vertuous course of life; & a man can∣not but want sometimes good counsel, and good example. Great therefore is the help which Conuersation with our Brethren doth yeald vs; and is more like our∣selues, then the help which was made for Adam; because that was only like in na∣ture, heer the Sexe is the same, and our habit, and orders and al things els are al••ke.

5. If we looke also into the inward disposition of mind, in which our first Father was at the time of his creation, we shal find no smal resemblance of it in Religion. S. Io••n Chrysostome discoursing of the happines of Monks, and comparing

them with Adam while he liued in Paradise,* 1.273 expresseth it in these words: W••y should these be in worse case then he, when before his disobedience he was busied in working in Paradise? He was troubled with no worldlie care, no more are these, He conuersed with God with an vpright conscience, and so doe these, and so much the more freely, by how much they haue greater grace bestowed vpon them by the guift of the Holie-Ghost.

6. Finally S. Bernard discoursing of the delights of this Paradise,* 1.274 sheweth with∣al the way and meanes which we must take to come vnto it; and it is reason we should learne of him. Do not think, sayth he, that this Paradise of inward pleasure is anie corporal place.* 1.275 We must not walk with our feete into this garden, but with our affections. It is not commended for store of earthlie trees, but for the pleasant and comelie plants of spiritual vertues.

It is a Garden enclosed, where a sealed fountaine is deriued into foure branches, and one veyne of wisdome spreads itself into foure seueral vertues. There beautiful lillies spring forth; and when the flowers appeare, the voice of the Turtle-doue is heard. There the Spikenard yeal∣deth the Spouse a most fragrant smel, and al other spices abound, while the South∣wind bloweth & the North-wind is shut out. In the midst is the Tree of Life, the Apple-tree mentioned in the Canticles, more precious then al the trees of the woods; the shade wherof cooleth the Spouse and the fruit is sweet in her throat. There the brightnes of Continencie, and the knowledge of sincere truth enlight∣neth the eyes of our hart, & the melodious voice of the inward Cōforter giueth ioy and gladnes to our hearing. There the pleasant Sent of a fruitful field which God hath blessed, doth as it were beate into the nostrels of our H••pe. There we haue a tast of the incomparable daynties of Charitie, and eate greedily of them; and the thornes and brambles wherewith it was pricked before, being now cut downe, and our soule annoynted with the oyle of Mercie, it reposeth happily in a good Conscience. And al these things are not reckoned among the rewards of the life to come, but are part of our hire in this temporal warfare, and bel••ng not to the future, but rather to the promise of the Church which now is. For this is the Hun∣dred-fold which euen in this world is bestowed vpon those that contemne the world. These are the words of S. Bernard, the bare rehearsal wherof whom should is not in reason moue to labour for so great blessings, and to resolue for euer to liue where there is such plentie of happines?

7. And yet we haue no great cause to wonder, that Religion should be so like the terrestrial Paradise,* 1.276 seing it is like to Heauen itself, which is in farre greater ho∣nour. For indeed if we looke wel into the nature of a Religious life, it is a liuelie patterne of that happie and blisseful habitation, and resembleth it in al points as neer as possibly the liuing in this world can come neere vnto it. And because I wil not haue anie man think that I speake this of my owne head,* 1.277 S. Laurēce Iustinian shal speake for me, who hath a long & eloquent discourse to this purpose in the booke which he wrote of Monastical perfection; and among other things he sayth thus in expresse words: In al human things, and in this pilgrimage of ours, there is no such liuelie picture of our heauenlie Countrey, as is Monastical conuersation, and a Congregation dedicated to the seruice of God.* 1.278 And then confirmeth this his 〈◊〉〈◊〉 with manie solid & euident proofes; which whosoeuer wil, may reade in him And ••. Basil was directly of the same opinion; for hauing made a long disc••••••se of the excel∣lencie of a Religious life, in the end he concludes, that vpon earth there is

not anie thing so great or so beautiful, as to deserue to be compared with it, and that therefore we must seeke to heauen to haue a likenes of it; because as in hea∣uen al things are incorruptible, so also among Religious people; and as the Cittizens of heauen loue intirely togeather, so doe Religious people.

8. The first reason therefore of similitude between Heauen and Religion, if we follow S. Basil,* 1.279 is Incorruption, that is, Chastitie, because as in heauen, they neither marrie, nor are giuen in marriage, according to the saying of our Sauiour, so neither in Religion.* 1.280 The second reason is Charitie, and that perfect loue and vnion, which is betwixt those happie Saints of heauen, grounded not in nature, or anie natural inclination or motiue, but in God alone, and his onlie loue. And what is there vpon earth that doth more perfectly resemble this loue then Religion? where people do so absolutely concurre in the self-same mind and opinions, and haue al manner of things so common among them, and loue so entirely togeather, that (as I haue often sayd, & must often repeate it) they seeme not to be manie soules, but one soule in manie bodies, knit and vnited togeather, not for natural reasons or human respects and ends, as marchants, soldiers, and the like, but meerely vpon Charitie, meerely for the loue of God. This Charitie, as the Apostle spea∣keth, neuer sayling,* 1.281 shal last with vs in heauen, and be the self-same there, which is heer vpon earth; and consequently while we are on earth, it liuely representeth the state which we shal inioy in heauen.* 1.282 S. Iohn Chrysostom speaking in commen∣dation of Religious people, doth not stick to say, that they haue made choyce of a heauenlie kind of life, and are not worse disposed then the Angels (for so are his words) because as in the Angels there is no distemper, neither do some grieue while others reioyce, but are al of them ioyful with one and the self-same gladnes and quiet, so it hapneth for al the world in Monasteries. And S. Basil deliuering his mind yet more plainly, compareth the life, which Religious people leade in common, with the life of the Angels, and giueth this reason for it, because al enioy the self-same spiritual riches and treasures; which, because they are spiritual, may without diminution be equally possessed by al, and therefore, sayth he, Religion is a liuelie representation of heauen, and giueth vs a tast in this life of the happi∣nes which is to come.

* 1.2839. What shal we say of the similitude which Religion hath with that perfect subiection, in which al that are in heauen liue vnder God, al their wils being wholy and most admirably absorpt in his wil, and holding it for the onlie rule of al their actions and motions? For in like manner Religion cutteth off and rooteth out by the vow of Obedience al wil of our owne; and by vertue of that vow, the wil of God, by the ministerie of man, swayeth and ruleth in al things.

* 1.28410. Pouertie also hath a hand in this resemblance; for as they that are in hea∣uen take no thought for gold nor siluer, but mind only the spiritual treasures which they enioy:* 1.285 so Religious people shake off al earthlie things, and glorie most of al, that they are maisters of nothing.

11 Moreouer in that heauenlie Palace al haue one kind of employment, and one busines, to wit, to loue God, and continually to prayse him. This is that which Religion•• people also ayme at, and labour for; to this end they forsake the world,* 1.286 to attend & see that God is sweet; to this they wholy apply themselues, and this is the reason, as S. Denys writeth, why from the beginning they were called Monks, to the end their name, deriued from vnitie, might signifie the vnitie of the Soule

with God, which Religious discipline worketh in vs.

Wherefore,* 1.287 as S. Augustin sayth, that they that are in heauen are blessed, because they doe nothing but prayse God, they doe not plough, nor sowe the ground, nor go to mil, because they are works of necessi••••••, and there is no necessitie; nor they do not robbe nor steale, nor commit adulterie, because they be works of iniquitie, and there is no iniquitie: So we may say of Religion.

For first, Iniquitie hath no place in Religion; and as for Necessitie, it is for the most part shut out by abandoning al desire of earthlie things; and for the rest which remayneth, it is directed wholy to the glorie of God, which of itself is to prayse God, and consequently they neuer cease praysing him. For, as the same S. Augustin deliuereth,* 1.288 Thou praysest God when thou goest about busines; thou praysest God when thou eatest, and when thou drinkest, thou pray∣sest God, when thou dost rest in thy bed, and when thou sleepest.

12. Finally it is no smal resemblance of a heauenlie life,* 1.289 that a Religious Soule imitateth the conuersation of those that are in heauen, as S Bernard discourseth in a certain place, as when it worshippeth and adoreth God alone, as the Angels;* 1.290 it is chast, as the Angels, and that in fl••sh of sinne, and this frayle bodie, as the Angels are not; finally when it seeketh and mindeth the things which are with them, and not that which is vpon earth. And the same S. Bernard not without great reason applying those words of the Apocalyps to our Sauiour (I saw the holie Cittie Hierusalem,* 1.291 new, descending from heauen) sayth,

that when he came downe from heauen to teach vs vpon earth the conuersation which is in heauen, he brought in himself a perfect patterne and visible pourtraicture of that heauenlie Hierusalem;* 1.292 & giueth the reason, why he sayth so, in these words: The Heauenlie Man did not appeare in vaine, seing of earthlie people he made so manie heauenlie ones like himself. Because from that time we liue heer on earth after the manner of them that are in heauen; while to the likenes of that heauenlie and blisful Creature, this also which came from the vtmost bounds of the earth to heare the wisdome of Salomon, cleaueth to her heauenlie husband with chast loue.

13. The last resemblance which Religion hath with Heauen, is in Ioy and felicitie.* 1.293 For though there must of necessitie be great difference in the quantitie & excesse of this ioy, because in heauen we shal see God face to face, and heer we see him by a glasse in a dark 〈◊〉〈◊〉; Yet the ioy heer is not only very great, but of the self-same nature with that which is in heauen;* 1.294 for they both proceed from one fountaine, and haue the self-same obiects, to wit, not flesh and bloud, or anie thing created, but God only, who is infinit, and the Soueraigne Good of al.

14 And heer we might spinne out a long discourse concerning the abundance, and multiplicitie, and assurednes, and soliditie, and perpetuitie, of the Ioyes which are in Religion but that we haue sp••ken sufficiently of them in al that which go•••• before.* 1.295 Yet vpon that which hath been hitherto sayd, we may iustly conclude, that no State can be fuller of al kind of happines then a Religious life; specially seing it so liuely resembleth the ioyes & life of heauen, that we may truly say, we are con∣tinually tasting of them, yea plentifully feeding vpon the excessiue felicities which there we shal enioy, & fitly apply to this purpose that verse of the Royal Prophet: Blesse our Lord,* 1.296 al y••e seruants of our Lord, who stand in the house of our Lord, in the courts of the house of our God. Where inuiting the seruants of God to the prayses of him, he distinguisheth them into two ranks: Some he placeth in the house of God, others in the outward courts. The first are they that dwel in Heauen, which is the proper

Mansion-house of God; Religious people are the second, that stand, as I may say, in the court-yard of the heauenlie Palace. They are not yet in the house, but next doore to it, and in a manner in the porch or entrie; where they haue two great commodities: First, that vnlesse they wil needs giue back, they may both easily & quickly get into the house, when their turn comes; and secondly, bordering so neer vpon that Heauenlie habitation, they cannot choose but haue part very often of the manie commodities and daynties, which that house affordeth, as so manie crummes falling from a table richly furnished.

An answer to certain Obiections, which are wont to be made against Religion; and first: That few enioy these Comforts. CHAP. XV.

IF the World could speake for itself, or had Counsel that were not blind and deafe with too much loue of the World I make no doubt, but it would yeald to Religion al that which I haue sayd, not only of the dignitie of it, but of the immensitie and abundance of the ioyes and comforts, which are in it. For it were not only impu∣dencie, but scarce the conceit of a man, but of a beast, to value the pleasures of the bodie, and the itching delight, which growes from these base inferiour things, aboue true and solide contentment of mind grounded in God, who is the only true good, and the good of al goodnes; this contentment and delight of mind being that sauourie Manna, which the goodnes of God rayneth downe from heauen vpon those that he leades out of Aegypt into the Desert.

2. But because, as we sayd before, both in our passage out of the land of Aegypt, and afterwards, there want not them, that stand in our way and oppose vs, Pharao with his horse and his whole armie on the one side, and the Philistians & Iebusaeans ō the other, it remayneth that we now endeauour to discouer their plots, which is half the victorie, and breake their weapons in peeces, which they arme against vs. And first we wil g••e in hand with that obiection which is vsual: That al cannot be partakers of the pleasures & delights, which we haue discoursed of; a few rare men only attaine vnto them by the special fauour of Almightie God, & by long fasting and continual punishing of their bodie; the rest that are of the ordinarie sort of people, and but of a meane strayne in Vertue, are farre from feeling anie such kind of sweetnes, & neuer indeed tast of the delights we speake of. For confut••tion of this errour (for I can cal it no other) we must first suppose, that whatsoeuer hath been sayd in al this Treatise, either of the benefit, or excellencie, or pleasantnes of a Religious life, is to be vnderstood of the State itself, and not of particular men. For what is it to the purpose,* 1.297 if men be lazie and carelesse, and suffer themselues to want in the midst of al plentie and abundance, & to starue for hunger at a sul board of daynties? Of which kind of people the Holie-Ghost speaketh in the Prouerbs thus: 〈◊〉〈◊〉 s••••athful man hide•••• his Land vnder his arm-pit, and doth not put 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to his mouth. For in like manner Religious people are not farre to seeke for the goods which abound in Religion,* 1.298 but haue them readie carued to their hand; it is their part to make vse of them, and to put them as meat to their mouthes; if they wil not take so litle paynes as is required to make vse of them, the fault is their owne, if they be

in want, & not the State's; the State itself is fol fraught with excellent cōmodities; if they remaine emptie and naked, they must blame themselues. When Natural Philosophers discourse of the constitution of a man's bodie, they discourse of it as it is by nature, intire and perfect, with hands, & armes, and legs, and feet, and al the rest of the limmes belonging to a perfect bodie; if anie particular man want a hand, or an eye, or a foot, or anie other part, they take no notice of it, nor make anie rec∣koning of it, because their ayme is to teach that, which is natural to the thing they treate of: So treating of Religion, we shew what profit & pleasure the State is apt & wont naturally to produce and afford; if there be anie particular man, in whom it worketh not this wonted effect,* 1.299 the fault is in the man, not in the State. And yet I dare vndertake, that the number of these sloathful and lazie people is farre lesse, then the number of them that take comfort in Religion; because it is one of the happinesses and benefits of a Religious life to rowse-vp the spirits of them, that are drowsie and negligent; to put life into them, that are slow and dul; and set them on fire, that are cold and lumpish.

3. But perhaps they that make this obiection, intend only to say, that the rapts or trances, and extasies and miracles, which they heare of, or reade in the liues of a S. Antonie, or S. Dominick, or S. Francis, or some other great Saints of special note, be peculiar to such rare men as they were, and happen not to al Religious people.

4. And this I willingly grant; neither was it euer my meaning to say otherwise; nor if we consider the matter right,* 1.300 is it anie disparagement to Religion, that al haue not these extraordinarie guifts. For as the fertilnes of a peece of ground ap∣peares, if it naturally yeald a hudred for one; and if anie particular man reape not so much, the goodnes of the soyle is not the cause of it, but the negligence or want of skil of him that ploughes it, or tilles it not as it ought to be tilled: The same of Religion; of itself it is a fat soyle, and the goodnes of it appeares chiefly, and to the admiration of al the world, in such eminent Saints as they are, whom we men∣tioned; if we doe not find the like profit by it, we cannot lay anie blame vpon Re∣ligion, but the fault is in vs. And yet this verie consideration ought in reason to animate & encourage vs to be the more diligent, knowing what plentie of fruit we may reape of our labours, and what abundance others haue reaped. And no doubt but though we neuer arriue to tast of those extraordinarie and vnwonted ioyes & pleasures,* 1.301 which those admirable Saints did seele, we may notwithstanding find no smal comfort in Religion, and indeed abundantly enough to fil vs. For though we haue not the markes of the siue wounds of our Sauiour printed in our bodie, as some of them haue had, or be not rapt to the third heauen, or suffer not excesse of mind in prayer, and the like; Yet it is ordinarie, and easie also to take so much pleasure in reading of spiritual books, in prayer, in contemplation of the Mysteries of our Faith, and such holie Exercises, that we would not exchange the delight which we find in them, for al the delights which are in the world, though they were ten thousand times more then they are. For these Diuine guists & comforts of God are like the Oyle, which was multiplyed by the Prophet Elizaeus:* 1.302 they runne so long as there are emptie vessels to receaue them; & though the vessels which are presented, are some of them but smal, and not so manie as might be filled, yet so long as anie are offered, this heauenlie oyle doth not cease to runne; & that which is deriued by this meanes into our soules, be it neuer so little, according to the proportion and capacitie of the vessel which we presente, is notwi••standing won∣derful sweet and pleasant.

* 1.3035. We may adde, that they that are so ful of these feares and doubts, least God should sel his spiritual delights at too deare a rate, haue a meane and vnworthie conceit of his infinit goodnes and bountie, taking him to be close-fisted, as I may say, & of a couetous disposition, which is farre from the bountifulnes of his nature. They should rather reflect, how freely, and liberally, and profusedly he powreth forth the rest of his benefits for the sustenance of this natural life of ours. He ma∣keth the Sunne to rise day by day, and giueth rayne to the earth in due season; he furnisheth the world with plentie of corne, and wine, & oyle, and al other fruits, not only sufficiently to supply our necessities, but abundantly for pleasure and pastime. And vpon whom doth he bestow these things? Vpon men that blaspheme his holie name; vpon men that are wicked and vngodlie, or at least for the most part vngrateful; vpon them that receauing so manie inestimable benefits at his hands, think not once of him, and oftimes abuse his guifts to his dishonour and re∣proach. Seing therefore God is so large and bountiful in the goods which serue but for this natural life, why should he not be in like manner liberal and profuse in the goods which serue for our spiritual life, a life farre more noble and excellent, and for which he voluntarily descended from the throne of heauen, and dyed wil∣lingly vpon the Crosse, to the end we might be partakers of it? We see what kind of people were inuited to that sumptuous Bancket so royally & magnificently set forth in the Ghospel. Did he cal the rich and noble only, or people clad in cloth of gold and siluer?* 1.304 Goe forth, sayth he, quickly into the streets and lanes of the Citt••e; & the poore, and ••eeble, and blind, and lame, bring in hither. Who be these seeble, and blind, & poore people (to interpret the Parable spiritually as we ought) but such as are imperfect, and but Nouices for matter of spirit, too weake-sighted to fixe their eyes attentiuely vpon heauenlie things, and too feebly vnderlayd to runne the wayes of Religious discipline, and finally but slenderly prouided of vertue, and poore in al spiritual graces? And yet these are not only not excluded from the sweetnes of this bancket, but vnexpectedly inuited, and entreated, and, as the Ghospel speaketh, compelled to goe in. Let no man therefore feare, when he is called to Religion, that he shal be kept fasting from those plentiful fruits, which we haue mentioned, or forced to labour too long in digging for this current of liuing water.

* 1.3056. For a Religious life hath manie helps and furtherances towards these com∣forts. First it hath an aduantage ouer a Secular life, which is of no smal impor∣tance: that in a Secular life euerie one must get what he can by his owne labour & industrie; but in Religion, the State itself furnisheth vs with manie graces, and put∣teth them, as I may say, into our bosome, when we think not of them. And besides the good which we doe ourselues, we haue the help of the good deserts of our Brethren; which participation how beneficial it is, we haue spoken at large els∣where. The dignitie of the State, & the fauour in which it is with God, doth highly also endeere vs vnto him; and that heroical act, when we resigned ourselues and al that belonged vnto vs, into the hands of our Creatour; for this act alone is of more value & esteeme, & weighes more with God, then manie vertuous actions of a Se∣cular bodie. And finally the promise of Christ is of great weight, & very cōsiderable; for he hath promised a hundred-fold not only to such as liue like an other S. Arse∣nius, or S. Hilarion, but absolutely to al that forsake al without addition or restri∣ction, as we see. Which argument S. Bernard doth handle excellently wel,* 1.306 confu∣ting this selfsame errour & the vaine feares, which they obiect, who say: He doth

so indeed, I perhaps doe not so:

I am of a tender complexion; I am a sinner, & can∣not go through with so much hardnes without a great deale of grace, and haue it not in me to deserue this grace; As if grace were not grace, but a reward of our work, as if al had not sinned, and stood in need of the grace of God. D••st thou think ô man, that there is exception of persons with God? and that he doth not so plentifully comfort al those that haue left al? Be not incredulous; yeald at least to Truth, of whose testimonie no faithful man can doubt. He sayth: And eue∣rie one that shal leaue father or mother or house, or land for my name, shal receaue a hundred-fold. Christ excepteth no man. They therefore are miserable that say: Beside vs. It seemes they think themselues vnworthie of life euerlasting, seing they do not hope for so much as a hundred-fold. But because God, who promiseth it, is true the man is a lyar, that mistrusteth it.

Thus sayth S. Bernard.

7. But because beginners are they that are most of al subiect to these feares, in regard their mind is yet dul in conceauing spiritual things,* 1.307 and feeble in resisting the encounters which may occurre, and clogd with the dregs of a secular life, we wilshew, that they haue least cause of anie bodie to feare, because the beginnings of a Religious life are alwayes most ful of comfort. For if we beleeue, as we ought, that the Diuine goodnes hath so much care ouer those that are his, that he carrieth them as it were in his armes, and in his bosome; we must needs grant, that it belongeth much more to the self-same fatherlie care and prouidence, to giue this spiritual Infancie milk to drink,* 1.308 as the Apostle speaketh. For if, as Authour of nature, he prouided so carefully for our bodie, that as long as a child wants teeth and strength to feed itself, it should be fed with milk, which is so pleasing a sustenance, and so easie to be had without anie labour of the child; shal we think that in the order of Grace, of which he is in like manner Authour, he hath not had the like care of our soule while it is weake and feeble? For this is that which he promiseth of his owne accord by the Prophet Esay:* 1.309 You shal be carried at the breasts; and they shal make much of you vpon their knees; as if a mother should make much of one, so wil I comfort you. How could God expresse himself in more louing or more tender tearmes, then that, as infinit as he is, he disdayneth not to stoope to the ten∣der affections, and seruices, and assiduitie of a Nurse? Though in these words he doth not only expresse his loue towards vs, in that he compareth himself to a Mo∣ther; but comparing vs to little infants, he giueth vs moreouer to vnderstand, that we shal enioy these heauenlie comforts before we be able to deserue them. For what did a little infant, or what can it doe, to deserue the loue and good wil of a mother, but only that it is her child, for which there is no thanks due to the child, but to the mother? And if we talk of merit, what did the Prodigal Child doe, that could deserue so much cherishing at his father's hands, or so much as to be admitted to his sight?* 1.310 Rather he had done manie things, by which he deserued to be deeply punished; and yet what ioy was there vpon his returne? what feasting, what musick, what singing? and that which doubtles to him was sweeter then al the rest, what fatherlie compassion, what embracings, what kisses, what teares, what falling vpon his neck? And, which is the more admirable, al these friendlie offices were heaped vpon that sonne, which had so vnfriendly departed from his father's house, and lauished al that he had in riotous and vitious courses; wheras t••e other sonne & elder brother, that had neither in word nor deed euer giuen his father the least distast, had neuer anie thing giuen him, as himself complayned.

8. Which makes it so much the more euident, that it is so farre from truth, that these Comforts are bestowed only vpon the perfect, that oftimes they are besto∣wed in farre greater abundance vpon the imperfect, and vpon them that come newly, as strangers, into the house of God. And the reason why the infinit wise∣dome and prouidence of God dealeth thus with man,* 1.311 is that which S. Gregorie pointeth at in these words:* 1.312

It is the Diuine grace which so dispenseth, least in their begin∣nings they should be danted with the roughnes of temptation: because if the bit∣ternes of temptation should seaze vpon them in the beginning, they would the easier returne to what they had left, the lesse way they had gone from it, and suddenly againe intangle themselues in the vices which are so neere them. Wher∣vpon it is written, that when Pharao dismissed the people, our Lord did not leade them by the way of the land of the Philistians, which was next them, forethinking least it might repent them, if they had seen warre rise against them, and so returne into Aegypt. The warre therefore in the confines against them, that come out of Aegypt, is preuented, because they that forsake the world, first meete with a kind of tranquillitie, least troubled in that their tendernes and beginning, they should returne to that out of feare, which they had escaped.

9. Finally to conclude with one thing m••re, which may agree as wel to them that are Nouices in a spiritual course, as to al others that are imperfect; God doth deale his fauours in a different fashion from that which men doe vse. For men, both because their wealth and substāce is limited,* 1.313 and being communicated with others must needs grow lesse, and because themselues stand in need at other times of the help and fauour of others, neuer almost bestow anie thing vpon others, but in regard of some good office which they hope-for at their hands, or which they haue already receaued. But God standing in need of nothing, and abounding with infinit wealth, which neuer can be exhaust by giuing, hath no other motiue of being bountiful towards his creatures, but his owne louing nature and goodnes, infinitly inclined to doe good to others. This is that which drawes him to be so liberal, and so royal in his guifts, & so open-handed towards al, and not to regard so much the deserts of men in it, as his owne goodnes and bountie. This is also the ground of that other noble and more admirable proceeding of his, to wit, that oftimes he powreth forth his guifts more largely vpon them that are not so per∣fect, and haue not profited so much in vertue, then vpon others, not that they haue deserued better, but because they haue more need. For he dealeth with vs as a louing father, who though he tender the good of al his children, seemeth notwith∣standing in a manner to take no thought for them that are in health; but if anie of them be sick, he spares neither for physick nor physicians, nor the greatest dayn∣ties that can be gotten; Or as a husbandman, or gardener, that among the trees which he hath care of, looketh little after those that are wel growne; but is con∣tinually watering, and fencing, and vnderpropping those that are weak and ten∣der. The like & farre greater loue and care doth God shew towards his seruants, and maketh profession of it in the Ghospel,* 1.314 when he sayth: They that are in health, neede not a Physician, but they that are il at ease.

An answer to them that say: There be manie hard things in Religion. CHAP. XVI.

NOT only Sensual men,* 1.315 as the Apostle tearmeth them, that mind nothing but earthlie things, haue a horrour of manie things which they see in Religion, apprehending them to be wonderful hard and difficult; but the verie face of Religious discipline at the first sight to the outward eye carrieth a sad and seuere aspect, and is hateful to sense to behold. Which, were it not I am verily per∣swaded th••t few would refuse it, but rather most willingly & most greedily runne vnto it, because they cannot but see, that by vndertaking such a course of life, they purchase for the present, tranquillitie and peace of mind, they free themselues from worldlie cares and troubles, and are in a manner assured of the glorie of the life to come. But this outward shew of hardnes, which we speake of, doth so pre∣uaile with most men, that frighted with the conceit of it, they are contented to think, that the great commodities of Religion, deserue not to be bought with so much trouble, as they imagin to be in it. Seing therefore the Diuel hath scarce a more forcible engine to weaken this wholesome counsel, then this is, it wil be worth our labour to shew, how this kind of temptation, may be vtterly reu••ised and defeated.

2. And we haue two wayes to doe it:* 1.316 the one is, to grant, yea to glorie, that there be some things in Religion more hard and difficult then ordinarie. For what life were it, if it lay continually steeped in sensualities, if there were nothing to be suffered in it, if it had not now and then a dash of trouble, if there occurred no∣thing that might giue displeasure? If this were the manner of it, what commenda∣tion could a man giue of it? Where should patience, fortitude, charitie, and other vertues be exercised? What occasion should a man haue of merit, and encrease of his crowne? A Religious life therefore is the more commendable, because it hath wherin to practise vertue, and by practise to encrease it, and by encreasing it, to haue the greater reward.

3. But yet, least the imagina••ion of this difficultie,* 1.317 which is so wholesome and profitable, make too much impression in our thoughts, we must vnderstand, that al the difficultie which is in Religion, is so seazoned and alayed with diuers com∣forts, that it is apparent enough, for as much as concernes the merit of it, but the labour is not felt. In which respect we can neuer sufficiently admire and loue the infinit wisedome & goodnes of God, that, for the benefit of our soules, hath after so incredible a māner mingled & interlaced two things so cōtrarie one to the other. For i•• this kind of li••e were a course that were slac•• & easie, what cōmendation or reward, as I sayd, could it deserue? If on the other side it were excessiue paynful & labori••us, who would abide it, specially cōsidering the frayl••ie of ••umane na••ur•••• The Louer therefore & Preseruer of mākind hath so tempered the matter, that the self-same thing should be in itself very hard & difficult, and yet wonderful sweet and pleasant, by reason of the admirable mixture of other things, that mitigate

and alay it. Which our Sauiour himself insinuateth, when resembling his seruice to a burden and a yoak,* 1.318 he sayth, his yoak is sweet, and his burden light.

* 1.3194. Which notwithstanding we must alwayes beare in mind, that whatsoeuer difficultie we find in the seruice of God, the seruice of God is not the cause of it, but our corrupted flesh and affections which are alwayes repining: Otherwise the seruice of God being so comformable to reason, must of necessitie be pleasing to a man of reason. For one part of vs taking delight in the law of God, as the Apostle speaketh, and this being the superiour and more noble part of vs, if it applie itself seriously, and vse the diligence and endeauour which it may and ought, no doubt but it wil be maister, and keepe the other part in awe, it being both inferiour and created to obey. For first this verie industrie of ours, and diligent endeauour, which I speake of, is wonderful forcible of itself; and the ancient Philosophers doe acknowledge it, among whom one speaketh thus:* 1.320 N••thing is so hard and difficult, but the mind of man may ouercome it, and make it famlliar by continual beating vpon it.

No motions are so wild and headie, but that order and discipline wil tame them. Whatsouer command the mind layes vp••n itself, it goes through with it. Some haue gotten of them∣selues neuer to laugh; others haue debarred themselues of wine and women, and al ••ind of lick••ur; others haue learned to walk vpon smal ropes, and to car••ie exce••••ue burdens, and such as in a manner are beyond the strength of man to carrie, and to diue to an excessiue deapth, and passe the seas without drawing their breath. Another Philosopher writeth to the same purpose in this manner:* 1.321 They that learne to frame their manners vprightly, in the be∣ginning fal perhaps into manie errours, and perplexities, and difficulties; as they that leauing their owne countrey, and not discouering as yet the land for which they are bound, at first are anxious; but soone after, al things grow easie and playne by practise, and by the light and cleernes which the Studie of Philosophie bringeth with it.

* 1.3225. And al this, as proceeding of custome and habit, is for the most part natu∣ral, what shal we say when Grace meetes with Nature? The grace of God, I say, which is so forcible, that it makes a man quite an other man, and, as the Prophet speaketh,* 1.323 powreth a new spirit into him, and in steed of a hart of stone, giueth him a hart of flesh, soft and flexible. Of which grace the Royal Prophet also sayth: Our Lord w••l giue vertue & fortitude to his people.* 1.324 And againe: Blessed be my Lord God, who ••eacheth my hands to war••e, & my fingars to the fight And an other Prophet more plain∣ly: They who hope in our Lord, shal change fortitude; they shal take wings like an eagle; they shal runne, and shal not labour; they shal walk and not be faint. What can we desire more? He promiseth vs not only feete to runne, but wings to flie in this course, and that we shal not sain••, nor so much as labour in it. And an other Prophet doth in a manner exult & triumph,* 1.325 not in himself but in our Lord. God our Lord, sayth he, is my strength. For as the light which the Ayre hath, is the light of the Sunne; & it is not much ma∣terial to the Ayre, whether it haue light of itself, or borrow it of the Sunne, so it be as vseful to it, as if it had it of itself: So the power and strength of God is our power and strength, that is, we make vse of it, as if it were our owne; and there∣fore he is truly our strength. And what doth this strength worke in vs? He wil put my feete, sayth the Prophet, as the feete of s••ags; that is, he wil make vs runne with speed and facilitie, and without being wearie, not only vpon

euen ground, and ouer the playnes, as others doe, but in steep and craggie places; for so he sayth: And he as a Conquerour wil leade me ouer high places, singing psal∣mes. He wil fight for vs, he wil ouercome our enemies for vs, & put them to route; he wil leade vs in this way, not only without labour, but singing psalmes of perpe∣tual ioy and thanks-giuing.

6. And heer by the way I cannot but cal to mind, what effect this verie Saying of the Prophet wrought once in Andrew Spinola,* 1.326 before he entred into our Societie. For being then a man growne, and as himself was wont to moane himself in an humble iesting manner,* 1.327 hauing thirtie and eight yeares in his infirmitie, when he began to think of forsaking the world; & manie reasons thronging into his mind, to fright him, and beate him off from his purpose, as the consideration of the litle health which he had, his custome of being wel tended, & daintily fed, the noblenes of his birth, the greatnes of his place in the Church of God, the hardnes of Reli∣gious discipline, and diuers others; vpon the suddain God of his goodnes put this verse of the Prophet into his mind: He wil put my feete as of stags; and withal as with a cleare ray of heauenlie light, he was so inlightned, that, as himself after∣wards related, al those fearful and distrustful cogitations vanished away in a mo∣ment, and he remayned resolute in his purpose, & fully armed against al the feares and incommodities which before had so possessed his imagination; and within a short time found by experience effect of it. For wheras before, when he was yet a Secular man, he came sometimes to eate at our board, as being our great friend, & manie things went against his stomack, in regard he had been vsed to a more dayn∣tie kind of fare & to be serued in siluer, & was extraordinarie curious in his owne house. Entring afterwards into our Societie, he was no sooner set at table, but euerie thing seemed otherwise, the linnen shewed extraordinarie white, the dishes shined like siluer, & the dining-roome, as he thought, was perfumed; & he made no question within himself, but the Rectour of the house had of purpose comman∣ded things to be prouided in that manner, contrarie to our wonted custome, to help his extrordinarie infirmitie; and friendly expostulated the matter in earnest at that time with the Rectour, and often afterwards was wont to speak of this his errour to his friends in familiar conuersation.

7. This promise therefore of the Holie-Ghost, which wrought so strongly in the hart of this good man, ought in reason to sway as much with euerie bodie els, and of itself alone were indeed sufficient to encourage anie bodie, were he neuer so infirme and weake. But to returne to our former discourse, by this we may see, that the Grace of God doth so temper the hardnes, which seemes to be in Re∣ligion, that really it is not felt, but is rather pleasant, and to be desired. And it is no such great wonder that it should be so. For if there be an art to sweeten sowre fruits, and to put a delicious tast into an vnsauourie gourd, or such like green and ••ar••h ••uvcie commodities, tempering them with sugar, or honie, or the like preseruers; shal we think that in Christian Religion, there is no art to take away 〈◊〉〈◊〉 difficulties, which flesh and bloud suggest? Certainly there is; and an art fa••re easier to learne and put in practise, then the other, in regard it wholy depends of the min••; which if it be once resolued, nothing is hard vnto it, but al things easie and obuious.

8. And to make it so euident that no bodie shal be able to denye it, let vs consider the meanes which Religion vseth, to alay these difficulties, & to sweeten

them;* 1.328 for it is a matter which doth much import. Among manie wayes therefore, which it hath very effectual to this purpose, first it sets before our eyes the im∣mensitie of the rewards of heauen due to our labours, the e••etnitie of them, the infinit felicitie, which there we shal enioy; and by these considerations inflames vs with the loue of that heauenlie happines, which once enkindled, makes al labour no labour at al S. Augustin discoursing at large and rarely (as he is wont) of this subiect, in one of his Sermons bringeth manie examples of men, that for human ends haue suffered inhuman and cruel things, as to be cut, and lanced, & burned, to pror••gue a few vncertain dayes of this life: of souldiers, that for a smal stipend runne vpon the pikes and into the verie mouth of death: of huntsmen, that for a short pleasure put thems••••••es to excessiue l••bour and toyle;* 1.329 and concludeth thus:

How much more assured••y and more easily shal Charitie, in regard of true Beati∣tude, effect that which worldlie pretences, as much as they were able, haue ef∣fected to our miserie? How easily may whatsoeuer temporal aduersitie be endu∣red, to auoyd eternal punishment, and to purchase eternal quiet?

Thus sayth S. Augustin, and much more to the same effect; which it seemeth that great S. Francis vnderstood very wel, and in one word expressed it once very liuely. F••r his carnal brother, and indeed truly carnal, seing him once in the midst of winter half na∣ked, as he was, shiuering for cold, sent one vnto him with a bitter ieast (mo••e bitter indeed then was fit to come from a brother) to aske him, how he would sel him a dramme of that sweat of his.* 1.330 But the Saint returned answer with a chearful countenance in these words: Tel my brother, that I haue sold it al al∣ready to my Lord God, it a very deare price.

And after some yeares, the same Saint being much tormented with excessiue payne in his bodie, and grieuously assaul••ed withal by the Diuel with new strange deuises, that it was not almost possible for flesh and bloud to beare it; a voyce from heauen spake vnto him, and ba•• him be of good cheare, because by those afflictions he purchased to himself so much treasure, that though al the earth should be turned into gold, al the stones into diamonds, and al the water into balsame, it were not comparable vnto it.

At which voyce he was so reuiued, that he felt no more payne, but instantly calling his Brethren vnto him, for ioy related what heauenlie comfort he had receaued. What payne therefore, or what trouble can there be in Religion, which such a thought wil not easily blow ouer, seing it was able so suddenly to alay and quite take away so vnsufferable & so lasting a payne,* 1.331 as S. Francis at that time endured?

9. Let vs conclude therefore with S. Bernard, that this feare, which, as he spea∣keth, is wont to shake the beginnings of our conuersion, & which the horrour of so austere a life, and the austerenes of so vnwonted exercises, thrusts vpon vs at our entrance,* 1.332 is that Night-feare, which the Royal Prophet mentioneth in his ninetieth Psalme; and is therefore called a Night-feare, because, if the day did shine vpon vs, & in that heauenlie light we did compare the labours of Religion with the rewards which we expect in heauen, the feare of the labour would be nothing in regard of the desire of the rewards cōsidered in a cleare light.* 1.333 For the passions of this time are not condigne to the future glorie, which shal be reuealed in vs. But now, sayth S. Bernard, because they are hidden from our eyes, and the night is stil in our Hemisphere, we are tempted by the Night-feare, & are afraide to suffer the present euils, for the good, which as yet we doe not see. 10. This is the first salue & remedie,* 1.334 which God hath prouided for vs, to alay the difficulties which occurre in Religion. Another is the abundance of spiritual com∣forts, wherof I haue spoken before. And it is, as if a bodie should seeke a drop of

water in a great vessel of wine; for the troubles which are incident to a Religious life, are so wholy drowned & absorpt in the abundance of the sweetnes of it, that it tastes of nothing but sweetnes. To which purpose S. Bernard alluding to a saying of the Apostle, & among diuers other commodities of Religion, touching briefly vpon this particular,* 1.335 sayth thus: The passions of this time are not condigne to our sinnes past and forgiuen vs; nor to the present comfort of grace, which is giuen vs; nor to the future glorie which is promised vs. Finally there is no bitternes so great in it, which the sl••wer cast-in by the Prophet doth not sweeten, which Wisdome, the tree of life, doth not seazon. And we shal the more easily belieue al this to be true, & not hard to compasse, if we cōsider, that the difficulties which are in Religion, are but smal, & in pettie matters, if we weigh them right. For al difficulties of greater consequence,* 1.336 such as are so ordinarie, and so distastful in the world, hapning between man & wife, and vpon other occasions of marriage, & sinister accidents, by losse of goods, impeachment of our credit and good name, & the like, are farre from a Religious life. And moreouer the goodnes and mercie of God is such towards vs, that the more miserie we suffer for his sake, the more spiritual ioy and comfort he sends vs;* 1.337 as when Daniel was in the Denne with the Lions without al meanes of relief, he prouided him a dinner from a farre-of, and sent it in vnto him. For it is a general rule with God, and a constant man∣ner of proceeding which he holds, to measure comforts by tribulations; and King Dauid professeth that he felt it so:* 1.338 According to the greatnes of my griefs in my hart, thy comforts haue reioyced my soule.

11. And it is so vsual & so setled a course with him, that he hath oftimes miracu∣lously shewed it in diuers Religious persons; as once in one Raband a great Prince in France, who was cōfirmed in his resolution for Religion by this notable miracle. For hauing been accustomed in the world to an easie life & dayntie fare,* 1.339 being en∣tred into Religion he began to shrink at the hardnes of that course. Whervpon the Abbot Porcarius, that then was, condescending to his infirmitie, caused some parti∣cular dish to be alwayes prepared for him more dayntily dressed then the rest; & yet the more he fe••, the more he pined away, & grew wonderful thinne. It hapned on a time, that while the rest of the Brethren were set at board, & fel hard to their drye bread & beanes,* 1.340 he saw two anciēt men come into the roome, the one of them was high-forheaded & had two keyes about his neck; the other was a Monk, as appea∣red by his habit, & had a box of crystal in his hād. Both of them going round about the ro••me, gaue euer••e one of the Monks a morsel of something out of that box & when they came to Raband, they looked vpon him with a frowning & angrie coū∣tenance, & ouerslipt him But he stealing a litle from his neighbour's trencher, and tast••ng of it, found it sweeter then anie thing that he had euer ••asted either in Reli∣gion or in the world. And when this had hapned thrice vnto him, he went to his Ab••o••, & inquired of him, who these two ancient men might be. The Abbot pre∣sently perceauing what the busines was, told him that the one was S. Peter, Patron of their Monasterie▪ & the other Honoratus the Founder of it, & that the reason, why he had not his part of that dish with the rest, was, because he did not obserue the ri••our of ••he O••der with the rest. Which Raband hearing, reserued to abide the vt∣most of it, and found it farre lesse and easier then he thought it had been: and not long after he saw the same Saints againe making their circuit, and they gaue him part of that swe••t-meate with the rest,* 1.341 which did incredibly animate him to goe through with whatsoeuer difficultie should occurre euer af••er.

12. The like almost hapned to Andrew Arch-deacon of 〈◊〉〈◊〉, a man nobly

descended, and rich; who in the beginning almost of the Cistercian Order entred into it with great feruour. But the Diuel taking occasion to tempt him by reason of his tender complexion, and pressing him so hard, that he was rea••ie to yeald, God of his infinit goodnes sent him this remedie. When he was at board, they set before him, a•• they did to the rest, a dish, which of al me••tes he could not abide: but being very hungrie, he forced himself to take a litle of it; and as soone as he had put it to his mouth, it tasted so sweet, that to his remembrance he neuer felt the like, and eating it vp al, he afterwards went to his Abbot, thinking that they had put some particular thing into his messe aboue the rest. But when he vnder∣stood that the dish was the same, and was dressed but with water and salt, as the others were, he fel into the reckoning that it was the goodnes and prouidence of God, that had so ordayned; and giuing him humble thanks, he was confirmed in his purpose of perseuering in Religion, and so much the more, because he felt the like sweetnes in those kinds of meate for diuers dayes after, insomuch that he often sayd, that now he tooke more contentment in feeding vpon beanes & pease and hea••bs, then before in his wild fowle and such kind of daynties.

13. This hapned to these two particular men. The whole household was witnes of that which we read in the life of S. Bernard, when vpon the first founding of the Monasterie of 〈◊〉〈◊〉, though they did leade a wonderful auster life, & fed vpon bread that was half earth,* 1.342 and dwelt in a house that was maruelous poore, and poorely furnished for household-stuff and victuals, yet they al liued not only with∣out anie grudging, but with such extraordinarie delight and contentment, that they had a scruple of it; because, as they sayd, ••iuing with more pleasure in the wildernes, then they did before in the world, they conceaued they had cause ••o suspect, least they were lead a wrong way into their Countrey; til hauing opened their case first to S. Bernard, and then to the Bishop of Chalons, who then lodged in their house, they were informed at large, that it was the guift of God, and not to be reiected. Whereby we may see, what custome, togeather with the grace of God, can doe, seing it was so forcible, as to make so rigide a life seeme to such a multitude so sweet, that they had a scruple, least they liued too easily.

14. Who therefore can heerafter think, that a Religious life can be anie thing hars••, & that a bodie may not goe through with it with ioy & contentment, seing God doth season it with so manie helps & comforts? Though what need we stand so long vpon our defence for a Religious State in this kind? as if Secular people, in whose behalf these obiections are made against Religion,* 1.343 had nothing to suffer, no sorrow, no grief to struggle with; wheras indeed their sorrowes, and mise∣ries, and afflictions are farre greater, and not only the poorer sort among them, and they that haue smal meanes to liue on, and a heauie charge of house-hold and chil∣dren lying vpon them, groane vnder this burden; but they that haue the world at wil, and are generally accounted happie, though outwardly they make a fayre shew, are inwardly galled with infinit troubles & vexations. And their sorrowes are the more intollerable, because they are destitute of heauenlie comforts, with∣out which it is a verie hel to liue. What likelihood is there of anie such thing in Religion? the causes of whatsoeuer trouble may happen, being wonderful slight in themselues, and easie to take away, and sometimes such, as it is better to contemne them, or laugh at them, or perhaps to loue them, & willingly to embrace them. On the one side therefore the occasions of difficultie in Religion are very smal, and in a

manner nothing; and on the other side, the comforts so abundant in our Sauiour Christ, that they are able to sweeten a whole sea of distastes and troubles, if there were anie such in Religion.

15. Wherefore S. Bernard doth excellently to this purpose apply the Ceremonie of anoynting Crosses with Oyle, which is vsed in Consecrating Churches; and sayth, that the like is done in the minds of Religious people by the grace of God.

It is necessarie, sayth he, that the Vnction of spiritual grace help our infirmitie,* 1.344 anoynting the crosses of our obseruances and seueral pennances with the grace of deuotion: because without a Crosse it is not possible to follow Christ, nor without Vnction possible to endure the harshnes of a Crosse. Hence it is, that manie abhorre and shunne pennance,* 1.345 seing the Crosse and not seing the Vnction.

You that haue tryed what it is, know that in verie deed our Crosse is anoynted, & by the grace of the Spirit which helpeth vs, our pennance is sweet and delightful, and, as I may say, our bitternes sauou••ie.

16. And in an other place discoursing of the same matter more at large he sayth, that the Soule of a Religious man being beautiful within, and humble and con∣temptible without, was figured by the Tabernacle, which was among the Children of Israel. For within, it was guilded al ouer; but without, there was nothing of it but couers of sack-cloth and sheep-skins; and as that kind of couering,* 1.346 though it were contemptible to the eye, serued to keepe the T••bernacle from the dust and the rayne: So the outward humble fashion of Religious people preserues their in∣ward glorie;* 1.347 and euerie such Soule may say truly of itself: I am black, but beautiful. Then he brings the example of Isaac, who, though he came to be sacrificed, was not sacrificed, but a ramme in steed of him, and his life preserued; and he liued so much the more ioyfully, by how much the promise and hope of posteritie was now setled vpon him. For in like manner Religious people seeme to debate thē∣selues of al contentment, and yet their contentment is not indeed cut of, but vice and rebellion; and the hornes of this Sacrifice intangled in the thornes, shew that sinne and contumacie can neuer be without remorse and vexation.

But Isaac, sayth he, liuing shal liue, lifted vp vpon the wood; to the end that thou also placing t••v••ioy on high, mayst glorie not in thy owne flesh, but in the Crosse of our Lord. This is the conuersation of the perfect, this is the life of Saints; finally, sayth one, as sorrowful,* 1.348 but alwayes glad; as hauing nothing and possessing al; as dying, and behold we liue.

17. The Abbot Abraham in Cassian holdeth the like discourse in those words:

They that serue God deuoutly and faithfully,* 1.349 hauing taken the yoak of our Lord vpon them, and learned of him, that he is meeke and humble of hart, as it were casting off the burden of their earthlie affections shal find by the help of God no la∣bour, but rest in their soules. The crooked wayes shal be presently made strayt, and the rugged wayes playne, and tasting they shal see that our Lord is sweet, and hearing Christ in the Ghospel crying alowde: Come to me al you that labour and are burthened, and I wil refresh you; casting of the weight of their sinnes, they shal vnderstand that which followes: My yoak is sweet, and my burden light And certainly if we compare the beautiful flower of Virginitie,* 1.350 and the fragrant puritie of Chastitie, with the foule and stinking slowes and hogsties of carnal plea∣sures; the quiet and securitie which Monks enioy, with the dangers and miseries in which worldlings are ingulfed; the repose which our pouertie brings vs, with

the gnawing griefes and restlesse cares of rich people, which day and night not without danger of their liues doe torment them, we shal easily grant, that the yoak of Christ is exceeding sweet, and his burden extraordinarie light.

Thus sayth Cassian.

* 1.35118. Where then is that harshnes, where be those troubles, which Satan, to fright men, doth so mightily aggrauate against vs? Are not al things rather so ful of pleasure, that they take away al feeling of difficultie and incommoditie, or in a manner al? Wherefore to conclude in brief, as if a man had a great deale of lug∣gage, and another should carrie it for him, he should haue al the benefit, and the other al the labour: So in this burden of Religion, the reward is ours, and yet we haue no trouble by it,* 1.352 because another carrieth the burden for vs. Which is not mine but S. Paul's conceit; for hauing reckoned-vp the manie incommodities and difficulties which he endured through pouertie, nakednes, trauel, persecution, and the like, he addeth: Not I, but the grace of God with me; acknowledging and openly proclayming, that it was not himself, but God that brought to passe those great things in him.

* 1.353 19. Wherefore we must allow of that which S. Bernard sayth, when rehearsing to his Brethren the labours which they endured, and daylie mortifications, by much fasting, often sweating, watching aboue measure, besids those things which are inward, contrition of hart, and multitudes of temptations, he addeth, that it is not for their benefit to haue these heauie and burdensome things lessened,* 1.354 be∣cause if their pennance be lessened, their crowne by little and little wil leese the pretious stones which are in it: and calleth it a cruel kind of compassion, in regard that the taking away of a smal quantitie of seed, comes to no smal losse in the har∣uest.

What remedie? The remedie is, that the labour remaine, and yet become sa∣uourie by the sweetnes, which God doth giue it; because if your tribulation, sayth he, doe abound for him, your comfort also wil abound through him, and your soule be delighted in him, which in these things refuseth comfort. For with him tribulation itself may be found to be great consolation. For is it not most cetain, that that which you endure is aboue the strength of man,* 1.355 beyond nature, contra∣rie to custome? Another therefore doth beare these things; he doubtlesse, who ac∣cording to the Apostle, carrieth al things by the word of his power.

What there∣fore should we feare, if he be with vs, that carrieth al things? Al this is of S. Bernard.

20. Let no man therefore accustome his eyes heerafter to behold the out-side only of a Religious life, which seemes somewhat harsh, but let him looke also into the inward sweetnes, & acknowledge, that there is such plentie of grace belonging vnto it,* 1.356 to qualifye and alay the harshnes, and to strengthen vs to beare it, that it goes farre beyond al the hardnes and difficultie, which can be imagined in it, spe∣cially when a man is a little accustomed vnto it; for vse and custome doth as it were harden vs, & take away the feeling of payne, & makes vertue familiar and plea∣sant. Which familiarnes S. Augustin doth fitly expresse by the word (Embracings) & layeth downe the effects of it in these words:* 1.357

When Wisdome hath once bound a man, & tamed him with certain laborious exercises, it afterwards vnbinds him, & giues him free libertie to enioy himself; & nurturing him first in temporal bonds, binds him afterwards with eternal embracings, then which bonds no∣thing can be imagined more delightful, or more solid. The first bonds, I confesse, are a little hard; the second, I cannot say they are hard, because they are sweet,

nor soft, because they are strong.

Wheras the bonds of this world haue in them true harshnes, false delight, vncertain pleasure, hard labour, timorous quiet, the thing itself ful of miserie, and a deceitful hope of happines. Beware thou thrust not thy neck, thy hands, they feet, into these fetters.

An answer to them that obiect, that Religious people barre themselues of the pleasures of this life. CHAP. XVII.

VPon the former grounds we may easily answer another imputation, which people lay vpon Religious courses, to wit, that they depriue a man of whatsoeuer is comfortable to flesh and bloud. For though it be true (as it hath been sufficiently proued) that no state vnder the cope of heauen is so capable, and so fruitful of spiritual delights as Religion is; yet it may perhaps stumble some bodie, that there is no place in it for the delights of Sense, without which the ioy, which man hath vpon earth, is maymed, and as it were lame of one side. For Man being a compound of bodie & soule, there want not them, that think they are neuer wel, though their mind feast it, if their flesh, as I may say, be kept fasting. And it sticks the more in their stomack, because the pleasures of the mind are ayrie & subtil, & not so easie to be perceaued; the pleasures of Sense are more palpable, and plaine for euerie bodie to see; so that if a man haue the fi••st only, he hath in a manner nothing: but he that hath plentie of these latter, is generally accounted happie.* 1.358

2. This kind of temptation, in my iudgement, was fore signifyed in the Children of Israel, when hauing Manna from heauen in that abundance, that al the countrey round about was ful of it and they were to be at no further trouble or care, then to gather it; & it being besids in itself a very sauourie kind of sustenance, as being made by the hands of Angels,* 1.359 what did the common-people say notwithstanding of it, and how did they murmure? Our soule, say they, doth now loathe ouer this light kind of meate. For being carnally giuen, they sighed after the flesh-pots of Aegypt; & because those meates stuffed vp their bellies, they preferred them before the food of heauen, & thought this but light stuffe in comparison of that other.

3. For the cure of which errour, or rather madnes, we must consider, that al the inconuenience which is heer obiected, depends of peoples imaginations, conceiting that he, that is barred of the pleasures of the bodie, wants s••me great matter; and the verie name of Want, vpon the first apprehension, is apt to breed Sorrow and discontent; because it is as much to say, as, I haue not that which were much to be desired,* 1.360 or which is necessarie; which yet is not alwayes true. For it hapneth oftentimes, that we haue not diuers things, which we haue no need of, nor haue no great desire of them. For example, a man hath not feathers like a bird, nor hornes like a beast, nor scales like a fish, nor diuers other things which other creatures haue; neither doe we desire to haue them, or because we haue them not, doe we think ourselues the worse. The matter therefore is in

our desire, and consequently he that desires not a thing, want it not, And so they, that are desirous of honour or wealth, if they haue it not, are troubled, be∣cause they want it: but they that desire it not, cannot be sayd to want it, because they are not sorie they haue it not.

4. And further, it is much more delightful not to desire a thing, then to desire it,* 1.361 and withal to haue it. For so we see, that they that are mad after their bodilie pleasures, when they haue their fil of them, take much more pleasure in abstay∣ning from them, then in continuing in them. Is it not therefore much better to doe that betimes, which time brings them to choose? and out of vertue, and vpon good aduice to resolue vpon that before hand, which disordered fulnes forceth them vnto? And yet we cannot grant, that they are both filled alike to their con∣tentment. For if we speake of the fulfilling of our desires (in which people ima••in that al happines consists) they that desire nothing, haue their desire much more perfectly fulfilled, then they that desire a thing and haue it. Which S. Iohn Chryso∣stome reckons among the rest of the commodities of a Religious life; for with these worldlie kind of people,* 1.362

it is, sayth he, as if a man should be so thirstie, that before he can drink one cuppe, he desires another and another, and though he drink neuer so much, cannot quench his thirst; certainly such a man though he haue neuer so much lickour to drink, cannot be accounted happie; but he is rather happie, that free from this necessitie of drinking, feeleth no thirst; nor is vr∣ged anie way to drink; for the first is like a man that hath a burning feauer, the other like one that is in perfect health.

5. And this which S. Iohn Chrysostome deliuereth vpon the point of reason, S. Augustin confirmeth by his owne example, relating with grief this among the rest of his errours of his secular conuersation;

that while gaping after lucre & honour, he was walking one day through the cittie of Milan, with his head ful of an Oration, which he was to pronounce in prayse of the Emperour that then was, burning,* 1.363 as he speaketh, with a feauer of consuming thoughts, by chance he cast his eye vpon a beggar, that was very pleasant and iocund; and at the sight of him, he fetched a deep sigh, and spake much to his friends, that followed him, of his owne follie, that haling the burden of his infelicitie after him through the thor∣nes of his disordered desires, and aggrauating it by continually haling it, the vt∣most of his hopes and ayme was,* 1.364 to come to that assurednes of contentment and ioy, to which that beggar was already arriued, and to which perhaps he should neuer arriue. For that which that poore fellow had gotten by a few farthings which he had begged, to wit, to be ioyful and contented in mind, that he aspired vnto, by so manie wretched windings. This therefore which S. Augustin sayth of this poore man, may much more truly, and with more proportion, be sayd of a Religious state.

For why doth anie man desire the pleasures of the bodie, but to haue content and ioy in them? Religious people haue this already, and are con∣tented and ioyful vpon farre better and more worthie grounds, then the pleasures of Sense can arriue vnto; and on the other side not desiring them, they cannot be sorie they haue them not.

* 1.3656. Againe; what is there in these earthlie delights, why they should be so much desired or sought for? For to say nothing of the dammages and dangers they bring a man's soule into, nor how vnworthie a thing it is for Man, that is so noble a creature, to be stil hanging after that which is common to beasts, I speake only

now of that itching delight, which egs a man on so much to these pleasures. What great matter of commoditie can these transitorie and perishable and earthlie things bring a man, that they should be so much esteemed? What is it to haue a board daintily serued, and curiously set-forth with excessiue cost and magnificence? or to goe to a play? What is there in a garden, or in a guilded coach, or in a long trayne of attendance, that, I doe not say a Saint, but an ordinarie man of iudge∣ment should be taken with it? Besides that, if it be ioy and contentment which we seeke in these things, as I sayd before, contentment is not so much in fulnes, as in sobrietie and temperance;* 1.366 specially, when with temperance so manie other daynties concurre as Religious pouertie doth afford, and are so farre from being found in the greatest delicacies of rich men, that al their pleasures are continually mingled with infinit corrasiues;* 1.367 insomuch as the Holie-Ghost in the Prouerbs giues vs warning of it in these words: It is better to be called to a dish of hearbs with charitie,* 1.368 then to a fat calf with hatred. And in an other place: A dry morsel with ioy, is better then a house ful of beasts killed, with wrangling.

12. Finally we must vnderstand, that Religious people doe not so much depriue themselues of the pleasures of the bodie, as change them for better. For when a soule meeteth with so manie fountains of heauenlie comforts, and hath so manie vessels to fil with them,* 1.369 as I sayd before there were heads of these com∣forts in Religion, the comfort and sweetnes which it feeles, remaynes not wholy in the soule, but diffuseth itself further, and redounds to sense, and to our natu∣ral appetites, and also to our bodie, by reason of the neerenes of one to the other, and the connexion which is betwixt them. Which is the cause why the Prophet sayd: My soule and my flesh haue exulted in the liuing God. And the Wise-man in the Prouerbs:* 1.370 A ioyful mind maketh flourishing yeares, a sad spirit drieth vp the bones. For as we see the bodie pines away with the grief of the mind, so it hath part also of the ioyes of the mind, so farre as it is capable of them.

13. Which things considered,* 1.371 who can make anie question, whether the World or Religion be the pleasanter place euen for the bodie? For though it be not, as I confesse, inuited euerie day in Religion to a bancket, to dan∣cing, to merrie meetings, to hunting-matches, and the like; it hath that notwithstanding which is farre better, and more noble, deriued from the superiour part of the soule to the inferiour. As when in a great household the Maister of the house marrieth, the marriage concernes himself only, but the whole house and al the household-seruants, haue part of the feast and musick. In like manner therefore, Religious people, as I sayd, are not altogeather barred of the pleasures of the bodie, but make an exchange of that which is base and momentarie, and alwayes ful of remorse of conscience and exces∣siue care, for that which is decent, honest, permanent, and so much the more delightful, the more sutable it is to both the parts of Man, and to Nature itself.

An answer to them, that say, there be manie tempta∣tions in Religion. CHAP. XVIII.

OThers argue against a Religious course of life out of that place of Scripture: Sonne, coming to the seruice of God, stand in ••eare & trembling, and prepare thy soule to temptation.* 1.372 Which warning of the Holie-Ghost doth so terrifye them, that they think, if they come to Religion, they must liue in a continual combat; and therefore conclude, that it is better to decline the battaile, then by prouoking their Aduersarie, thrust them∣selues voluntarily into danger.

2. To which we answer; first, that holie Scripture (seing they are pleased to vse the authoritie thereof) when it giueth vs warning of the temptations, which we shal find in the seruice of God,* 1.373 doth not aduise vs withal to decline the seruice of God for these temptations; but rather, that foreseing the strife which wil happen, we come armed before-hand both with courage and weapons, & particularly with those weapons which are there named, to wit, Feare and Trembling; for these wil serue vs as a whetstone to whet our industrie, and diligence, and vertue. The souldiers of this world, though they know they shal often encounter their enemie, doe not therefore forsake the wa••res; rather they go to the warres, that they may meete with their enemie; because, vnlesse they fight, they cannot get the victorie; and without victorie, they shal haue no reward, nor crowne.

3. Moreouer in the warres among men there is this difference; for if a man wil si•• at home,* 1.374 he may be quiet and safe; for no man ordinarily fighteth, vnlesse he put himself into the field. But spiritual encounters no man can auoyd, though he would neuer so fayne. The Diuels are enemies to al mankind; they lye in wayte for al, they set vpon al, not only vpon Religious people, but much more vpon Secular people, the more their liues are open to their assaults, and they lesse warie of them. So that Religion doth not rayse an enemie against thee, that was not thy enemie before, but doth minister weapons, and courage, and counsel to with∣stand, and also to assault him that was alwayes thine, and euerie bodies enemie.

4. The reason therefore, why Religious people seeme to endure harder en∣counters then others,* 1.375 is, because when we begin first to cast-vp our Spiritual ac∣counts, and to consider what we are, and from whence we come, and whether we are walking, and (in a word) what wounds and sores we haue in our soules, then we begin to feele we haue an enemie. Before, not because we did not feele our wounds, therefore we had none, but we were wounded, and did not reflect vpon it; which of itself was a very dangerous wound, and an euident signe not only of blindnes, but of death that had seazed vs. Though what wonder can it be, if the Diuel doe not oppose a man, when of his owne accord he giues him∣self bound into his hands, and without contradiction yealds himself his slaue, and doth whatsoeuer he wil haue him to do? But when he perceaues a man go about to wrest himself out of his iawes, then he sets to him with greater furie, as a fugitiue.* 1.376 Which S. Gregorie expresseth excellently wel in these words:

Our Enemie, while we leade this life, laboureth the more to ouerthrow vs, the more he sees vs

rebel against him; for he cares not for assaulting thē, of whō he finds he is in quiet possession: But against vs he riseth with the greater furie, the more violently he is thrust out of our hart, as out of the right of his proper mansion-house. But that no man may be danted with these his wicked attempts, let vs heare also what the same S. Gregorie addeth a litle after: But because our merciful God permitteth vs to be pro∣ued by temptation,* 1.377 and not reproued, according as it is written (God is faithful, who doth not suffer you to be tempted aboue that which you are able, but wil make also with tempta∣tion issue, that you may be able to sustayne) he doth speedily succour vs with the help of his comforts, & abates the edge of temptation which riseth against vs, & calmeth with inward peace the motions of our thoughts, that beate one against an other. And presently our soule receaueth great ioy of the Celestial hope, because it hath abided the brunt; that with reason we may say of a man that is thus tempted and deliuered: He shal see his face in exultation; And againe: He freed his soule, that it might not go to destruction, but liuing might see light. Thus sayth S. Gregorie, excellently to the purpose.

5. For if temptations were gouerned only by the malice of the Diuel,* 1.378 that he might as••ault vs, when, and how often, and how violently he list himself, we had great reason to be afraid of them; but seing he cannot so much as moue his ••ingar against vs, vnlesse God giue him leaue, we cannot doubt but his infinit Goodnes, out of the loue & prouident care he hath ouer vs▪ wil so temper al assaults according to the proportion of our strength, that we shal not be tempted not only aboue it, but not so farre as we are able to abide.* 1.379 For, as S. Ephrem speaking of this busines sayth: If men, knowing so little as they doe, can discerne notwithstanding, how great a burden a beast is able to carrie, as for example, a mule, or a cammel, and load them according to the mea∣sure of their forces; if a potter when he frames his vessel, knowes how long he is to leaue it in the fournace, that it be not burnt, if he leaue it too long, or fal in peeces, if too little, and be for no vse; How much more doth God, whose wisedome is infinit, know what temptations and trial euerie Soule doth want that desires to please him, and permits no greater to fal vpon them, then is for their profit?

6. Which being so,* 1.380 we haue not only no cause to feare, but much reason to reioyce; because, as I sayd, there comes no harme to the seruants of God by these temptations, but great benefit. For as Cassian writeth, by them we find by expe∣rience, that we alwayes stand in need of the help of God, & consequently we per∣seuer in prayer, we cal vpon him, we giue not ourselues to sloath and idlenes, we keep our custome & practises of vertue, & of fighting against our enemies, wheras oftimes (as he speaketh) whom aduersitie could not intercept, securitie & prosperitie haue ouerthrowne. This is therefore the benefit which we reape by temptation, that as a horse that is strong and ful of mettle, makes notwithstanding more speed if he be spurr•••• vp, then otherwise; So these gyrds, which the Diuel giues Religious peo∣ple, serue to put m••••tle into them, & make them runne with more feruour to their prayers, to be more diligent in mortifying thēselues, more eager in punishing their bodies, & more perfectly to apply themselues to the practise of al kind of vertue.

7. Which benefit being so great,* 1.381 what reason haue we to feare temptations, or to shunne Religiō in regard of thē▪ because we are in danger of yealding to thē? If we looke vpō ourselues only, & vpō our enemies, no doubt but we haue great cause to feare; but if we looke withal vpō the helps which we haue frō heauē, we haue cause to say confidently with the Prophet: If armies stand against me, ••y hart wil not feare.

This was once shewed to one of the ancient Fathers, whose name was Moyses. For being sorely assaulted with temptation,* 1.382 he went to the Abbot Isidore, and told him of the difficulties and combats which he endured. Isidore being a wise vnder∣standing man, first endeauoured to comfort him with reasons, and sayings out of the holie Scripture; and then leading him out of his Celle, bad him looke towards the West, where he saw a multitude of Diuels, fierce and terrible, marching as it were against him; then he bad him looke into the East, & there he saw infinit num∣bers of blessed Angels, as bright as the Sunne, in array to assist him. Know then, sayd the Abbot, that there be more for v•• (as the Prophet Helizeus sayd) then against vs: & that that is true, which S. Iohn sayth: He is greater who is in vs, then he that is in the world.

* 1.3838. And we may adde, that they that are for vs, are not only farre more in number, but so farre beyond the others in strength and power, that the least of them, is able alone to defeate and put to route al the damned crew of Hel; because ours fight not with their owne strength,* 1.384 but with the power and strength of God. And moreouer,* 1.385 God doth not only send his Angels to compasse them round about, that feare him; but he himself descendeth to assist them, as King Dauid telleth vs, who had often experience of it: He taketh his weapons and target to fight for vs; he shootes his arrowes and desperseth our aduersaries; he multiplyeth lightning and confoundeth them. And yet he wil not haue vs sit stil, and be idle, and doe nothing, while he ouercomes our enemies for vs; for that were not so glorious neither for him not for vs; But he giues vs, feeble and weake creatures as we are, power and courage to ouercome,* 1.386 not one, as Dauid while he was a little one, but manie Giants, which is more honourable both for him and vs. He teacheth our hands to warre, & our fingars to the combat. He puts our armes as a bow of brasse, and makes them that they are neuer wearie. He gyrds vs with vertue, and dilateth our steps, that we may prosecute our enemies, and apprehend them, and not turne back, til we bruse them as dust before the face of the wind. How easie therefore is it to ouercome, hauing so powerful a help? And what can be more to be desired, then to fight, seing the victorie on our side is so assured?

* 1.3879. But besides these strong succours, we haue also the aduantage of the ground wheron we fight. It is wel knowne what difference there is in fighting vpon euen ground, or from a higher or lower seate. Secular people that encounter the Diuel in the world, fight with a great deale of disaduantage of place; for the world is a slipperie kind of soyle, where a man can haue no footing, pestered moreouer with often gusts of wind, & other encumbrances, which make the field very disaduan∣tagious for them. Religious people fight as it were from a high Tower; for the State itself is like a Tower, both in regard of the eminencie of it, & of the strong fortifications which are about it; so that they are both defended from the enemies shot, & haue better meanes to offend their enemies as being aboue them.

10. Finally, Religious people haue an other present remedie, & a general anti∣dote against al temptations,* 1.388 to wit, their Superiours & Gouernours, who not only by solid reason, & counsel, & prudence are alwayes at hand to releeue them, but oftimes it hapneth, & I may say most commonly, that no sooner can a temptation be layd open before them, but in a moment it vanisheth away, and is defeated. A wonderful thing! & doubtles if there were Physitians for the bodie, that could cure a disease with only looking vpon it, how would they be sought to, & estee∣med? But that which cannot be done in the bodie, is dayly seen in the diseases of

the minds:* 1.389 and al spiritual Writers are witnes of it, and particularly Cassian (a man very wel to be credited in this kind) sayth, that it was a general practise of the an∣cient Fathers, to teach their subiects and disciples, neuer to conceale the busie thoughts of their harts, but presently to lay them open to their Gouernours, so soone as they began to bud: and that whosoeuer did so, could neuer be circum∣uented with the craftie deuises of the Enemie. And this which Cassian deliuereth,* 1.390 daylie experience, as I sayd, doth much more proue to be true, and oftimes it hapneth, that not only by declaring the temptation, but by the verie resolution to declare it and lay it open, it is vanquished, because the Enemie is one that doth euil, hateth light, and cannot abide light; that is, the eye and countenance of a Su∣periour.

11. But not to stand too long vpon a thing that is so euident, we wil shew briefly, that they that liue in the world, are farre more exposed to the assaults of the Enemie, then they that liue in Religion. For al temptations ••ise of one of these three causes, to wit, either from ourselues, that is, out of our owne weaknes and corruption;* 1.391 or from outward things, which represented to our senses, sol∣licite vs to desire them; or finally by the suggestion of the Diuel. Al these three must needs be farre more violent, and dangerous in Secular people, then in Re∣ligious. For if we speake of infirmitie, who can make anie question, who be the weaker? knowing that Secular people are generally vnacquainted with matters of Spirit, ful of euil habits, their passions strong in them, and they so farre from endeauoring by care and diligence to bridle them, that rather giuing away vnto them, they strengthen them dayly more and more. Al the care on the other side, of Religious people, is to mortifye themselues; Mortification is the first thing they begin with; Mortification is that which they plye continually al their life, & pur∣chase by it al other vertues, which are the strength, and as it were the sinnewes of Spirit; and consequently nothing, for matter of Spirit, can be more strong then a good Religious man.

12. Now what outward occasions or allurements can annoy a Religious life, where there is such continual watch & ward kept ouer vs? our eyes,* 1.392 & eares, and other senses, by meanes of our Rule & our Superiours, and the verie walles them∣selues so garded, that no hurtful thing can come neere vs. Secular people stād con∣tinually as it were in the midst of the flames, seing, & hearing, & perpetually traffic∣king with those things which are euil in themselues, or prouoke a man to eui••; for which reason the Prophet sayth:* 1.393 Death comes in by the Windowes, & there be so manie windowes as we haue Senses. So that in this also there is no comparison.

13. The third head is the Suggestion of the Diuel. The Diuels are like theeues; & whom doe theeues most set vpon? Vpon them that they may robbe as often & as easily as they wil; or vpon them that make head against them, & most commonly get from them without anie losse, & oftner yet with gaine & benefit to themselues? If a man haue two enemies, & one of them be a coward, & neither haue anie thing to defend himself withal,* 1.394 nor skil at his weapon, & consequently must needs goe by the worst at euerie slight encounter; and the other be wel armed, watchful, & skilful and oftimes haue had the better of his enemie; who can make anie doubt which of these two is likelie to be oftner & more dangerously set vpon? And thus it hapneth with those infernal fiends; whom Abbot Isidore (as Palladius writeth) fitly likeneth to dogs, that lye about the shambles; for as long as there is anie

thing for them, they hant the place; but when the shambles are shut vp, or if they be often beaten away with good dry blowes, and that they cannot get what they come for, they appeare there no more.

14. These therefore are the grounds, vpon which we may iustly perswade ourselues, that a man is with lesse danger of his soule, and not so often tempted in Religion, as in the world; and that the temptations which doe arise against vs in Religion, are so easie to be ouercome, and withal so beneficial vnto vs, that if we be warie of being ouer-confident of ourselues, we may say, they are rather to be desired and wished for.

An answer to them, that say: It is against nature, to liue vnder an other. CHAP. XIX.

AMong al the difficulties which a Religious course hath more in shew then in substance, some apprehend most, to be alwayes at an other's command, alwayes to depend vpon another's wil; because they perswade themselues, that libertie and freedome to doe what a man wil, is most agreable to nature; and to de∣pend vpon an other, is, in a manner, to be a slaue.

2. This errour aymes at the verie throat of Religion, and layes siege to the Cittadel. Wherefore, that we may vtterly root it out, we must first consider,* 1.395 what Libertie is, and how natural it is to Man. For a man that shal think, that men are borne so free, that they may doe whatsoeuer comes in their fancie, and what they list, and be bound to no Law nor Superiour, is mightily deceaued. For S. Augustin sayth very wel in one of his Epistles, speaking of the true ioy and happines of Man:* 1.396

First consider, whether a bodie may yeald to them, that wil haue that man happie, that liues according to his owne wil. God forbid we should belieue this for truth; for, what if he wil liue wickedly? is he not vncontroulably the more miserable, the more easily his wicked wil may be fulfilled? They also that without knowledge of the true God, haue giuen themselues to Philosophie, haue deseruedly hissed out this opinion out of their Schooles. For one of the eloquentest of them sayth: Behold others, not Philosophers indeed,* 1.397 but nimble Disputants, say, that al are happie, that liue according to their owne wil. But this is false; for to haue a mind to that which is not fitting, is most miserable. And it is not so miserable, not to bring thy desire to passe, as to bring that to passe, which thou shouldst not.

Thus sayth S. Augustin, And Aristotle endeauouring to set downe a perfect forme of a Common-wealth,* 1.398 doth giue special aduise to roote out this common errour, which raignes so much among men, who, because they make account that libertie consisteth in doing what they list, wil haue euerie bodie liue as he pleaseth, and doe what he thinks good; and sayth: It is a most false supposition; because to liue accor∣ding to law, is not slauerie, but safetie.

3. Plutarch,* 1.399 an excellent Moralist, writeth to the same effect, that they that of children come to man's estate, if they be wel aduised, ought to make account, that they haue not shaken off, but changed their Tutour. For in steed of a man,* 1.400 whom they hired before with wages, or bought with their money, they haue now a Diuine gouernour of their life, to wit, Reason: and to obey it, is to obey God; and they that obey him, are the onlie free-men. For they only liue as they list, who haue learned to desire what they ought. Vnrea∣sonable thoughts and fancies are but a shaddow of false libertie, and bring much repentance.

4 Seing therefore Heathen Philosophers could discouer thus much; we haue much more reason to perswade ourselues the same, in regard that the properties of our nature,* 1.401 which they could not so wel diue into, doe leade vs vnto it. For if Man by nature had no Superiour, he might lawfully liue as he list himself, and it were natural for him to doe so; and doing so, he should liue a pleasant life, and without it be miserable: But seing we haue God aboue vs, who created vs, and to whom consequently by the lawes of Nature we are subiect, our owne natural inclination leades vs to subiection to so Soueraigne a Deitie, to serue him, and to humble ourselues and al our actions vnder him.* 1.402 S. Augustin teacheth this expresly; and to proue it, groundeth himself in the commandment, which God layd vpon our first father Adam, to abstayne from the forbiddē fruit. In which precept: (sayth S. Augustin) Obedience is commended vnto vs; which vertue in a reasonable creature, is as it were the Mother of Vertues, and preseruer of them, seing the na∣ture of it is, to make it beneficial, to be subiect to God, and pernicious to doe a man's owne wil, and not the wil of him that created him.

5. But some bodie wil say:* 1.403 What freedome hath Man, if he be tyed alwayes, and in al things, to doe the wil and commandment of God? This is our freedome; not to gouerne ourselues after our owne fancie, but voluntarily to embrace the wil of God, voluntarily to performe it. Stocks, and Stones, and brute Beasts, and al things are gouerned by God's direction, but because they haue no knowledge of it, they cannot voluntarily apply themselues to follow it, which makes also, that they are neither capable of merit nor reward.

6. This perswasion therefore and desire of being Maisters of ourselues, and Lords at our owne pleasure,* 1.404 being taken away, the matter is not so great, whether God gouerne is immediatly by himself, or by Substitutes; specially seing he alwayes gouernes vs so by others, as himself also assisteth and directeth both them and vs, in his wil and pleasure. So we see in Citties and Kingdomes, al the labour is to bring them to acknowledge the King their Soueraigne. When they haue once acknowledged him, it is alone to them, whether he deliuer his commands in person, or by his Officer. And consequently it is euident, that as natural as it is for Man to be subject to God, and to Reason (which is as it were a raye of light proceeding from God) so natural is it for him to be subiect to another man in place of God; and if it be natural, it cannot be payneful or troublesome, but must ne∣cessarily be both easie and pleasant.

7. And if we wil yet more particularly reflect,* 1.405 what it is, that casts this mist before the eyes of some, we shal find that it is, because they cōfound seruile obedience or subiection, with this which is honourable and free, drawne into errour by an outward kind of resemblance, which is betwixt them; and

therefore attribute the difficulties and the odiousnes of the one to the other. We must therefore informe ourselues of the mayne distance which is betwixt them, in regard both of pleasure and dignitie. And we may take our information from Aristotle,* 1.406 who telleth vs, that there be two kinds of gouernment:

one, of a domineering fashion, & the nature of it is, that a Lord of this humour ay∣mes chiefly & directly at his owne benefit, & regards the benefit of the subiect but accidentally, as the benefit of the subiect redounds to him also; the other is Oeco∣nomical, as a father gouernes his children, a man his wife; in which contrariwise the Superiour attends directly to the benefit of the subiect, & to his owne acciden∣tally, because it falleth out so, that the self-same is beneficial to himself; as the Maister of a ship or Pilot, as such, doth first & chiefly take care for the safetie of the passengers,* 1.407 and of his owne accidentally, because he is also a passenger. These are Aristotle's owne words. And Plato hath the like discourse of a Common-weale. As a shepheard, sayth he, in as much as he is a shepheard, attendeth to the benefit of his flock, and not to his owne; for his busines is to see that that, which is in his custodie, be rightly ordered:

So he that hath the gouerning of men, aymeth at no∣thing but the good of them that are vnder him. By which we may easily see, vnder which of these kinds a Religious State is to be ranked.* 1.408

8. And it is the more apparent, because not only the power, which is in force among Religious people, but al the power which Christ our Sauiour hath left in his Church, tends to the benefit, not of him that hath it, but of the subiect. Which our Sauiour himself, who is Authour of this power, gaue vs to vnderstand in these words:* 1.409 The Kings of the Gentils ouer-rule them, and they that haue power vpon them, are called Beneficial; but you not so; but he that is greater among you,* 1.410 let him become as the yonger; and he that is the leader, as the wayter. Vpon which words S. Bernard writeth thus to Pope Eugenius:

This is the forme giuen to the Apostles; domineering is forbidden, they are bidden to minister; and it is commended vnto them by the example of the Law-maker, who pre∣sently addeth:* 1.411 I am in the midst of you, as he that ministreth. And the same S. Ber∣nard, in an other place, likeneth this kind of authoritie to the power of a Steward or a Tutour. For the farme, sayth he, is vnder the Steward, and the Yong-maister vnder his Tutour, and yet neither is the Steward Lord of the farme, nor the Tutour Maister of his Maister. And addeth: Be thou there∣fore ouer others so, as to prouide, to aduise, to take care, to preserue; be ouer others, to benefit others. Be ouer others as a faithful Seruant, whom the Maister hath appointed ouer his familie; what to doe?

To giue them food in season; that is, to dispense, not to be impetious. If therefore this which S. Bernard deliuereth, or rather which our Sauiour hath left ordered in his Chruch, be the model of al Ecclesiastical Iurisdiction, how much more doth the same hold in the gouernment of Religious houses, seing both of them flow from the same head, and the reason, and ground, and vse of them, is equal in both, and the manner of Religious profession requireth moreouer with much greater reason, this kind of humble proceeding? He there∣fore that hath command ouer others in Religion, is not Maister, but Ser∣uant; He attends vpon al their necessities both of bodie and soule; this is al his employment day and night; in this he spends al his thoughts and endeauours. And againe S. Bernard els-where sayth, that the busines of

spiritual Gouernours is like to that of Physicians,* 1.412 wholy directed to the help of their Patients. And in another place he stiles them Mothers, and exhorteth them to their dutie in these words: Forbeare stripes, lay open your ••earts: ••••l your breasts with milk, let them not swel with arrogancie.

9. Seing therefore al the power which is in Religious Orders,* 1.413 is intended for the benefit of the Subiect, what followes, but that it must needs be as natural, and as delightful,* 1.414 to liue vnder such a power, as it is natural and pleasing to euerie bodie to seeke his owne benefit? And what shal we need to stand gathering manie voyces for it, since a Heathen Philosopher, and one of the greatest wits among them, scanning the principles of Nature, auerreth it. With this desire of knowledge of Tru••••, sayth he, is 〈◊〉〈◊〉 a desire of Sou••raignetie; so that a mind wel framed by Nature wil not willingly obey but him that instructe••••, or teacheth, or commandeth iustly and legally,* 1.415 for the benefit of the partie. In which sentence (whatsoeuer we may think of the first part of it) we cannot certainly but admire in the second, how a Heathen, as I sayd, & a man plunged in pride and ambition, could by the light of nature de∣liuer, that, when we speake of instructing and teaching, or anie other com∣moditie redounding to ourselues, it is not only not repugnant to Nature for one man to obey an other, but most agreable to Nature.

10. Al which is yet more euident in the light which we Christians haue.* 1.416 For we see the like order setled among the blessed Angels; for some of them haue preheminence ouer others, and their verie nature was ordained so by God, and the same confirmed afterwards in the state of Grace, which he gaue them. And Di∣uines deliuer, that the like had been with men, if they had continued in the state of Innocencie.* 1.417 Wherupon S. Thomas hath this discourse, that the state of Inno∣cencie being free from al miserie & imperfection, could not haue admitted of that kind of Superioritie, by which one maketh vse of an other man for his owne in∣terest, because it is a seruile kind of thing, and subiect to much miserie; But as for the Superioritie which is current among them that are free-borne, directed to the good and benefit of them that are subiect, there can be no doubt, but it should haue been in vse in that state, because it is a comelie and wel-beseeming thing, & good for them that obey.

11. Though why doe we stand reasoning the matter so long, since we find by experience so manie in the world,* 1.418 that for a smal gaine, or in hope of some little pre••erment, voluntarily sel away their libertie? How manie serue for daylie, or monthlie, or yearlie wages? Others liue in a more honourable seruice, but yet serue, in hope of greater rewards, and wayte so diligently vpon some great man or other, and are so readie at euerie cal, so obsequious, so watchful, that happie were it for Religious people, if they could be as quick, and chearful, and liuelie in obey∣ing, as they are. Shal we say, that they also doe what they doe, against nature and against the haire? If they did, they would not go so willingly and so diligently about it, nor be so ambitious of such places, nor part with so much money for thē.

12. If therefore it be natural and easie for them to serue after this manner, be∣cause euerie bodie doth naturally seeke his owne commoditie; and that which is agreable to nature, cannot but be easie, why should not the case be the same with Religious people? or rather better, by h••w much the reward, which secular ser∣uants hope for, is but smal, and neither durable nor certain; Religious people serue vpon hopes of an eternal reward and happines euerlasting.

* 1.41913. Besides that, they that serue in the World, serue vpon farre harder tearmes; first bec••use they subiect themselues to an other man, who in nature is but their equal, secondly, because mens fancies and affections are so vncertain and various, that oftimes we must labour manie yeares before we can creep into their fauour; and when with much difficultie and manie yeares wayting we haue got it, it is lost againe in a moment, without anie fault of ours, only vpon the other's fancie. It is not so in the seruice of God. For to attend vpon God, and to be his seruant, is the greatest honour in the world, an honour for Kings to ayme at; and seruing God, we obey Reason, and rule ourselues by that Rule, which in itself is so strayt and so constant withal, that we haue nothing to stand in feare of, but least we ourselues depart from it.

* 1.42014. For this is certain, and we must neuer let it goe out of our thought, that Re∣ligious people serue not Man, as he is Man, but serue God, and are subiect to men, only as they beare the place of God. Which is euident out of the forme of their Vowes, which tyeth them, not to anie man liuing, but to God. And as we on our part doe vow ourselues to him, so he for his part neuer layes aside the care of gouerning vs, nor doth euer put vs ouer to an other so, as to forsake vs; but go∣uerneth and ruleth vs, and sendeth vs, and calleth vs back, when he pleaseth; according to the promise which he made to his Apostles:* 1.421 He that heareth yo••, heareth me; so that to conclude, as it is not against the nature of Man to obey God, but rather ingrafted and in-bred in nature; so neither is it against nature to obey that man, whomsoeuer God hath appointed in his place, and whom we haue no other reason to obey, but because we behold God to him; and consequently it cannot only not be hard to conforme our wils in this manner to the Diuine wil,* 1.422 but must needs be more easie and more pleasant then to follow our owne wils. Which S. Bernard maketh a••cou••t to be so true, that he saith, it is a verie slauerie to follow our owne wil, and a very hard task. And to this purpose he applyes that saying of our Sa••iour:* 1.423 Come vnto me, al you that are burdened with the hard setui∣〈…〉〈…〉 your owne, or of an other's wil, and You shal find rest to your soule, 〈…〉〈…〉. For by how much the goodnes of God is sweeter and 〈…〉〈…〉 then anie men, so much sweeter also is his yoak, then what∣〈…〉〈…〉 yoak besides.

15. And hitherto we haue held-on our discourse, as if in Religious Obedience there were a kind of seruitude,* 1.424 howsoeuer we pleade that it is both amiable, ho∣nourable, and sutable to Nature. Now we wil shew, that there is no manner of si••ne of seruitude in it, but time and perfect libertie. For what is libertie? To liue as a man wil himself. Who therefore be they that liue as they wil themselues? wicked people, or they 〈◊〉〈◊〉 be good and vpright? Let vs heare what S. Bernard sayth of a couetous man:

A 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of them that with a hart vnsatiable gape after ••ayne and luc••e, what he thinks of them, that sel al & giue it to the poore, to pur∣chase by their earthlie substance the Kingdome of heauen; Doe they wisely or no? 〈◊〉〈◊〉 wil say, they doe wisely. Aske him againe, why he doth not himself 〈…〉〈…〉 commend: in an other? He answers; I cannot. Wherefore? because the 〈…〉〈…〉 wil not let me; because he is not free, because that which he 〈◊〉〈◊〉, is not 〈◊〉〈◊〉 owne, nor himself is maister of himself.

If that which thou 〈◊〉〈◊〉, be ••uly th••••••, lay it out for thy commoditie; exchange earthlie for

heauenlie things. If thou canst not, confesse, that thou are not maister of thy money, but a slaue to it; that thou art not true owner of it, but dost wayte vpon it to keepe it. And this which S. Bernard sayth of Auarice, we may say also of Luxurie, of Gluttonie, of Anger, that they that are intangled in these and other vices, are not free-men, but sl••ues: and most of al of Ambition, of which a Heathen authour writeth thus:* 1.425 Take heed of desire of glorie; for it taketh away a man's libertie, for which al noble sp••••s ought to striue.

16. As therefore al t••ese are sl••••es, because they cannot doe as they wil, but are forced to doe as Vice wil haue them, which is a more stearne and more dishonourable Maister then anie man whatsoeuer, be he neuer so sauage and barbarous: So contrariewise, he is truly free, that liueth according to Vertue. For the good which he doth, he doth it not vnwillingly, but willingly and cheerfully: and receaueth and performeth the commands of his Superiours, or of his Rule, as if he did it naturally. For as when a man directs a traueller in his way, no man can say, he forceth him to go that way, because the traueller desireth it more then he that directs him: So whatsoeuer is suggested to a Religious man in this spi∣ritual way and iourney, either by word of mouth, or by writing, he taketh it as behooful for his owne good and saluation, of which he is infinitly tender.* 1.426 Which is the reason, why the Apostle sayd: The Law is not made for the iust man; not (as S. Bernard explicateth it) that he must liue without law, but because he is not vnder the law; or (as Aristotle writeth) because he is a law to himself, and carrieth himself without law, as if he were vnder it.

17. S. Ambrose in one of his Epistles handling this subiect at large,* 1.427 pro∣ueth it after this manner: He is free, that doth what he wil himself: now a iust man, though he obey the law, or man, doth alwayes notwithstan∣ding what he wil himself, because he desireth the good which is comman∣ded, and excecuteth it, not driuen vnto it by force of the outward command, but by his owne desire and inclination. So that what truer libertie can there be, then that which Religi••us people enioy? hauing moreouer this aduan∣tage, that al their obligation and tye (which is the chief thing that seemes to barre them of their libertie) comes by their owne election and free choyce? So that that,* 1.428 which S. Ambrose sayth els-where, may be fitly sayd of them: Who wil shunne Christ, seing they follow him, that are tyed in bends? but voluntarie bonds, which set a man free, and doe not restrayne him.

18. And vpon the same point S. Bernard grounds a discourse to his Monks, which I wil heer relate.* 1.429 For hauing layd load vpon the hardnes of this Re∣ligious captiuitie, and set it forth to the vtmost, in regard that a man hast∣ning, as I may say, to the losse of his owne life in this world, and to the m••rtifying of his owne wil, puts his neck into the collar of so rigid a course of life, and casts himself into this hard prison of Pennance, he releeueth them againe with this solid comfort, that this seruitude were indeed a most mise∣rable seruitude, if it were forced vpon us, and not voluntarily vndertaken. But voluntarily sacrificing ourselues to God, and no violence being offered to our wils, but by our wil itself; whatsoeuer we doe in this manner for God, though neuer so hard and toylesome, is rather to be reioyced-at and welcomed, then thought on with compassion.

* 1.43019. Finally S. Augustin sayth pleasantly and rarely to this purpose.

Al serui∣tude is ful of bitternes; al that are bound in seruile condition, serue and murmure at it. Feare not, that you shal serue such a Maister. In his seruice there shal be no sighing, no murmuring, no indignation. It is great happines to serue in this house, though it be in fetters. The seruice of our Lord is free: The seruice is free, where not necessitie, but charitie serueth. Thou art a slaue and a freeman both togeather: a slaue, because thou art created; a freeman, because God, who created thee, loues thee; serue not murmuring: for thy murmuring wil not make that thou shalt not serue, but that thou shalt serue like a slaue. Thou art a seruant of our Lord, fran∣chised of our Lord: doe not seeke to be so set at libertie, as to depart the house of him that giues thee thy freedome.

Excellently wel spoken by S. Augustin, and particularly where he obserueth,* 1.431 that al men are so vnder the command of God, that though they repine and resist, yet serue they must, wil they nil they, and shal be compelled to fulfil his wil whether they wil or no. For al things are gouerned by him, nothing escapes the mightie hand of his prouidence. Man therefore being by nature and of necessitie a seruant, how farre better is it to serue voluntarily, & so, that by his verie seruice he may be franchized to his great comfort for the pre∣sent, and euerlasting reward for the time to come, then by repining and stub∣bornly refusing to obey, to be forced to that, which God out of his infinite wise∣dome and prouidence hath ordayned, and haue for his reward nothing but sor∣row in his world, and torments in the next?

An answer to them, that think it better to keepe their wealth to spend in good vses, then to giue it al away at once. CHAP. XX.

THE Diuel vseth an other fallacie to diuert people from Religious courses, and it is so much the more dangerous▪ because it car∣rieth a colour of deuotion. For he wil needs perswade them that it is better and more profitable for saluation, to keepe their wealth, seing God hath giuen it them, then to cast it away al at once; that they may be alwayes doing some good deed or other, specially for reliefe of the poore, whom our Sauiour doth so particular∣ly commend vnto vs,* 1.432 that in the latter day of Iudgement it seemes we shal receaue our doome, according as we haue dealt with our Neighbour, and relieued him in his necessities, feeding the hungrie, cloathing the naked, comforting the sick, and visiting them that are in restraynt. Wheras Religion vtterly disableth a man from doing anie of these good deeds; both because it bringeth vs to extremitie of Pouertie, and also taketh away our libertie; so that a Religious man, though he should haue•• mind to doe anie thing in this kind, yet he cannot doe it, vnlesse he first haue the consent of his Superiour, and his particular Institute allow of it.

And for proof out of natural reason,* 1.433 Aristotle affirmeth, that riches is one of the best means to make a man happie, and furnisheth him with plentiful occasion of vertue.

2. These kind of arguments are the strength of this partie, inuoluing doubtles manie dangerous errours.* 1.434 For first the administration of a temporal estate is ac∣companied with so manie offences of God, that the offences doe farre surpasse al the good that can be done with it. Pride, and haughtines, and freedome, and oc∣casion and opportunitie of sinne, are alwayes wayting vpon it. And if there were nothing els, the verie distraction of mind, and the withdrawing of our thoughts from spiritual things, and the nayling of them to that which is base and earthlie, is a great misfortune. S. Gregorie (excellent in deliuering the Moral sense of Scripture) discoursing of the calamities of holie Iob, and how the Chaldaans diuided into three troupes fel vpon his Camels, sayth, that the Chaldaeans signifye the Diuels, the Camels (suting in some things with the beasts that were accounted cleane, and in some things with the vncleane) signifye a wel-dispensing of temporal goods. For euerie bodie (sayth he) that hath care of administring earthlie things,* 1.435 doth lye more open to the darts of the hidden Enemie.

He striueth to doe some things prouidently, and oftimes, while he is careful suttlely to foresee that which is to come, he ouerseeth at vnawares the harmes which are present. Oftimes being slow in performing some things, he neglecteth others which he should carefully performe. Oftimes being ouer careful in his dealings, he rather marreth the bu∣sines by his vnquiet proceeding. And most commonly so manie intricate thoughts doe intangle him, that scarce able to weald the busines which he carefully turneth in his mind, and so bringing nothing to effect, he sweateth a-mayne vnder the heauie burden of his hart.

These are the incommodities which the administration of earthlie wealth bringeth with it, be it neuer so vprightly handled, without wronging anie man; for of this S. Gregorie speaketh so that to buy the commoditie of being liberal towards others, with so great losse to ourselues, seemeth great follie.

3. And yet though there were no such incommoditie in it, which can hardly be,* 1.436 considering how naturally these inferiour things are coupled both with danger & dammage; Yet, as I say, if there were no such thing, what comparison is there betwixt the works themselues? In the one, we bestow part of our earthlie sub∣stance; a smal matter God wot; In the other, we bestow ourselues, and giue away the freedome of our owne wil, which is the greatest thing we haue, and that which men make more account of, then of anie thing els. And heer also we may fitly apply the similitude, which we brought before out of S. Anselme, of the fruit & the tree. For he that remayneth with the possession of his earthlie goods, giueth part of the fruit of them; a Religious man giueth the tree, and consequently al the fruit with it. So that whatsoeuer act or circumstance of vertue & dignitie can be found in the first, is also in this, and much more then in the former, and so much indeed, that there can be nothing added vnto it; for he that giueth al, powreth forth his liberalitie to the verie bottome, & once for al; which must needes inuolue a farre greater alacritie and chearfulnes in the verie manner of giuing, then when a man parts with it by fits,* 1.437 and by peece-meales: and these be the chearful giuers w••••m God doth loue, as the Apostle telleth vs.

4. But what doe we stand demurring vpon the matter? This was anciently the

Heresie of Vigilantius,* 1.438 so long agoe, and so learnedly consuted by S. Hierome, and then by the authoritie of the Vniuersal Church condemned: of which S. Hierome speaketh thus:* 1.439 To that which thou sayst, that they doe better, who vse that which they haue, and diuide the fruits of their possessions by little and little among the poore, then they that selling their possessions giue al away at once; I wil not, but our Lord shal answer:* 1.440

If thou wilt be perfect, goe, sel al that thou hast, and giue to the po••re. He speaketh to him that wil be perfect, to him that with the Apostles for∣sakes fa••her, and boat, and nets. This which thou commendest, is the second & the third step, which we allow of also, so that we acknowledge withal, that the first is to be, referred before the second and the third.

Thus sayth S. Hierome.

* 1.4415. And if we further require the testimonies of other ancient Fathers plainly auerring, that it is farre more beneficial to our owne soules, and more acceptable in the sight of God to shake off al at once, then keeping our wealth in our owne hands,* 1.442 to bestow it by little and little in good vses; we shal meete first with S. Au∣gustin speaking to this purpose:

They that ministred necessaries of their substance to Christ and his Disciples, did wel; but t••ey did better that forsooke al their sub∣stance, to the end they might be the freer to follow our Sauiour. And else-where he sayth thus: It is good to bestow a man's wealth with discretion vpon the poore; but it is better to giue it al at once with intention to follow our Lord, and free from care to conuerse with Christ.

* 1.443 He sayth, they are free from care, that haue rid themselues of their worldlie substance; insinuating that Euangelical Pouertie hath no care nor anguish hanging vpon it, but is rather the true way to free a man from al care and trouble.* 1.444 S. Ambrose in his Offices discoursing of liberalitie, & shewing how naught a thing it is, to lauish a man's worldlie substance, and that it is to be layd out prouidently, not carelesly cast away, excepteth this case: Vnlesse it be per∣haps to doe as Helisae••s did, when he ki••led his oxen, and fed the poore with that which he had, to the end the care of house-hold might not detayne him,* 1.445 but forsaking al, he might betake him∣self to the Prophetical discipline.

* 1.4466. Diadochus, a graue and ancient authour, in a Treatise which he wrote in Greek, of Spiritual Perfection, among other things sayth expresly thus:

It is very conue∣nient and very profitable, after a man comes to know what the seruice of God is, presently to sel al, and to dispense the money which he makes, according to the commandment of our Lord, & not vnder colour of obeying the Commandments of God, to shut his eare to so wholesome a Counsel. For hence wil ensue, first, an excellent Freedome from al care and sollicitude; secondly Pouertie, safe and sure fr••m al attempts; thinking of higher things then iniurie and contention; because the ••ewel is now taken away, which sed the fi••e of Auarice. Humilitie wil then aboue al other vertues make much of vs naked in her armes & bosome, as a mother makes much of her child in her lap, when out of childish simplicitie it puts off the c••ates, and casts them away, reioycing more in that nakednes, then in diuersitie of garments, being voyd of al malice.

Thus sayth Diadochus; and then putting this question in behalf of the aduerse partie (If we sel al at once, from whence shal the poore haue releef, who were dayly maintayned out of our goods?) he answereth in this manner:

Certainly God wil aske account at our hands of almes-giuing ac∣cording to that which we haue, and not according to that which we haue not. If therefore for the feare of God I giue that bountifully away in a short time, which I might haue been longer in giuing, what more wil be layd to my charge, seing

I haue nothing?* 1.447 But some bodie wil say: What then shal become of those poore people, that were wont to be maintayned by little and little with our smal estate? Let such an one learne, not to vpbraide God by occasion of his owne couetous mind. For God wil neuer want abilitie to gouerne those whom he hath made, as from the beginning he hath gouerned them; neither did the poore want food or cloathing, before this man or the other were m••ued to bestow their charitie.

You see what Diadochus sayth, and discouerseth yet further of the benefit which comes therof, in regard that riches make vs proude, not only when we vse them il, but though we vse them wel: because it is easie to take a kind of complacencie in bestowing dayly something in good vses, as if we did some great matter, and de∣serued something at the hands of God. But when we forsake al at once, & bestow nothing dayly vpon the poore, we may easily think we doe little good, and stirre ourselues to a wholesome sorrow and humilitie, and moreouer be more eager to get by prayer, and patience, and humilitie, that which we cannot now purchase by almes-giuing.

7. Theonas in Cassian hath the like discourse;* 1.448 that though a man doe offer the first fruits & tithes out of his estate, & be bountiful to the poore, yet it is hard for him not to fal often into the snares ••f Sinne. For while he delayeth or neglecteth the occasion, he must needs offend either in quantitie or qualitie or daylie distribution of his goods. And a ••i••tle after: It is impossible for a man to free himself to the s••l from the domination of s••aue, though he dispe••se his wealth with neuer so great magnanimitie, vnlesse by the grace of our Sauiour, togeather with the thing itself he shake off the affection of possessing an••e thing. But in them that haue not neglected the Counsel of our Lord, but bestowing before hand their whole estate vpon the poore,* 1.449 and taking vp their Crosse, haue followed the plenti∣fulnes of the heauenlie grace, sinne can haue no power. For though afteward•• a man haue charge of dispensing the wealth that is now consecrated to our Sauiour Christ, and handle in a pious distribution the money which belongs to others, he 〈◊〉〈◊〉 not be troubled with vnfaithful care of reseruing for his mayntenance, nor wil his chearfulnes 〈…〉〈…〉 be lost by 〈◊〉〈◊〉 delay; because that which once he offered wholy to God, 〈…〉〈…〉 now as of a thing belonging to an other, not reflecting vpon his owne necessitie, no•• 〈…〉〈…〉 wil fal short, being assured that when he shal arriue to his 〈◊〉〈◊〉 nakednes, God wil take much more care to feed him, then he doth of the birds of the ayre.

8. S. Gregorie also wel acquainted with the craftie fetches of the Diuel,* 1.450 rec∣k••neth this among other hidden snares which he layes to intrappe vs. Another, sayth he,* 1.451 is resolued not only not to hunt after earthlie commodities, but to re∣nounce al that he hath, to the end he may the more freely exercise himself in the precepts of the heauenlie Teacher, the more disengaged he is from t••e things, which being possessed might encumber him, treading them vnder foot by forsa∣king them.

The Enemie therefore lying in wayte for this man, and speaking to his hart by secret suggestion, sayth vnto him: Whence riseth the boldnes of this f••rash proceeding, as to dare to beleeue, that thou canst subsist with leauing al? Be••••••••e not very manie that doe not forsake their earthlie patrimonie, & yet pur∣chase with it the euerlasting goods of the supernal inheritance by 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of mercie? 〈…〉〈…〉 flattering suggestion, and by the by, in the self-same thi••gs, which he 〈…〉〈…〉 him in mind to retayne f••llowing his deceitful humour, he layeth before 〈…〉〈…〉 the pestiferous delights of them, to draw the seduced hart to outward 〈…〉〈…〉, and to turne it quite off from inward desires of Per••••••tion.

9 Behold where the source is of this preposterous care of the poore, if we beleeue S. Gregorie. Behold also what the Diuel pretendeth by this his suggestion; to wit, vnder so faire a colour of Charitie and pittie towards the poore, to hold vs pl••y with these earthlie things, that while we stand vpon so tickle a ground as the world is, he may the easyer giue vs a fal. For as it is hard so to handle pitch, but that it wil stick to our fingars; so it is hard to haue the administration of worldlie wealth and riches vpon whatsoeuer occasion, but that our loue, and affection, and desire wil in some measure cleaue vnto them, and as it were defile our soule by touching them.

10 That which S. Hierome therefore writeth in his Epistle to Iulian, standeth with great reason. This Iulian was both wealthie and bountifully liberal towards the poore, & yet S. Hierome exhorts him rather to forsake al, and sheweth playnly that it is the much more perfect course and more beneficial for saluation. These are his words,* 1.452

I cann••t say but thou dost wel, in that thou dost, as it is reported of thee, minister to the vse of Saints, maintayne Monks, make great offerings in the Churches. But these are but the first essayes of thy warfare. Thou contemnest go••d; manie Philosophers also haue contemned it; and one of them (to passe the test in silence) cast the price of his manie possessions into the sea, saying: Away into the deep, you euil thoughts; I wil drowne you, that I may not be drowned by you. This Philosopher, ambitious of glorie, and a base slaue to popular ru∣mours, cast away al his burden at once;* 1.453 and canst thou think that thou hast attayned the height of vertue offering part of thine? God wil haue thyself, a liuing hoast, pleasing God; thy self, I say, and not that which is thine. If thou giue thy self to God, and perfect in Apostolical vertue begin to follow our Sauiour, then thou wilt vnderstand where thou wert, and how in the Armie of Christ thou hast hitherto held the lowest place. I wil not haue thee offer that only to God, which a theef may take from thee, which thy enemie may inuade, which banishment may depriue thee off, which may come and goe, and which like waues of the sea is possessed by euerie maister that is next at hand, and which (in a word) whether thou wilt or no,* 1.454 at thy death thou must forsake. Offer that which no enemie can take from thee, no tyrant bereaue thee off; that, which wil follow thee to thy graue, yea to the Kingdome of Heauen, and to the delights of Paradise. Thou buildest Monasteries, and a great number of Saints are maintayned by thee; but thou shalt doe better, thy self to liue a Saint among the Saints.

Thus writeth S. Hierome to Iulian.* 1.455

11. And the like he writeth to Pammachius; applying fitly to his purpose that which we reade of the low stature of Zacchaus:* 1.456

My aduise is that thou offer not only thy money but thyself to Christ;* 1.457 skin for skin, and al that a man possesseth he may giue for his soule. Our ancient Enemie knoweth, that the combat of Con∣tinencie is greater then that of money; that which sticketh on the outside, is easily ••ast ••••f, a ciuil warre is more dangerous. We may easily vnglue that which is but 〈◊〉〈◊〉 togeather, vnsow that w••ich is but sowed; Zacchaus was rich, the Apostles 〈…〉〈…〉* 1.458 red foure times the value of that which he had taken, and diuided among the poore the one half of his substance that remayned; our Sauiour admit∣〈…〉〈…〉 entertaynement; and yet because he was low and could not reach the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of the Apostles, he was not reckoned among the Twelue. The Apostles, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 〈…〉〈…〉 their wealth, left nothing, if their wil, they forsooke al the world at

once.

If we offer our wealth and our soule togeather, he wil willingly accept of it.

12. Let vs rehearse an other testimonie out of the same S. Hierome, exhorting his friend Iaciuius to an absolute renunciation of al things in these words:

It is the part of beginners, and not ••f perfect people,* 1.459 to cast away their money. Crates the Thebean did it, and so did 〈◊〉〈◊〉, To offer ones self to God, is proper to Christians and to the Apostles. The wants of manie haue been supplyed by thy abundance, to the end that their riches may rebound againe into the hands of them that want them.* 1.460 Thou hast made to thy self friends of the Mammon of ini∣quitie, that they may receaue thee into the eternal tabernacles A thing worthie commendation,* 1.461 & to be paralelled with he vertues of the Apostolical times! But our L••rd seeketh rather the soules of the Faithful, then their riches. We reade, that a man's owne riches are the redemption of his soule. By a man's owne riches we may vnderstand such, as are not gotten by pillage, or by the wrong of an other man; but yet in a better sense, our owne riches are the hidden treasure, which neither the night-theef can vndermine, nor the open robber take from vs by violence.

13. Seing therefore we haue the verdict of S. Hierome in so manie places,* 1.462 so clearly deliuering his mind on our side, and so manie other ancient Fathers besides of the same opinion, the single authoritie of Aristotle cannot in reason stumble anie man, though he were against vs. But indeed he is not. For in that which was obiected out of the first of his Morals, he speaketh consequently to that which there he handled; for he discourseth there of the happines belonging to the Actiue life, towards which Riches are vndoubtedly a fit meanes and instrument; for had it not riches, it should not haue wherewithal to relieue others, and supply their necessities; wheras great part of the felicitie of that life is placed in that kind of action.* 1.463 But towards Contemplation, wherin according to Aristotle's iudgement also, is the farre truer felicitie, riches conduce nothing at al, but rather hinder it; for they disturbe the quiet of a man's mind, which is one of the necessariest things of al for Contemplation: Insomuch that Aristotle himself in his tenth booke of Morals, where he treateth of the happines which is in Contemplation, sayth, that Action hath need of manie things, but Speculation hath not need of anie thing, and that multiplicitie of things is rather a hinderance vnto it. It is therefore con∣fessedly much more beneficial, and a much more noble act, to forsake al that a man hath at once, and to consecrate his life to God in Euangelical Pouertie, then to remayne with some thing, though it be with intention to spend it vpon the poore. Which we may finally strengthen with a notable sentence of that great S. Hilarion,* 1.464 of whom S. Hierome relateth, that hauing deliuered a maruelous rich man called Orion from a legion of Diuels, not long after, the same man returned to the Monasterie with very rich presents, and vrged S. Hilarion very earnestly and with teares, to accept of them,* 1.465 if not for himself, yet at least to bestow vpon the poore; but the aduised old man answered him in these words: The name of the poore hath been an occasion of auarice to manie; but mercie hath no tricks with it. No man doth spend better, then he that reserueth nothing for himself.

An answer to them that choose to remayne in the world, to do good vpon their Neighbour. CHAP. XXI.

OThers are withdrawen from Religious courses by a perswasion which they haue, that they may benefit their Neighbour more in spirit, re∣mayning in the world. An errour much like to the former, which we haue confuted, but that the former taketh occasion of our earthlie substance, this latter of a good which is meerly spiritual; and consequently, as it hath the fayrer pretext, it is the more apt to deceaue. For thus they discourse, and argue as it were, against a Religious State: that in Religion we in a manner burie the Talent, which God hath giuen vs, and the zeale and good wil of aduancing others in vertue; because they that liue vnder Obedience, are not so free to make their excursions hither and thither, and sometimes, when they haue begun a good work, they are called away from it, & set about something els, or sent to another place. On the other side, they that remayne at their owne freedome, may at al ti∣mes, and at al howers, assist al kind of people, and haue no bodie to hinder them, no bodie to forbid them, no bodie to interrupt them; so that wheras both of them may be compared to hounds, that are ••a••er vpon the sight or sent of the game, the Religious are as it were in leash, and at the command of others; Secular people runne at large, & instantly make after the game without anie stop or stay. Let vs therefore consider, how little force these arguments haue, to weaken so great a Counsel of Perfection.

2. And first we must vnderstand, that Charitie, as great a vertue as it is, must be ordered,* 1.466 insomuch that if it be not duly ordered, it is not Charitie, but some other affection that putteth-on the maske of Charitie. Order consisteth chiefly in this, that in matter of Spirit, and in things which concerne the grace of God, and our soules saluation, euerie one be first careful of himself, & preferre his owne spiritual benefit and profit; before the good of whomsoeuer of our Neighbours; and so God commandeth vs to doe. Which al Diuines with one consent deliuer as a certain truth; and S. Thomas in particular proueth it by this solid & substantial argument. B••cause Charitie, sayth he, is grounded in the communication of goods that are spiritual; but after God,* 1.467 who is the foundation of al, euerie one is neerest to himself, and must make account to be first in the participation of this good; for we loue our Neighbours as our companions in that participation;* 1.468 and consequently as Vnitie is to be preferred before Vnion, so that a man enioyeth such a go••d▪ is a neerer and dearer ground of loue, then that an other is his companion in the enioyning of it. And vpon the same ground it followeth also truly & necessarily, that the habit of Charitie cannot incline a man, I doe not say to commit the least sinne, but not so much as to abide the least losse or impayring of Charitie, for an other man whosoeuer he be, no not though it were to saue the whole world, no more then fire can issue out of ice; which also almost al Diuines agree in.

3. If therefore we allow of this, & it cannot on the other side be denyed or anie way doubted of, but that a Religious course of life is without cōparison the most absolute course of our owne perfection, and farre more apt to furnish our owne soules with vertue, then anie Secular state whatsoeuer, it must necessarily follow, that though some particular state in the world might be more beneficial to our Neighbour, yet the benefit of our owne soules is to be preferred before the benefit, which might be deriued to others. Our Sauiour deliuereth it in these expresse words: What doth 〈◊〉〈◊〉 it auayle a man, if he gayne the whole world, and suffer detriment of his

owne soule? And because we should not think,* 1.469 that his words are to be vnderstood only of temporal gayne, S. Bernard doth directly apply them to this spiritual benefit of our Neighbour which we speake of,* 1.470 and in his book of Consideration writeth thus: If thou wilt be wholy entrie bodie's, after the example of him, that was made al to al, I commend thy f••ee na••u••e; but vpon condition it be ful. And how shal it be ful, if thou shut-out thyself••▪ for thou art also a man. Therefore that thy courtesie may be fal & mine, let the bosome chose me which receaueth al, embrace thyself within itself. Otherwise what auayleth it thee, according to the word of our Lord, if thou gayne al, & leese thyself alo••••? & he repeateth the like saying in his second Booke, & amōg other things, cōcludeth pleasantly with these words: In the purchase of saluation, no man is neerer of kin vnto thee, then the onlie sonne of thy mother.

4. Now the ground of the contrarie partie draweth these two inconueniences with it;* 1.471 First that while they liue in the world, vpon what cause soeuer they re∣mayne in it, they lye open to al occasions and dangers of sinne, as much almost as anie Secular people;* 1.472 for sayling the self-same seas, they must needs be tossed with the self-same waues of these present allurements & baytes of honour, & riches, and beautie beating continually vpon their eyes & thoughts, that it is very hard, and a rare thing, alwayes to resist, & so to resist, as alwayes to goe away with the victorie. This is the first inconuenience, which they runne themselues vpon. The other is, that though we should grant them the victorie in al these assaults, yet they cannot but suffer l••sse & detriment in matter of vertue & perfection, because they depriue themselues of voluntarie Pouertie, & Obedience, & other such vnspeakable trea∣sures, which are ordinarie in Religion, &, as I may say, common to euerie ordinarie bodie. And what follie is it, to wayte vpon others gaynes with so much losse of our owne? Wherefore we ought rather to harken to the counsel of the Holie-Ghost, & haue it alwayes before our eyes,* 1.473 aduising vs in this manner: Recouer thy neighbour according to thy vertue, and take heed to thyself, that thou fal not in; that is, thou fayle not; for he that salleth, both hurteth himself, & cannot help them to rise, that are fallen.

5. We shal doe wel also, to cal to mind the Parable of the Virgins, whom our Sa∣uiour so much commendeth in the Ghospel for their wisdome, in that when the other Virgins be••ged oyle of them,* 1.474 they answered: Least perhaps it suffise not for vs & you, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 rather to them that sel, & buy for yourselues. Which saying S. Bernard vpon the Canticles applyeth to this which we haue in hand, & among manie other reflecti∣ons which he makes vpon it, he falleth also vpon that, which we spake of before, that it is not true Charitie for a man to desire to benefit others with his owne losse; because charitie (as he speaketh) w•••• abound in itself, that it may haue abundance for others. It reserueth to itself as much as it wants,* 1.475 that no man may want. Otherwise, if it be not ful, it is not perfect. And againe: I make account, that in matter of Saluation no degree of compassion is to be preferred before that degree,* 1.476 which the Wiseman setteth downe, saying: Haue mercie of hy owne soule, pleasing God.

6. And thus much vpon supposition, that though a Secular life could be more apt to doe good vpon others, yet Religion were to be preferred, because in Reli∣gion we may reape more benefit to ourselues.* 1.477 What if we adde now that ••eligion is farre more able, and sufficient, and proper to doe good vpon others? But it is so certain and euident, that we shal not need to stand long vpon proof of it besides that, in the second Booke of this Treatise we haue playnly con uinced it, discour∣sing of the manifold helps, which a Religious sta••e afforde 〈…〉〈…〉 good of ••ur Neighbour; the summe whereof i•• this: that God only 〈◊〉〈◊〉 because of the conuer∣sion of Soules, and of their progresse and aduancement in vertue. For so we fir••

it written:* 1.478 Grace and glorie our Lord wil giue. And our Lord himself sayth: No man can come to me,* 1.479 vnlesse the Father, who sent me, draw him. What then doe men in the conuersion of other men?* 1.480 They are instruments which God vseth, as a writer vseth his penne, a sawyer his sawe. Wherefore as anie kind of instrument, mo∣uing of itself can doe nothing, but if it be moued by the crafts-maister, it can doe al things: So in works Diuine and supernatural, looke how farre a man is ioyned with God, and moued by him, so farre he goeth, and no further. Now let vs see, who is more vnited with God, a Secular, or a Religious man? But there can be no question in it: for besides the coniunction which Charitie maketh betwixt them (the force of which vertue is farre greater in Religion, & farre more meanes to purchase it) there be other vertues which mainly further this vnion, and chiefly those two, which are so proper and natural to a Religious course, to wit, Humilitie & Obedience, the one freing vs from al worldlie pride, the other deli∣uering vs ouer to the Diuine Maiestie, and putting him in absolute possession of vs, to rule vs and weald vs as he pleaseth, besides the perpetual and irreuocable bond of our Vowes, binding vs so inseparably to God, that there cannot be a stronger tye, nor a more inuiolable coniunction imagined vpon earth. What wonder there∣fore, if such instruments menaged by the hand of so great and so skilful an Artifi∣cer, and so fit and plyable to his hand, worke such rare and admirable effects?

* 1.4817. To this inward coniunction with God, we may adde the outward helps, which in Religion are manie, as the ioyning of so manie hands togeather, which is a great meanes to bring busines to an end; for that which a man hath not in him∣self, he hath it in his Brother. Secondly the authoritie, which the despising of earthlie things giues Religious people aboue others; a contempt, I say, of the world, which lyes not hidden in euerie one's breast, but is apparent to be seen in the state itself, and the whole course of a man's life. Al which and such like other furtherances, they that labour for the benefit of others in a Secular life, must needs want. And to passe ouer other things; of what importance must it needs be, that Religious men are in this busines of the help of Soules, as wel as in other things, wholy directed guided, and illuminated by their Superiours? For first the aduise & counsel of men that are wise & expert in so weightie a busines, cannot but be very vseful; besides that, it is God that gouerneth them by their Superiours, which is al in al; for when God is the authour & beginner of that which we vndertake, it cannot but prosper, whatsoeuer it be. And to answer that which was obiected, by example of a hound, doth not the game goe much better forward, when the dogs are guided by a huntsman, that knowes how to rule them, when to put them on, when to take them off, and when to stay them from ranging about? Yea without it, the dogs of themselues are not fit to hunt.

* 1.4828. But what doe we stand disputing this question concerning the help of Soules? Let vs open our eyes and take a view of the Church of God, as now it is, and as it hath been for manie Ages. Who be they, that now adayes following the example of our Sauiour, goe about the Citties & townes & villages, instructing the people, and drawing men out of sinne, and putting them vpon good courses in the seruice of God, but Religious men? whom doe we almost see in a pulpit preaching but such as are of one Order or other? Finally who are the workmen in this vinyard of our Sauiour, but they? and true workmen indeed, that abide the weight and the heate of the day, & doe al, that they doe, meerly for the glorie of God, & the help of

Soules, not for anie earthlie commoditie, or temporal benefit redounding to them∣selues. For though there be of the Secular State some, that labour in this haruest, they are so few of thē, that no mā cā attribute the general fruit, which is wrought and maintayned in the Church, rather to the Seculars, then to the Regulars.

9. Some bodie perhaps wil grant al this to be true, speaking of the general fruit which is wrought in the Church;* 1.483 but for his part he speaketh not of the whole Church, but is in payne only for his owne countrey, and pa∣tents, and kinsfolk; and thinketh that if he remayne with them, he shal be better able to instruct them, and help them, then if he goe into Religion. A ri∣diculous pretence; for that which we haue been saying al this while of the prero∣gatiue of a Religious State aboue a Secular in matter of doing good to others, is much more of force in this case, because it commonly falleth out, that a man shal doe rather lesse good among his kindred, then more; which indeed might seeme a Paradox,* 1.484 but that we find it by experience continually to be so; & Truth itself hath so long before giuen vs warning of it in these words: A Prophet is not without honour but in his countrey, and in his house, and in his kindred. And the exam∣ple of our Sauiour testifieth as much, as wel as his words. For wheresoeuer he chanced to be, though it were among the Samaritans, which was a deboisht kind of people, and at variance in manie things with the Iewes, al admired his wis∣dome, and followed him most greedily to heare him speake; and yet in his owne Countrey he was held in contempt and derision; insomuch that it is written of him; He could not there else anie vertue; and: He wondered by reason of their incredulitie. What then may we weake and infirme creatures hope to doe, seing the infinit Sanctitie and Maiestie could doe no good vpon flesh and bloud?

10. S. Bernard therefore with great reason doth reckon this suttle temptation among the little foxes,* 1.485 which in the Canticles are sayd to demolish the vinyard; a temptation which doth not only hinder people from entring into Religion, but oftimes draweth some out of Religion to the world againe.* 1.486 I saw a man (sayth S. Bernard) that was running wel; and behold a thought▪ How great a good is this, which I enioy alone?

If I were in my countrey, I might giue part of it to my brethren, and kindred, and acquaintance, and friends. They loue me, and wil easi∣lie hearken to my perswasions. To what end is this losse? I goe thither, and saue manie of them, and myself with them. And I shal not need to feare the change of place; for so I doe wel, what matter is it, where; but only, that certainly it is bet∣ter to remayne there, where I may remayne with more profit. Why should I be long? He goeth, and perisheth, wretch that he is, not so much a banished man into his countrey, as a dog returning to his vomit. Behold the vnhappie man hath lost himself, and gayned none of his. Behold one little fox, to wit, this vayne deceit∣ful hope, which he had of gayning his kindred.

11. These so expresse and significant words of S. Bernard, togeather with the rest which hath been sayd, make it euident, that whosoeuer is moued indeed with true zeale of Soules (for there be diuers who haue not this zeale, but remayne in the world, because they are taken with the world, and vse reasons which fauour of zeale as a colour to shaddow their couetous mind) but if there be anie such that de∣sireth sincerely to aduance the seruice of God, and resolueth to dedicate himself vnto the setting of it vp, he must needs acknowledge, that there is no doubt to be made, but that he may more perfectly, & more assuredly, and with more plentiful

successe compasse his ends in Religion, then remayning in the world, specially if he confine not himself to one countrey or Familie (which were a signe of some∣what a streight hart, and but little courage) but offer himself to be alwayes in a readines for al places in general,* 1.487 and al sorts of people, and as the beasts, which the Prophet speakes of, wheresoeuer the motion of the spirit is, thither presently he got. And this he may farre easier and with lesse trouble and danger performe in Religion, then in the world, because, as I sayd before, there be in Religion so manie helps to perfection and sanctitie; and contrariwise in the world, so manie hindrances & rubs by the way, and allurements to sinne. For it falleth out with vs in this busi∣nes, as with them that wil saue a man from drowning; for whosoeuer wil doe so, must first put himself in safetie; otherwise he endangers himself, and consequent∣ly disables himself from helping an other out of danger, and in like manner, he that wil goe about to help is neighbour out of t••e danger, in which he is in the world, must necessarily himself wade out of the world, and stand vpon firme ground aboue al worldlie things.

An answer to them that say: It is enough to forsake the world in affection, though they forsake it not in effect. CHAP. XXII.

HEere we are to deale with an other obiection, not vnlike the fallacie of which we haue been speaking; for some wil not stick to say, it is in vayne to trouble oneself so much, as to make away from himself al the right and possession of what∣soeuer he hath in the world: it is enough to forsake the loue & affection vnto it. And this they vndertake to proue, because the substance of perfection is Charitie;* 1.488 He that hath greater charitie, is more perfect, whether he liue a Secular or a Religious life. And to strengthen their cause, they bring examples of holie Scripture, and tel vs of Abra∣ham, and Isaac, and Iacob, who liuing in the State of Matrimonie, and abounding in al worldlie wealth and plentie, were holie in an eminent degree; insomuch that God conuersed familiarly and friendly with them.

2. But we must take heed, that this be not also the language of such a flatter themselues, and pretend reasons, of purpose, because they are loath to breake with the world, and worldlie bonds, with which they loue to be tyed. And we shal be fayne to spend the more time and care in confuting it, because manie, that account themselues of the learnede•• and wiser sort, are subiect to this errour.

* 1.4893. Though it cannot therefore be denyed, but that Perfection consisteth in Cha∣ri••ti, as they alleadge, and that Religion is not perfection, but a way and meanes to perfection; yet it is such a means, as they who embrace it, may easily, & speedily, & without sayle attaine to perfect on, & they that embrace it not either neuer come to perfection, or not without long labour and difficultie. For as at the passage of a 〈◊〉〈◊〉, euerie bodie seekes for the bridge, or for a boat to passe without danger; & of a 〈◊〉〈◊〉 be to go a iourney by land, he chooseth rather to go on horse-back, then

on foot, because he shal sooner come to his iourneys end, and more cōmodiously: So in the long and hard iourney to the top of Vertue and Charitie, of which they speake, what account in reason ought euerie bodie to make of such a help, as ena∣bleth and strengthneth vs not only to passe our iourney, but to runne with ease & expedition, and is indeed rather a Coach to carrie vs sweetly a long in it? And what kind of Coach is it? We haue spoken sufficiently of this point throughout the whole First Booke of this Treatise, shewing that Religion affordeth two spe∣cial helps to saluation: freing vs, by abandoning the world, from al impediments thervnto, which in the world are certainly innumerable; and furnishing vs with so manie excellent cōmodities towards a spiritual life, as there we haue discoursed of.

4. Which was the reason,* 1.490 why generally al holie men, that vnderstood very wel, that the substance of Perfection consisted in Charitie, haue notwithstanding so earnestly exhorted vs to abandon the world, as if without it we could not be per∣fect. Among whom Cassian speaketh thus: It is infallible, that whosoeuer leanes to his wonted possessions & goods, doth not take vpon him intire humilitie of hart, nor ful mortification of his corrupted wil. But S. Basi more copiously; for sup∣posing first as a ground,* 1.491 that the abnegation which our Sauiour commanded, consisteth in casting away al loue of ourselues, and al sollicitude either for life or death, he setteth downe, what is necessarily to be done to attayne to this perfection. And these are his words:

This renunciation beginneth with parting from external things, from our possessions, from vayne glorie, from the custo∣mes of our former life,* 1.492 from affection to things vnprofitable; as the holie Disci∣ples of our Lord haue put vs in mind to doe by their example, to wit, Iames and Iohn, by forsaking their father Zebedee, and their boat, of which their whole life and maintenance depended. And a little after: Though what shal I need to strengthen that, which I say, with reasons of mine owne inuen∣tion, or examples of holie men, seing we may alleadge the verie words of our Sauiour, and with them animate a Soule that is Religious, and hath the scare of God?* 1.493 For he playnly and without al contradiction testifyeth, and sayth: So there∣fore, whosoeuer of you renounceth not al that he possesseth, cannot be my Disciple. And in an other place,* 1.494 hauing vpon this condition (If thou will be perfect) sayd: Go, sel what thou hast, he presently addeth: Come, follow me. And to the like purpose,* 1.495 he brought the Parable of the Marchant, that hauing found one pretious Margarite, sold al that he had, and bought it. For it is euident, that the pretious Margarit signifyeth the Kingdome of Heauen; which Kingdome, our Lord sayth, we cannot attayne vnto, vnlesse we contemne al that we haue at once, to the end to purchase it, wealth, glorie, kindred, and whatsoeuer most men in the world doe ambitiously gape after.

Thus speaketh S. Basil; and what could be sayd of more weight and strength to our purpose?* 1.496

5. The like we reade in one of the Homilies of S. Macarius.

It cannot be, sayth he, that a man should purchase the possession of his owne soule, or the charitie of the heauenlie Spirit, vnlesse estranged from al things belon∣•••••• to the world, he apply himself to search-out the charitie of our Sauiour, and feuer his mind from al grosse cares, and earthlie distractions, that he may take his whole ayme at one marck; that forsaking al, and cutting-of al material and earthlie impediments, and separated from carnal loue and affec∣tion to parents or kindred, he suffer his mind to attend to nothing els, nor to

be distracted by other meanes, but be wholy occupyed in the care and search of Spiritual things.

This is that which S. Macarius sayth of this matter both truly and aduisedly, to the point we treate of.

6. For though, if we wil goe vpon subtilties and speake metaphysically (as they say in Schooles) it cannot be denyed, but a man may be a Saint in the midst of worldlie wealth,* 1.497 and practise Humilitie in the heigth of honour, and perserue Chastitie in the midst of delicacies; yet if we cast our eyes, not vpon that which might be wished or proiected, but vpon that which for the most part fal∣leth-out among men, and which we dayly see in the ordinarie course of their life and conuersation, no man can be so blind, as not to see what is best, most safe, most conducing to saluation. But to go more solidly to work, we must seuer that which is certain, from that which is vncertain and disputable.

* 1.4987. It is certain, that whosoeuer setteth his loue and affection vpon earthlie goods, is not fit for the Kingdome of heauen; and therefore they are to be forsa∣ken, at least in affection. This al must doe at al times, and intirely, without excep∣tion. For so the Prophet telleth vs: If riches abound, doe not set your hart to them. And againe:* 1.499 Al men of riches haue slept their sleep, and found nothing in their hands. And our Sauiour giueth vs to vnderstand as much in that rigid sentence: It is easier for a camel to passe through a needle's eyes, then for a rich man to enter into the kingdome of heauen. T••is therefore is most certain. That which makes al the doubt, is, that some take vpon them to be confident, that they can remaine with their earthlie goods, and yet be poore in spirit, and not set their hart vpon them, or repose anie trust in them, or leese the least part of their loue towards God in respect of them. Others againe, vnderstanding how ful of difficultie al this is, and how manie hin∣derances of saluation there be in the world, how manie allurements to vice and sinne, choose rather quite to shake off the world, then to put their eternal salua∣tion in such hazard, for so short a pleasure in these temporal things. Which of these, haue more solid reason for their side?

* 1.5008. I make no question, but as in al other things it is the part of a wise man to leane to the surer side; and if a bodie must offend in one, to choose rather, to be too warie, then to be thought vnaduised; and the weightier the busines is, the more reason we haue to doe so: so much more in this, which of al other things concernes vs most. For it is wonderful difficult, and indeed beyond the strength of man to haue manie things in possession, and to suspend our affection from them. S. Basil in the place before alleadged taketh it for a certaintie,* 1.501 that whosoeuer re∣serueth anie earthlie thing to himself, his mind must necessarily (for so are his words) remaine, as it were, buried in that slowe of filth, and the passage to hea∣uenlie contemplation be shut against him, because he is so drowned in it, that he cannot think of the Supernal goods, which God hath promised vs; for we cannot attaine to those goods,* 1.502 vnlesse a vehement and vndistracted desire of them doe spurre vs on and inflame vs, and indeed so great a desire, that it make al things easie, to the end we may gayne them. This was S. Basil's opinion: and if anie man think him too strict and seuere, let him consider wel, whether he frame to him∣self a right conceit of Perfection, according to the nature thereof and not rather perhaps conceaue of it according to his owne or others remissenes, and want of spirit.

9. S. Iohn Chrysostome makes account, that it is a much more easie way to cure

our corrupted affections,* 1.503 to haue nothing, then to haue something, though it be but moderate. Nothing, sayth he, doth so quench the thirst of Cupiditie, as to cease from desire of gayne, like as abstinence and euacuation purge bitter choler. It is easier for a man's bodie to flie in the ayre, then to quiet our desire, if we stil adde more. And certainly we shal find it so, as the Philosopher sayth, that some things, are more easily quite cut off, then in part tempered. And Cassian speaking by experience, sayth: We haue seen men easier abstaine altogeather from grosse meates, then vse moderatly of those which are granted for necessitie; and those that denye themselues al for the loue of continencie, then those that vnder pre∣tence of infirmitie, taking some, keepe themselues within the bounds of suffi∣ciencie. and this which Cassian sayth of Temperance, in respect of Gluttonie, is true in al other obiects; which being present, are apt to delight either our eyes or our mind. It is easier wholy to abstaine from them, then to vse some with mo∣deration. For as if a man should let himself downe from a high tower, it is not so easie, as he may imagin, to stay himself in the mid-way at his pleasure: so it is not in man's power to with-hold and preuent the violence of delight, or to as∣signe in what measure it shal presse vpon vs; rather our weaknes is apt to giue way vnto it, and to think it an ease to doe so; and by that meanes we are drawne further and further by litle and litle, and, which is our owne greater mis-for∣tune, at vnawares and vnsensibly. Which S. Leo expresseth in these words:* 1.504 By lawful vse we passe to immoderate excesse, while by care of health, the delight of pleasure creepeth in, and that, which might be enough for nature, is not enough for concupiscence,

10. That which S. Basil obserueth,* 1.505 how much external things conduce to the reformation of the internal, is of force also in this. For if a man be desirous of humilitie, he must (according to the aduise of the Saint) practise humilitie in al outward things, which belong vnto him; as in his apparel, in his bed, his chayre, his table, his house, and household-stuff; and finally, in al things. And the reason which he giues, holdeth not only in Humilitie, but in al vertues; and particularly in that wherof we are speaking, that a Soule becomes like the bu∣sines which it hath in hand, and is wholy configured (as he speaketh) and confor∣med to that, which outwardly it doth. And no wonder, seing there is such affini∣tie betwixt bodie and soule, that whatsoeuer is offered to our corporal senses, must needs moue it; and we find it to our cost by daylie experience, that the things which are represented vnto it by our eyes, our eares, and other senses, doe make much more impression in it, then that which our thoughts offer vnto it, though our thoughts be the more natural, and more proper action of our soules.

11. Which if we consider,* 1.506 it wil be no hard matter, to discouer the diffe∣rence which is betwixt him, that leaues the world and worldlie things in affec∣tion only, and in effect retaynes them; and him that parts with them both in af∣fection and effect. The former roweth, as it were against the streame, and consequently riddeth lesse ground, goeth on with more difficultie, is much more tired with it, and farre more apt to be carried downewards againe, and most commonly it falleth out, that he is; for whom shal a man almost find, that is able to stand in so continual a combat, and beare vp against so manie rubbes and encounters? The other sayleth with wind in poope, nothing lyes in his

way, nothing hinders him, al things help him, al further him, the Place, the State, his Companions, his employments, his intentions, al his thoughts, and whatsoeuer he heareth or seeth.

12. S. Gregorie addressing himself to those that are of this confident humour, & think they can attend to the seruice of God, & keep their lands and goods, deter∣mineth the Cause for vs, as if he had been chosen Vmpire on both sides, & giueth the other partie a check in these words:

Manie couet not that which belongs to others but out of a loue to an vnperfect quiet,* 1.507 seuer themselues from the brāglings of this world; they desire to be instructed in holie Writ, they couet to attend to high Contemplations, but yet forsake not the care of household-busines with perfect freedome: and so oftimes, while they lawfully attend vnto it, they are involued in the vnlawful contentions of the world, & desiring carefully to pre∣serue their earthlie things, forsake the quiet of mind, which they sought for; & la∣bouring with continual fore-cast to saue their flitting substance, the word of Diuine knowledge, which was cōceaued in their mind, comes to naught, because according to the saying of Truth, the t••ornes ouercharge the seed which began to spring,* 1.508 & the busie cares of earthlie things, shut out the word of God out of their memorie; and while they forsake not the world perfectly, they walke stum∣bling on, entangling themselues in their going, that they cannot goe.

What could be sayd more cleere on our side? and particularly, where stiling al earthlie things a flitting substance, he giueth vs to vnderstand, that the nature of them is to be al∣wayes either flitting from one hand to an other, or running to decay, and conse∣quently they aske so much care, and paynes, and attention to preserue and stay them, that while a man's thoughts are busied in it, what time or meanes can he haue to think of heauenlie things?

13. Now wheras they wil needs perswade themselues, that they can keep their worldlie possessions,* 1.509 and not set their affection vpon them, they are certainly much mistaken, not only in my opinion, but in the iudgement of al those that vnderstand things right. For we see dayly before our eyes, how men are taken with the things of this world, before they think of it, meerly by vse and custome of handling them; and are oftimes most intangled, when they think themselues most at libertie. For as a man growes secretly in loue with the bed in which he lyes, and with the chayre in which he is wont to sit, and finds it not til he be called to rise: So the loue of these earthlie things creeps so couertly into our affection, that we think ourselues stil at libertie, & feele not the fetters, in which they haue inthralled vs; but then we feele them, when death or chance must part vs. We cānot haue a better witnes of this, which we are saying, then S. Gregorie, who deliuereth it both vpon good groūds of reason, and his owne experience. For thus he relateth how he liued in the world.

14.

That which I should haue sought, was euen then layd open vnto me, out of the loue of Eternitie; but my wonted custome had obliged me not to change my outward manner of liuing;* 1.510 and while my mind did yet vrge me to serue the world, as it were in outward shew, manie things began to rise against me, of the cares of the world, that now I was held, not in outward shew, but (which is worse) in affection.

S. Gregorie therefore confessing this of him∣self, others may easily see, how much more they ought to feare, and beware of the like, knowing themselues to be so farre inferiour to S. Gregorie in strength and

vertue. For this is the reason, why holie men, as the same Saint obserueth in an o∣ther place, stand more in feare of worldlie prosperitie, then of aduersitie. For they know, sayth he, that while the mind is held-on in pleasing businesses, it willingly sometimes leanes to exteriour things; they know, that oftimes a secret thought doth so misleade it, that it is altered, it knowes not how.

15. And thus much we haue spoken of Religion, as it is a fit instrument & mea∣nes to Perfection, in regard it freeth the passage of al encumbrances, which lye be∣tweene vs and a spiritual life,* 1.511 and in a manner stop-vp our way. But there is yet something more in it, that of itself, and for itself, is greatly to be desired, and they that haue it not (though we should grant them al things els) must needs confesse they want no smal spiritual ornament & enrichment of their soules. For first in Religion there is the point of Abnegation of our owne wil, a point of high per∣fection, and properly Euangelical.* 1.512 For he that is free to dispose of himself as he list, may often, euen in good works, mingle much of his owne wil, in prayer, in almes-giuing, and the like; and so much as he mingleth of his wil, so much he leeseth of the value of his work. So that the happines which we purchase by wholy vnuesting ourselues, and intirely casting-of our owne wil in al things, and for our whole life-time, is a happines, that cannot be expressed in words, nor pur∣chased but by the Vow of Obedience.

16. A man may say, that in the world, the sole Wil of God may be our Guide & ayme. And it is a glorious saying, and carrieth a faire shew, & soundeth big as long as we stand in the speculation of it; but when we come to the proof and practise, al that imagination of perfection vanisheth into the ayre. For first how secret and vn∣certain is the wil of God? how manie errours and perplexities doth a man runne into in seeking it? Besides that, he that followeth his owne dictamen in scanning it, and making his coniectures about it, putteth alwayes something of his owne vnto it, which is a thing very considerable. And certainly he is in the farre better way, that ordereth his life so, as he may say truly, he hath nothing of his owne in it. For this is that perfect Renunciation & Abnegation, which our Sauiour com∣mandeth, to forsake ourselues so, as to reserue nothing of ourselues. True vertue therefore is that which Climaens sayth, whose words I wil set downe, because the verie simplicitie of them doth much please me:* 1.513

An humble man alwayes abhor∣reth his owne wil, as deceauer and erroneous: and though al his thoughts and deeds he conformable to the Diuine rule, yet he followeth not his owne wil, nor beleeueth his owne iudgemēt. For to an humble man, it is a grieuous paine to relye vpon his owne wil, as to a proud man it is a payne and burden vntollerable, to be vnder the ••il of an other.

17. And S. Gregorie sayth excellently wel:* 1.514 He without al doubt mounteth vp to a higher forme in the Schoole of Christ, that forsaking al, which outwardly he did possesse, endea∣uours to breake his inward wil, that putting himself vnder an other's wil, he may renounce not only his euil affections, but his good desires; to the plentiful encrease of his perfection, and be at an other's command in al things which he doth.

18. And then speaking of the reasons which these men alleadge, and which we haue been hitherto confuting,* 1.515 he reckoneth them al for temptations of the Diuel. For thus he sayth:

The craftie Enemie speaketh the fayrer to such an one, by how much he striueth more eagerly to throue him off from a more eminent standing; and flattering him with suggestions ful of poison, he sayth

thus vnto him: O how wonderful strange things mayst thou doe of thy self if thou put not thyself vnder an other's direction? Why dost thou lessen thy profit, vnder colour of bettering it? What euil didst thou, when thou hadst thine owne wil? Seing therefore thou art fully able to liue of thyself, why dost thou seeke, that another should be ouer thee to direct thee? Thus he insinuateth him∣self by flatterie, and on the other side, layeth occasions for him to exercise pride in his owne wil. Al this of S. Gregorie; which testimonie makes the cause euident on our side, to wit, how farre more perfect, and more safe it is, to forgoe our owne wil, then to retaine it, though we should vse it wel.

* 1.51619. Besides, it cannot be denyed, but that it is farre greater humilitie, to obey God in man, then to obey when he commandeth immediatly by himself, as no man almost wil stick to obey a King when he speakes himself in per∣son, but manie find much difficultie to obey his seruants and ministers. And moreouer, he that in effect abandoneth the world, and al that is in it, aban∣doneth it also in affection. For that which he did, he did it willingly, and of his owne free choyce;* 1.517 but he that wil leaue it only in affection, first comes short, in that he leaueth it not also in effect; secondly he may easily mistake, and think that he hath forsaken the world, when in verie deed he hath not. For in al things, but specially in such as are distastful to sense, there is great difference betwixt the wil of doing a thing, and the doing of it; nothing is more easie, then to haue a wil and desire; but to doe a thing, is hard and payneful; and the work most commonly trieth our wil, and examineth it, whether it be right; for oftimes a seruent resolution when it comes to deed; begins to quaile at the difficultie of them.

20 Finally, that which ought most to moue vs in this kind, is the example of our Sauiour;* 1.518 for wheras his life was a most perfect and absolute model of al our liues, he that cometh neerest in imitating him, is doubtlesse to be ac∣counted the most perfect. He therefore embracing pouertie, and humilitie, not only in wil and desire, but in effect and deed, and following it in the whole course of hi•• life, whosoeuer shal represent in himself, the likenes of him in both those, shal deserue certainly greater commendation, then he that shal resemble him but in one. Which was S. Barnard's opinion, when he sayd, it was enough for the ancient Fathers to follow the Spirit of God in spirit only; but,* 1.519 sayth he,

now the Word hath been made Flesh and dwelt among vs, in him a forme of life and sampler of perfection is giuen vs, which we must cor∣porally imitate, that following him with both our feet, we halt not heerafter, with the Patriarch Iacob,* 1.520 vpon one leg. And yet we say not this, as if a man might not be saued in these dayes, if he doe otherwise; but to make him know his ranke, and that he vsurpe not the place of perfection, or the office of a disci∣ple.

Thus S. Bernard.

* 1.52121 But because in the beginning, the aduerse partie vsed the names of those ancient Fathers, Abraham, and Isaac, and others against vs, we must answer this obiection also, or S. Bernard for vs, who sayth pleasantly thus: What shal we answer to these new followers of the ancient Saints? And you wil, Let them put calues vpon the altar of our Lord, let them kil rammes & Sacrifice goates; because

Abraham did so. And so goeth-on, discoursing how their temporal wealth was a fi∣gure of the Spiritual riches reserued for vs; and how they are vanished, & these to be maintayned. And addeth (that which is very true) that we shal find none al∣most of these ancient Fathers, who did not either suffer much by aduersi••ie, or was not tried to the quick in worldlie prosperitie, & perhaps in danger by it, and that we may truly say of them, that they walked in the depth of the diuided Sea, & in the mire of manie waters, possessing earthlie things, & that lawfully; but we haue an other more strange and more wonderful new manner of walking vpon the wa∣ters themselues, by forsaking al things; which grace and prerogatiue was due to the State of the Ghospel, and to Peter, as the Leader and Captaine of it.

22. S. Iohn Chrysostome in his booke of Virginitie,* 1.522 hath almost the like discourse; that we must not wonder, if those ancient Patriarcks had lands, and wiues, and great wealth; because God required not of them the like measure of vertue,* 1.523 that he doth of vs. For now, sayth he, no man can be perfect, vnlesse he sel al, vnlesse he renounce al; and not his money only, or his house, but lay aside al care, euen of his life. But in those dayes there was no such patterne of perfection. And handling this point at large, he giueth the reason, why we haue greater commandments layd vpon vs, then they had; because the grace of the Holie-Ghost hath been powred forth more plentifully vpon vs, and greater guifts bestowed by the coming of Christ, who of weake and feeble creatures makes vs perfect. Wherefore as men expect more at their childrens hands, when they are growne to be yong striplings, then when they were children, and find fault with those things in elder yeares, which it was a pleasure to see in their tender age: So God in those first times con∣descended in manie things, which now in the light of the Ghospel we see are im∣perfect, specially, seing now also we haue a greater reward promised vs, to wit, for earth, heauen, for temporal things, ioyes euerlasting.

23. Finally to conclude, though among those ancient Fathers, or also among people in these dayes there haue been alwayes some,* 1.524 as we know, that in the midst of their wealth and honour, and delights of marriage, or in the degree of Kings, haue liued vertuously, yet what boldnes were it, or rather madnes, in anie of vs to presume to paralel ourselues with them, & to make account that we shal be able to wade through the dangers which they haue escaped? For as S. Thomas wel and prudently obserueth, they effected it by the prerogatiue of their sanctitie and eminencie of Vertue, which God, who worketh al things by the purpose of his wil, was pleased to bestow vpon them; And yet they that are more in firme, ought not to be so confident of themselues,* 1.525 as to think, that they shal be also able to attayne to perfection with al those hinderances: as no man is so foolish as to set vpon a whole armie of men himself alone, without weapon, because he hath heard, that Sampson slew so manie of his enemies, only with the iawe-bone of an Asse.

24. By this therefore it is euident, that it is farre better, more perfect, and more safe (for al these commodities meete togeather) vtterly to forsake the world, and al worldlie things, not only in desire, which is alwayes vncertain, and subiect to manie errours and mistakings, but in effect & verie deed; a thing which certainly b••ingeth to our soules infinit profit and commoditie.

An answer to them that say: It is more perfect to liue in the world, because it is harder to liue wel. CHAP. XXIII.

THey must also be answered, that say, it is better & more meritorious, to leade an honest & vertuous life in the world, then to liue in Re∣ligion; because in the world it is so hard to be vertuous & deuout, by reason of the manifold impediments that be in it; and contrari∣wise they take occasion to slight Religion euen by that, for which we haue al this while so highly commended it, because it is quiet a life, and so farre from al feare of danger. For, say they, what great matter is it, or what won∣der, if a man, that is shut-vp in his celle, desire nothing, when he sees nothing that is worth the desiring? or that he liue in peace and quiet of mind, when he med∣dles with no kind of busines, feeles no losse of anie thing? or that he neuer is trans∣ported with passion, when he liues with people that are of an excellent temper, and his owne Brethren, that iumpe with him in conceit, and practise, and euerie thing? But to conuerse continually in the midst of beautiful obiects, and there to temper himself; to liue among the frie of al sorts of people, to haue his eares ful of rayling speeches, to heare and see manie forcible things to intice him to sinne, and yet alwayes to beare-vp, neuer to shrink or giue back, this is vertue. Wherof the Prophet glorieth:* 1.526 With them that did hate peace, I was peacable. And holie Scripture doth not without cause relate of Iob, that he liued in the land of Hus; be∣cause, as S. Gregorie telleth vs, it is no great commendation to be good with the good, but to be good among the bad.

2. We heare some speake after this fashion sometimes, either out of igno∣rance, or by mistake, some perhaps also out of a kind of malice, to dissemble their owne imperfection, and that they may seeme to haue great reason to liue in the world, when indeed they liue in it, because they loue it. But it wil not be hard, to informe the one in the right, and to confute the other. For if it were true that they alwayes had the better in their spiritual combats in the world, if they alwayes scaped without touch, if they neuer were foyled nor wounded, they might haue some cause perhaps to glorie. But it fares not so wel with them.* 1.527 For it is not possible, that a man without weapon, continuing alwayes in the midst of so manie thousands of his enemies, without guard, without anie special care or heed of his owne, should not dayly receaue manie wounds, and the wounds be so much the more dangerous, the lesse he perceaues them: and we need no other proof of it, then the liues of them that vse this kind of lan∣guage; for we see them continually ful of vice and sinne. They therefore that are so brag, boast themselues but vpon a false ground; for this is not to fight with the enemie, but to be taken prisoner, to be defeated, to be slayne by him.* 1.528

3. But let vs grant, that some one among them is Maister of the field for

manie yeares, that he hath manfully withstood manie encounters with the Diuels; what is this to the busines, if after so manie yeares standing, he once fal before the face of his enemie, once come into their hands? And this is so easie and so subiect to befal a man, that it can hardly be auoyded in so slippe∣••ie and so dangerous a place. But let it be so, that he neuer receaue wound: Yet a Religious State hath so manie other prerogatiues,* 1.529 and is in such continual practise of al kind of vertue, humilitie, obedience, fraternal charitie, and the like, that though this were true, for which they wil needs so highly commend a Secular life, as it is not, yet a Religious life doth infinitly ouertop it.

4. And because they speake of merit, let vs sift this point to the bottome, whether the difficultie which is in a Secular life, encrease a man's merit? S. Bona∣venture doth learnedly answer this question to the ful, in the booke which he intitleth The Apologie for the poore. There he sheweth, that a man meetes with three kinds of difficultie in the performance of good works:* 1.530 The first riseth from the works themselues, because they are great, paynful, heroical; and this highly encreaseth our merit. And of this kind of difficultie, Religion is ful; because it contayneth manie payneful things,* 1.531 manie things contrarie to custome, manie things aboue the reach of man, if we regard nature. Whervpon S. Hierome writeth thus to Rusticus a Monk: If thou desire to follow that which is per∣fect, goe forth with Abraham out of thy countrie;* 1.532 and goe, thou knowest not whither. If thou hast worldlie substance, sel it, and giue it to the poore; if thou haue none, thou art eased of a great burden; follow naked Christ, naked. It is painful, loftie, difficult; but the rewards are great.

5. An other kind of difficultie,* 1.533 sayth S. Bonauenture, riseth from the corruption of man, by reason either of natural infirmitie, or of euil customes, which a man hath plunged himself into. For a couetous man finds much more difficultie in giuing, then an other; a prowd man, to be vnder others; a glutton, to abstayne; but this kind of difficultie is so farre from encreasing our merit, that it doth much diminish it: because the repugnancie which is in our wil, doth abate the vigour of it,* 1.534 and makes that which we doe, lesse voluntarie; wherof the same S. Hie∣rome speaketh excellently wel in an other Epistle of his to Eustochium: Thy si∣ster Biaesilla, elder in yeares, but thy punie in purpose, after she married a husband, in seauen months fel to be a widdow. O vnhappie state of man, ignorant of that which is to come! She lost both the crowne of Virginitie, and the pleasure of Mar∣riage; and though she stand in the second rank of puritie, what crosses notwith∣standing dost thou think she endureth euerie moment? Beholding dayly in her si∣ster that which she hath lost, and more hardly wanting the pleasure which she once experienced, she is faine notwithstanding to take a lesser crowne of Continencie.

6. The third difficultie (following S. Bonauenture) is that,* 1.535 which riseth from outward occasions; as for example, from the presence of an obiect, that moues vs so much the more violently, from the beautiful aspect of anie thing, and the like; which if we ouercome, they adde indeed sometimes by accident and indi∣rectly to our merit and reward, but yet because of themselues and of their owne nature they draw vs to ruine, they are by al meanes to be shunned and declined by euerie bodie; & he that doth not shunne them, doth not only sinne whē he falleth, but when he layeth himself open to the danger of falling.

Whervpon S. Augustin reciting a speech of one that should say,* 1.536 he desired some∣thing that he might ouercome, because it was a braue thing. What is this, sayth he, I wil haue that which I may ouercome, but I desire to liue vnder the ruines? In few words shewing, that as it were follie and madnes for a man not to runne out of a house, when he sees it falling vpon his head, so it is much greater follie not to fly presently, so emminent dangers of his soule, as be in the world.

* 1.5377. And if anie bodie think, that it is but a cowardlie part to flye in this case, and that to remaine in danger is rather glorious, and a signe of a noble mind; let him giue eare to that which S. Hierome writeth of this verie thing, against Vigilan∣tius the Heretick. Thou wilt answer, sayth he, that this is not to fight, but to flye:* 1.538 shew thy self in the field, confront thy aduersarie with thy weapons about thee, that when thou hast ouercome, thou mayst be crowned.

I confesse my weaknes, I wil not fight in hope of victorie. And what need is there, to leaue that which is certain, and goe hunt after that which is vncertain? Thou that fightest, mayst ouercome, and be ouercome. I, if I flye, shal not be ouercome, because I flye, but I flye that I may not be ouercome. It is not safe to sleepe neere a snake; it may be, he wil not bite me, and yet it may be, that at one time or other he wil bite me.

Thus S. Hierome argueth, aduising, as he sayth himself, that which is best for human infirmitie.

* 1.5398. But indeed nothing is stronger then such weaknes, nothing weaker then such boldnes on the other side. For the weake, when he flyeth, ouercometh; for he could not fly, vnlesse he had ouercome first, and vtterly reiected the desire of the present obiect; and on the other side, that strong man, that taken with the sweetnes of it, remayneth in the danger, is euen then ouercome, and sheweth himself to be farre then weaker, because he hath not so much power as to with∣draw himself out of danger. And he may wel be sayd, to be the more foolishly rash in this kind, because he is blind only in matter of foreseing and preuenting the ruine of his soule, being otherwise in the dangers of his bodie but too quick∣sighted. For who is there that wil voluntarily cast himself into a tempest at sea of purpose, to shew his skil in steering the ship, and not rather keepe himself in the harbour, or put-in as fast as he can, before the storme grow too strong? Which ought much more to be our practise in the busines of our soule, because that which holie Scripture sayth,* 1.540 cannot but be true: He that loueth danger, shal perish in it.

An answer to that which is wont to be obiected: That Religious people are bound to more perfection. CHAP. XXIV.

THat which was spoken by our Sauiour, and we find written in the Ghospel (To whom much is giuen,* 1.541 much shal be required of him) being spoken indeed to put men forward, and stirre them vp to vertuous courses; some there be notwithstanding that make vse of it, to hold people back, and diuert them. For they perswade themselues, that it is the safer

course, to content themselues with a kind of mediocritie in vertue, then by aspiring to perfection, to take vpon them so heauie an obligation, as wil proue in effect much more paynful to discharge it, and much more preiudicial vnto them, if they acquit not themselues of it as they ought. But how wrongfully they alleadge these things, we wil quickly and briefly shew.

2. For first we must vnderstand,* 1.542 that this saying of our Sauiour concernes not only Religious people, but al Christians, that haue been enriched with so manie heauenlie treasures, and honoured with so manie Diuine guifts, and bought with the bloud of the liuing God, and loaded with so manie benefits, as dayly, & howrely, and euerie moment of time they receaue. They therefore that are not Religious, must not think, that they haue escaped the rigourous doome of that Sentence, but take it for a certain truth, that as they haue receaued much, that is, manie vnspeakable benefits, they wil find themselues also in the number of them, of whom much, yea an immensitie of correspondance, wil be demanded. Wheras Religion, to our excessiue comfort, though it throw more benefits vpon vs, yet those verie benefits are withal as manie helps and furtherances to discharge and re-inbourse that,* 1.543 which we owe in regard of them, and of al others which are vni∣uersal to al mankind. For as it is the guift of God to fast, to be chast, to be obedient: so by the self-same fasting, and being chast, and obedient, we render in a manner as much to God, as the guift is worth.

3. Besides that,* 1.544 this strict denunciation of redemanding that which hath been giuen vs, ought not so much to fright vs, as that other promise encourage vs: He that hath, shal be giuen vnto him, and he shal abound. For so it is in truth; and the manner and disposition of Almightie God, is, stil more and more to enrich and fil those that are ful and rich. And in some sort we may say, it concernes him to haue an eye▪* 1.545 that they, vpon whom he hath heaped so much wealth, leese it not, but be stil receauing more and more at his hands, to strengthen and establish them in that which formerly they had; as oftimes we see gamesters leese more, that they may be no loosers; and they that goe to law, the more paynes they haue taken, and the more money they haue spent in it, the more hot they are vpon spen∣ding.

4. Finally that which we sayd before,* 1.546 is considerable also in this place, that the perfection of vertue is not so required at Religious mens hands, as that they are bound to be perfect. And they that are so much frighted with the obligation which lyes vpon Religion, mistake the matter, if they think they are. But they discharge their dutie, if they aspire to perfection, if they keepe themselues stil in the way towards it. As it is not required of a Schollar, that he be instantly learned, instantly excellent at his booke, because he is a Schollar, but it is suf∣ficient that he desire it, and endeauour to it: and the self-same we may say of Re∣ligious people, if they doe not wholy cast aside the thought of vertue, but with conuenient care and diligence labour for it, though they be notwithstanding imperfect, they cannot be sayd to fayle of their dutie; and those verie steps, as short as they are, bring them dayly neerer and neerer to God.

5. By which we may see,* 1.547 that God deales not s••uerely and rigidly with Reli∣gious people, but rather gently and sweetly; and is so farre from ouerchar〈…〉〈…〉 them, as he layeth rather lesse vpon them, the•• ••hey are able to goe through 〈…〉〈…〉 So that when we meete with one of these, that neglect a Religious 〈…〉〈…〉

feares of this nature, we may wel liken him to that vnprofitable and naughtie Seruant in the Ghospel, that excused his lazines to his Maister in these words: I was afraid, because thou art a hard man; thou reapest, where thou hast not sowed; and gatherest,* 1.548 where thou hast not scattered. An allegation both false and impious. For God is so farre from demanding more then he gaue, as he requireth farre lesse. And the man was iustly conuicted and condemned by his Maister, out of his owne mouth.* 1.549 For if he thought he was so hard and seuere, it behooued him to be much more diligent, and watchful, and actiue in making the aduantage of his stock. And the same we may say of these. For first they erre in thinking so vnworthily of that Infinit Goodnes and bountie, and casting so greeuous an aspersion vpon him, as if he were so cruel as they make him. They should rather think the truth, that his guifts are neuer to our ruine, but for our greater be∣nefit and saluation, and that, whatsoeuer he requireth of vs, he first volunta∣rily bestowes it vpon vs with a free and liberal hand. Secondly, if they feare, least they shal be seuerely punished, if admitting of such a vocation, they make lesse profit of it; how much rather ought they to feare, if they reiect the vo∣cation which is offered them? For whatsoeuer is offered vs, is accounted among the guifts, seing it was truly giuen vs; and he that reiecteth such an offer, doth not only wrap-vp his money in his hand kercher, or dig it into the ground, but, which is worse, he contemnes it, and casts it away. They should therefore stand in feare of this, and also of that terrible sentence layd vpon that lazie Seruant: Lyed hand and foot, cast him into vtter darknes. And this is the truth of the busines.

* 1.5506. But by the way, we must heer answer an other doubt, which perhaps staggers a great manie, imagining that the sinnes of Religious people are farre m••re greeuous, then the sinnes of them that liue in the world, and deserue farre greater punishment. Which if it were true, certainly their case were very hard. We must see therefore, how it stand with them. S. Iohn Chrysostom putting the question, answereth in these words: But thou wilt say: It is not a fault of like consideration,* 1.551 when he, that liues in the world, sinneth, and when he that hath once wholy vowed himself to God, falleth from his purpose of Religion.

For they fal not from the same heighth, and so they receaue not harme alike. Thou deceauest thyself mightily, and mistakest the matter, if thou think, that one thing is required of Secular men, another of Monks. And following this argument at large with manie reasons, he concludeth thus: Therefore, that a Secular man, and a Monk, are both equally bound to the same diligence and care in their life, and to the highest top of perfection, and that both of them if they fal, shal receaue harme alike, I think no man now, though he be very impudent and contentious, wil denye.

* 1.5527. S. Thomas canuasing this self-same question, and disputing it with al the subtleties of it, according to the ri••our of Schooles, in two seueral places of his Works, sheweth, that setting aside sinnes of contempt, and such as are committed against their Vowes, al other sinnes, Venial or Mortal, are rather lesse in Religious people,* 1.553 then greater. And because some perhaps might think it an incredible thing, that it should be so, he giueth three reasons of it. First, because the sinnes, which proceed not out of a habit and custome, as vsually those doe which Secular people commit, but of a suddain

motion, which comes vpon them as a great blast of wind, are lesse voluntarie, and therefore happen seldome; and when they happen, the wil of the partie that commits them, is not so wholy bent vpon them. Secondly, because what∣soeuer euil they commit, it is easier drowned in the good which they doe; and their good deeds pleade for more fauour at the hands of that infinit Goodnes, which is alwayes more inclinable to mercie, then one fact can exasperate him against them; an example wherof we haue in King Iosaphat, to whom the Prophet spake in this manner:* 1.554 And therefore indeed thou deser∣uedst the wrath of God; but good works haue been sound in thee. Thirdly, as a Religious man hath more knowledge of God, purchased by long familiaritie with him; so he cannot so carelessely cast himself away, and plunge himself so deep into sinne, as one that neuer knew, what the beautie of Vertue, or the vglines of Sinne meant.

8. For euen speaking of our bodie, when a man comes by a fal, there is great difference in falling by chance when his foot slips, and in casting a man's self headlong downe; for the first helpeth himself as much as he can, and riseth presently againe: the other crusheth himself farre more, and thinks not of rising againe, and consequently is more apt to fal an other time, whereas the first growes more warie and strong after his fal. Which is that which the Psalmist sayth in these words:* 1.555 A iust man, when he falleth, shal not be brused.

9. We haue also the authoritie of S. Basil to strengthen vs in this point.* 1.556 For mouing the self-same question (Whether the sinnes of a Religious man, and an ordinarie man, being the same, be equal?) answereth,

that in a Religious man they are rather lesse. For a Religious man, sayth he, being careful in seeking the grace of God, and labouring wholy for it, doth not fal of purpose, but by chance, and against his wil. But an ordinarie man, regarding neither God nor himself, and thinking it no great matter, whether he sinne, or liue wel, either contemneth God, or thinketh, there is no God at al,* 1.557 as the Scripture sayd: The foole sayd in his hart, There is no God. They are corrupted, they are made abominable in their studies. And we must know besides, that the sinnes of Religious people most commonly happen for their good, through God's particular direction; God permitting them some∣times to fal, to the end to cure some pride, which before they had in their mind, as it hapned to S. Peter.

These are S. Basi••'s verie words. Wherefore if Religion diminish and lessen our sinnes rather then aggrauate them, what need anie man feare, least by reason of his good deeds more be demanded of him, then he may discharge with ease? We may conclude therefore, and say with ioy that,* 1.558 which we find in holie Scripture: Our good Lord wil be merciful to al that seeke with al their hart the Lord God of their Fathers, and wil not impute vnto them, that they are lesse sanctifyed.

Against those that obiect, that some Religious people liue not wel. CHAP. XXV.

SOme haue often in their mouth the faults and sinnes of Religious people, who either correspond not to their dutie in Religion, nor to the sanctitie of the place, wherin they liue, or, which is worse, forsake Religion, & hauing put their hand to the plough, looke back againe, and for this they highly discommend Religious courses.

2. But it is very hard and partial dealing, to impute the fault of a few, to the rest that are faultlesse;* 1.559 and much harder, to lay it vpon the course itself, which doubtlesse is holie, and the work of God's owne hand. And indeed the truth is, that manie of those faults, which are so blazed abroad against Religious people, are false; manie of them maliciously forged against them, the Diuel labouring thereby to impaire the credit of those Seruants of God, who are his greatest ene∣mies.

And what wonder is it (sayth S. Augustin) if men speake il of the seruants of God,* 1.560 and labour to stayne their reputation, when they cannot depraue their life; seing they cease not dayly to blaspheme God our Lord, when, whatsoeuer in his iust and secret iudgement he doth against their wil, pleaseth them not?

* 1.5613. Though there be an other reason, why they talk so much of them, to wit, because the beautie and dignitie of the State maketh them easily marke the least blemish in it; as the least stayne is a disgrace to a rich garment, or to a white peece of cloath; wheras in a peece of canuas or sack-cloath no notice is taken of greater spots; not because they are not greater, but because the stuffe in which they are, is so coorse, that that new blemish is not seen in it. For so in a Secular state we let thousands of greater faults passe, and there is not a word made of them, because it is no newes in that State; but in a Religious course the least fault that is, is presently spyed, and yet they leaue not to be of the least.

* 1.5624. That which S. Basil sayth to this purpose, is also very true, that Secular people haue a strange conceit of Religious men, as if togeather with their State, they had presently changed their nature, and were not men, but of some other farre different mold;* 1.563 and consequently they wrong the seruants of God, and think sometimes, that they must scarce eate meate, as if they were not made of flesh and bloud; and if they see anie of them attend to the necessities of their bodie, they load them with reproaches and slanders, and turning their calum∣niations from one vpon al the rest, they cal them al gluttons and bellie-guts, and think not how themselues doe dayly feast it, and though they eate often in a day, and cram themselues with a great deale of flesh-meate, and powre downe wine by whole bowle-fuls, yet they gape after meate, as dogs that are let loosse out of their chayne half-starued. Thus speaketh S. Basil in defence of Reli∣gious people.

5. But let vs grant,* 1.564 that Religious men haue sometimes their faults, and that some of them haue fallen, and doe fal from Religion; must we therefore con∣demne Religious courses? or censure the whole State, because some are sloathful and carelesse? S. Augustin speaketh wittily to them, that obiected this against Monks, in these words:

And we also know some such people, but the deuout Confraternitie is not lost, because of some that professe that which they are not. There be as wel false Monks, as false Clerks, and false Christians.

And S. Hierome sayth very truly, that in al states and conditions the bad are mingled with the good; and so much the more, the higher and more perfect and more eminent the State is, for the greater the burden is, the lesse wonder it is to find some in this weaknes of humane nature, that are readie to shake it off, or carrie it faintly; and yet their slacknes ought not to lessen our conceit and esteeme of so eminent a cal∣ling. When the Heretick Heluidius had proclaimed warre against Virginitie, among other things, for which he tooke occasion to calumniate that State, he sayd, that some Virgins were tauerne-hanters.* 1.565 And how doth S. Hierome refute him?

I, sayth S. Hierome, say more; some among them are adulteresses; and, which is more to be wondered at, there be Clergie-men that are hucksters, and Monks dishonest. But who doth not presently vnderstand, that neither a tauerne-hanter can be a Virgin, nor an adulterer a Monk, nor a huckster a Cleargie-man? Is it the fault of Virginitie, if a counterfaiter of Virginitie be in fault?

6. Let vs looke vpon the whole Church of God,* 1.566 and argue in behalf of a member therof, from the whole bodie. For though there be manie in the Catho∣lick Church, that liue deboisht, yet the Church is stil called Holie; and their wic∣ked liues hinder not, but that the whole companie of the Faithful, is truly sayd by the Apostle to be without spot or wrinkle; because we must not regard, how things haue been defaced by most, but what was the first institution in itself, as God or∣dained it.* 1.567 And in like manner we may say of Religious Orders; they leese nothing of their sanctitie, because some among them be not Saints. And if we weigh it wel, the argument is yet much stronger in behalf of Religious Orders; for if the Church be stiled al fayre,* 1.568 and al of it the beloued of God, notwithstanding that there be more bad then good in it, and more that walk the broad and spacious way, then the narrow; how much more reason haue we to giue Religious Orders the like honour, seing there be so manie good among them, and so few that are bad?

7. And besides the holines of their Institute,* 1.569 we may cleere them vpon an other ground; for whatsoeuer blemish may fal vpon them by the faults of some, it is abundantly stricken-out by the vertuous liues & good deeds of others. Doe not (sayth S. Hierome) cast thy eye vpon Iudas denying, but looke vpon Paul con∣fessing. And we haue cause to be much more animated at the sight of so manie Pauls,* 1.570 then to be discōforted with one Iudas. To which purpose S. Gregorie Nyssen also speaketh in his booke of Virginitie, answering those that carped at so holie a life, by occasion of some,* 1.571 that hauing vndertooken it, were afterwards ouercome and vanquished. I doe not deny (sayth he) but that it is hard matter, and beyond the cōmon strayne; neither is it anie wonder, if in so difficult a busines some be ouer∣come with the toyle of it, some by other meanes.

And yet we must not be so discouraged at it, as to forgoe so rare a thing for that feare: but rather con∣fidently venter vpon so profitable a nauigation, in the Ship of Continencie,

with Christ our Pilot,* 1.572 with the sweet gale of the Holie-Ghost. For neither they that go to sea and trade in marchandize, doe abandon that course, because they vnderstand, that sometimes some haue suffered shipwrack. Besides that, it is most absurd and vniust, to condemne one that hath alwayes liued wel, for a wicked man; and to detest the course of life in which he was, for one fault into which perhaps he fel, and on the other side, to think that a man that hath spent his whole life in sinne and wickednes, tooke notwithstanding the best course for himself. For if it be a hain us matter to sinne once, and for that cause thou think it better to abstaine from those more sublime Counsels and purposes; in how farre worse state is he, who hath been alwayes wallowing in the filth of vice?

Thus spake S. Gregorie Nyssen.

8. This is the miserable frayltie of this life, so long as we are strangers and pilgrims from God;* 1.573 and as our Sauiour foretold vs: It is necessarie, that scandals should happen: and he that wondereth at it, seemes not to vnderstand where he liueth,* 1.574 and what himself is made of, seing he admireth it so much in others. Whervpon Cassian, hauing related the memorable patience of Paphnutius, who being accused of theft by an other Monk, voluntarily vnderwent the pu∣nishment that was layd vpon him, though indeed he were innocent, concludeth his narration in these words:

And let vs not wonder, that in the companie of ho∣lie men,* 1.575 there lye lurking some, that are wicked and detestable; because while we are troden and brused in the floare of this world, it is necessarie, that among the choicest wheate, chaffe should be mingled, which is to be cast into euerlasting ••ire. Finally if we cal to mind, that there was a Sathan among the Archangels, a Iudas among the Apostles, a Nicolas (broacher of an abominable heresie) among the chosen Deacons, it can be no wonder, that wicked men should be found mingled among the order of Saints.

And to insist a little more vpon this example of Paph∣nutius,* 1.576 and apply it to our times, if anie man be offended, that in a house of that holines, in an Age so ful of feruour, there was some one found so wickedly mali∣cious against one of his Brethren, as to accuse him falsely in that manner; why should he not be as much edifyed at the humilitie, patience, and charit••e of Paph∣nutius, who to saue the credit of his neighbour, and such a wicked neighbour, res••lued with himself to abide the disgrace of so fowle a fault, and to beare-out with head and shoulders the whole storme of this infamie? Was not the vertue and simplicitie of this Saint much greater, then the malice and enuie of that sin∣ner? Besides that, in the whole Monasterie there was this one wicked man, and he only to be found in so manie yeares continuance; al the rest were good, and l••••d liues worthie of so holie a vocation. What peruersenes therefore is it to be more forward, to take exceptions vpon one man's misbehauiour, then to com∣m••nd and think honourably of the course, vpon the vertue of so manie?

9. At Bona in S. Augustin's Monasterie, there fel a great quarrel betwixt a cou∣ple, one char••ing another with a hainous crime,* 1.577 so that one of them must ne∣c••ss••rily be guiltie, either of an enormous fact, or of a horrible lye. The people, that had ••ot the voyce of it, began much to admire and complaine. Wherupon S. Augustin wrote a notable letter vnto them, first reprehending them, for casting an aspersion vpon al Religious, because of one man's fact, and secondly he sayth, a•• Cass••an a little before,* 1.578 that it is no wonder nor no newes, for some such thing sometimes to happen among such men.

What doe these people (sayth S. Augustin)

striue for, and what doe they ayme at, but whensoeuer a Bishop, or a Cleargie∣man, or a Monk, or a Nunnefalles, to beleeue that al are such, though al can not be conuinced to be such? And yet when a wife is found in adulterie, they neither put away their wiues, nor accuse their owne mothers. But when either a false im∣putatiō is layd vpon thē that professe this holie name, or some true crime of theirs discouered, they vrge, they bestirre thēselues, they glorie to haue it beleeued of al. And a little after: How vigilant soeuer the order of my house be, I am a man, I liue among men,* 1.579 I dare not presume, that my house shal be better then the Arke of Noë, where among eight persons one was a reprobate; or better then the house of Abraham,* 1.580 where it was spoken: Cast out the handmaid and her sonne; or better then the house of Isaac, to whom, of the two twinnes, it was sayd, and done: I loued Iacob,* 1.581 but Esau I hated; or better then the house of Iacob, where the sonne defiled by incest the bed of his father; or better then the house of Dauid, whose sonne lay wth his sister, whose other sonne rebelled against so holie a meeknes of his father; or better then the companie which our Sauiour had, where the eleuen good, tolerated the perfidious theeuing Iudas; or finally better then Hea∣uen, from whence the Angels fel.

And in conclusion, notwithstanding he acknow∣ledgeth that these things cannot be auoyded, he pleadeth strongly for Religion, and main••ayneth the honour and dignitie of it to the ful.

Though we be sorie (say••h he) for some drosse that comes off, we haue comfort of more ornament that remaines, doe not therefore for the scumme that offends your eyes, loathe the oyle-presses, which fil the cellars of our Lord with the fruit of a more bright shining oyle.

He calleth the Church and the Soules of the Faithful, Cellars of our Lord; giuing vs to vnderstand, that both the Church and euerie particular Soule is enlightned with this oyle, that is, by a Religious State, and by the work and example of Religious people.

10. Finally it is not amisse to reflect,* 1.582 that if they were Angels that obiected these things, they might haue some right to doe it, because they liue without flesh and bloud, free from sinne; and it were to be wished, if it were possible, that we might exchange this our life with theirs. But seing they be Secular people that make this busines, and al this comparison is betwixt their life and ours, I know not what they can pretend in al this discourse, seing they cannot be so shamelesse, as to preferre their State before a Religious State, finding, as they doe, in their owne, that they fal so often; that vertue is so scarce among them; that their rewards and deserts are so short in the world to come.* 1.583 To which purpose S. Anselm•• hath this excellent saying in one of his Epistles: Perhaps some bodie wil say, that in the Or∣der of Monks also there is danger. O the man that sayth so!

Why doth he not think what he sayth? O reasonable creature! Is this reasonable counsel, because there is danger euerie where, therefore choose to say where the danger is greater? Finally he that endeauoureth to loue God only, if he keepe his purpose to the end, a sure of saluation But he that wil loue the world, if he doe not forgoe his purpose before the end, either must not expect saluation, or his saluation wil be doubt∣ful, or lesse.

Thus sayth S. Anselme.

An Answer to their Argument that say: If al should become Religious, the world would perish. CHAP. XXVI.

SOME obiect sometimes against Religous courses, as a great in∣conuenience, that they wil be wel-nigh the destruction of the world; because, if al betake themselues to a single life, the world must needs be dispeopled for want of posteritie.* 1.584 This is no new obiection, but aduanced in ancient times, and canuassed manie Ages past. For S. Augustin propoundeth it in a certain place after this manner: I know some that mutter:* 1.585 What and if al wil abstaine from al carnal copulation, how shal mankind subsist? S. Iohn Chrysostome doth not only propound the que∣stion, but heapeth manie inconueniences that would follow. If al should follow that good,* 1.586 sayth he not to touch a woman at al, al things would perish, citties, families, lands, trades, cattle, and whatsoeuer growes out of the earth. For as when a General is slayne in the field, the whole armie must needes be put to route: so if you take Man out of the way, who is the Prince of this world, no∣thing els can subsist, or be preserued, & consequently this Counsel would fil the whole world with innumerable calamities.

2. This obiection therefore is ancient, and long agoe strangled by the holie Fathers. S. Augustin answereth thus: Would to God al would doe so; the Cit••ie of God would be much sooner filled,* 1.587 and the end of the world hastned on. And his answer is good; for how much better were it, that the Kingdome of God were come, which we dayly beg, and haue been taught to doe so by our Sauiour himself, and that GOD (as the Apostle speaketh) were Alin Al, which shal be, when Christ our Sauiour shal haue subiected al to his heauenlie Father,* 1.588 then to prolong our liues in this confusion and mingle of al things? And if it should fal-out (as S. Augustin wisheth) that al should liue a single life and chast, it were an euident signe of the wil of God, that the world should haue end; and it can not come to a better end, then if generally al should consecrate themselues, soule and bodie, to so holie a life.

* 1.5893. S. Hierome answereth the same obiection after an other manner: Feare not, sayth he, least al be Virgins; Virginitie is a hard thing, and therefore rare, because it is ••ard. Which answer of S. Hierom's is the stronger, if we compare it with the saying of our Sauiour: Not al receaue this word. Manie there be, whom God, out of his secret iudgements,* 1.590 doth not vouchsafe so great a benefit; others he calles to be partakers of it, and they giue no eare to his calling, but charmed with the plea∣sures of this world, they cannot get their feet out of the nets, in which they are intangled; finally others vpon other motiues & hindrances, are so held back, that the truth of that, which Truth itself deliuered in the Ghospel, is very playnly to be seen:* 1.591 The way is narrow, which leads to heauen; and few doe find it. Which was spoken indeed of the ordinarie way, which al Christians ought to walke, but is much more verifyed in the way, which Religious people take; i••••omuch that in regard of the narrownes of it, al Secular wayes may be said to be

broad. And not only the infirmitie of man (which taketh place in the farre greater part) doth not allow this benefit in the cōmon & ordinarie among men, but it be∣longeth also to the prouident wisdome of Almightie God,* 1.592 to haue care, that there be alwayes some to attend to posteritie, so long as his wil is this inferiour world should last; which prouidence of his watching ouer the verie beasts and wormes of the earth, and preseruing euerie thing in kind, as it was first created, no man can haue cause to misdoubt, that he wil forsake mankind.

4. S. Iohn Chrysostome doth laugh at these people,* 1.593 that are so sollicitous to vphold the world, and labouring so earnestly, that mankind fal not to decay, which concernes them not to think of, lay aside al care of their owne soule, as if it belon∣ged not vnto them; and consequently, that they do it not out of a desire of the common good, but to colour their negligence and sloath. And telles vs withal a truth, which is worth the obseruing, that Marriage of itself doth not propagate mankind, because the parties are often barren, as it hapned in Abraham; but it is the blessing which God giues; and God can multiplye men as he thinks good. Then he sheweth,* 1.594 how there were two reasons in the institution of Marriage; the one, to beget children; the other to extinguish natural lust in that kind; and sayth, that the first now ceaseth, seing the world is so ful, that it is rather ouercharged; as for the other reason, there can be no question, but that lust is farre more per∣fectly extinguished by the grace of God, and by the vertue of Chastitie, then by the vse of Matrimonie.

5. But some bodie wil say,* 1.595 that the difference of Sexes, and the facultie of ge∣neration, wil be in vayne in them that doe not marrie; and yet Nature hath giuen it vs, and God hath so appointed; and no man that is wise, doth anie thing in vayne. This is the argument both of ancient Hereticks, and of those of our dayes, that maliciously oppose and cauil at the wholesome continencie, with which the holie Church is so much honoured and stored. We must therefore make the same answer, which we make to hereticks, to wit, that whatsoeuer is instituted for the good of the whole kind, is not idle or in vayne, though in some particulars of that kind it hath not the effect, if in others it haue. We see the like in most natu∣ral things; for in al kinds of fruit and herbs there comes a great deale of seed, which is neuer sowen, rather a smal deale of it is vsed to that end; and yet no man euer accused Nature for it, as if it had made it in vayne. And we may say the like of man, though in man there is yet a further thing; for Continencie in this kind, being free and voluntarie, and in euerie bodies power to practise, or not to prac∣tise it, it was not fit, that Nature should determine it, but the wil of Man; neither that we should be borne so, but that we should out of reason and iudgement em∣brace it. Wherefore it was fitting, that al should equally haue the power by nature, both they that would vse it, and they that for the Kingdome of heauen would ref••ayne the vse of it. And this is answer enough to this point.

6. But we haue an other reason stil to deale with, not altogeather vnlike this, which we haue now confuted, of some that are not sollicitous for ••he continuance of the whole world but of their owne House and Familie.* 1.596 And therefore if their onlie sonne, or onlie daughter make choice of a Religious State, they lament and mourne, and, which is worse, they repine at it, as if their wh••le Familie should be quite rooted out And to say the truth, it is but a foolish and impertinent kind of grief. For which is more to be stood vpon, the sanctitie of a S••ule, or Poste∣ri••ie?

And what good is there in poste••itie? If they feare they shal want an heyre, vpon whom their lands may descend, first they haue a world of kindred, and per∣haps more then enough; secondly, there wil neuer want poore people, in whom they may make Christ their heyre, vpon farre better conditions then their owne child. For one man that is heyre to an other that is dead, cannot requite him that made him his heyre, but Christ our Sauiour doth then most of al recompense a man with rewards eternal. Moreouer, what would they doe, if that onlie sonne of theirs haue no issue? For so their line would fayle, and, which is more to be lamented, without thanks and without reward. Which argument S. H••e∣rome doth chiefly insist vpon,* 1.597 when he perswadeth Furia not to marrie.

Dost thou feare the li••e of Furia shal fayle, and that thy father shal not haue a little one of thee, to creepe in his breast? for al that are married, haue children. It is ridiculous to hope for certain that, which thou seest manie haue not, and manie leese it, when they haue it. To whom shalt thou leaue al thy riches? To Christ, who cannot dye. What heyre shalt thou haue? H••m that is thy Lord.

* 1.5987. But to grant, that it is happines to preserue a man's Familie; how smal, how short, how farre inferiour is it to the happines of a Religious life? For not only particular men, but whole Families dye, and once come to an end▪ and though they continue neuer so long, yet in time they must needs decay, and a•• last be wholy extinguished. Seing therefore they a••e subiect to so manie casualties, is not he a verie foole, that shal feed himself with hope, that his issue shal alwayes continue, and moreouer striue so much, that it may continue, as to oppose himself to the Counsels of God, and endea∣uour to alter and hinder them?

* 1.5998. Finally how doth this extrauagant desire of continuing a descent, become a Christian? for in a Heathen and Infidel it might be perhaps more tollerable. For, as Aristotle writeth, the reason why men and beasts haue a desire of issue ingrafted in them, is because, sayth he, al things couet to be alwayes, and alwayes to continue, but because they cannot in themselues compasse it, being subiect to dye,* 1.600 they labour to compasse it at least in their owne kind, in which they seeme after a manner themselues to continue, so long as a part cut of from them doth continue. What force hath this reason in the light of Christia∣nitie, wherin we haue so certain a promise of an Eternitie in our owne persons, both in bodie and soule, that we need not seeke that in others, which we shal haue in ourselues? And this is that which Nature chiefly desires. But the miserie is, that most men doe not gouerne themselues according to this Diuine light, but suffer themselues to be lead by Sense, and their natural inclinations, which, I must needs confesse, is a most corrupt and most dangerous proceeding.

Against the feare of some, that they shal want necessaries for their bodie. CHAP. XXVII.

LEt vs preuent, and cure, if we can, their feare also, that mis∣trust, least if they forsake al, they shal not haue wherewithal to passe their life.* 1.601 Of which feare what can be sayd more proper, then that which is in the Psalme? And they spoke euil of God, and sayd: Can God prepare a table in the desert? S. Bonauerture in his Apo∣logie for the poore,* 1.602 reduceth al this difference to two heads, and sayth, it proceedeth either of Infidelitie, as in them that doe not beleeue, that God hath care of what hapneth among men, at leastwise not of them in parti∣cular; or it comes out of Pusillanimitie, which is euer coupled with a slacknes in the loue of God, and an earnest loue of ourselues; wheras they that frame a right conceit of the goodnes and prouidence of God, cannot doubt but that God hath more care of their life, then they themselues.

2. Whervpon S. Augustin sayth:* 1.603 A iust man cannot want daylie food, seing it is vritten: Our Lord wil not kil the soule of a iust man with hunger. And againe: I was yong, and became old, and haue not seen a iust man forsaken, nor his seed seeking bread. And our Sauiour promiseth, that al things shal be added to them, that seeke the Kingdome of God and the iustice thereof; and wheras al things are God's, he that hath God,* 1.604 can want nothing, if he be not wanting to God. So when Daniel was by the King's commandment shut-vp in the Denne of lions, God sent him his dinner, and among the hungrie wild beasts,* 1.605 the man of God was fed. So Helias was main∣tayned in his flight, the crowes ministring vnto him, and the birds bringing him meate in time of persecution.* 1.606 S. Hierome sayth the same in fewer words: Let no man doubt of the promises of Truth. Let man be as he ought, ••nd presently al things shal be added to him, for whom al things were made. A true and solid reason! For al things in the world being made for Man, they neuer withdraw themselues from his seruice, vnlesse he first withdraw himself from the seruice of God. And if he returne to serue God as he ought, he may clayme as it were by right al other things as his owne and due vnto him.

3. S. Ambrose expounding that model of an Apostical man,* 1.607 which is set downe by our Sauiour in S. Luke (without satchel or scrip) sayth thus: Protected by Faith, let him make account that the lesse he requireth, the more he may haue. Seing therefore we haue so manie testimonies b••th of the holie Fathers, and of holie Scripture, in behalf of this prouidence of Almightie God▪ and the care which he hath of his, that we shal scarce find anie thing more often and more expresly c••mmended vnto vs, it can be no smal fault, as I sayd before, to doubt therof; for it were to make God either couetous or forgetful; vnworth••e things both of them of so infinit a Maiestie. For we cannot possibly imagi••,

how he can be either more magnificent and profuse in giuing, or more liberal of his loue, or more careful in prouiding, or more readie in doing for vs. And S. Augustin doth deseruedly reprehend such as haue so meane a conceit of God, in these words:* 1.608

Dost thou think, that anie thing shal be wanting to a Christian? to a seruant of God? to one that is giuen to good works? to one that is deare to his Lord and Maister? Dost thou think that he that feedeth Christ is not fed by Christ? Dost thou think, that he to whom Diuine and heauenlie things are giuen, shal want earthlie things? from whence comes this distrustful thought? what maketh an vnfaithful hart in the house of God?

Thus sayth S. Augustin.

4. Al which wil be yet more euident, if we consider the peculiar right, which Religious people haue in this kind,* 1.609 whether we regard God, or man. For spea∣king of men, there be manie reasons, that oblige them to furnish Religious people with al kind of necessaries. For first, Religious people hauing giuen al they had to the poore, and brought themselues voluntarily to Pouertie, de∣serue likewise, that others should giue them wherewith to liue; and they are in the right that are of opinion, that in this there is not only an obligation of Charitie, but in some sort, of Iustice. An other reason is in regard of the ••abour and paynes,* 1.610 which they take for the eternal good of their neighbour: for the work-man is worthie of his reward, and they that sowe spiritual things, must reape car∣nal things, as the Apostle speaketh. And in an other place, he sayth: ••The hus∣bandman that laboureth, must first gather of the fruit. The force of which reason wil be the more euident,* 1.611 if we consider the cause, why Prelats demand sustenance as of iustice due vnto them; for sustenance is not due vnto them, as honour is due to power and authoritie, but as wages is due for work and labour. Religious people therefore hauing their part in this work and labour, and labouring so hard as they doe, it is but reason they should haue part also of the fruit, specially so much as is necessarie to continue their labour. Which is not only of force in Preachers, and such as labour immediately for the good of their Neighbours, but in others that employ themselues in anie profitable course for them. For they that minister at the Altar, of the Sacrifice wherof al Faithful are partakers, and they that attend to Prayer and Contemplation, and the Studie of holie Scripture, and such other spiritual functions, as are for the benefit of the whole Church, al of them, as I sayd, haue right to be maintayned of the peoples liberalitie.

5. A third reason is grounded in Religious perfection. For al Diuines agreing that almes is first to be giuen to them that are better,* 1.612 and rather to them then to others, is followeth that they are in a perfect State, and liue in a course that is furnished with al kind of vertue, are to be preferred farre before al others. To which purpose S. Hierome applyeth that which is written in S. Luke: Make vnto you friends of the Mammon of iniquitie; that when you shal fayle, they may receaue you into the eternal Tabernacles;* 1.613 and sheweth, that it cannot agree to ordinarie poore people. Are they poore, sayth he, amidst whose filth and nastines, firie lust doth command? Can they haue eternal tabernacles, that neither haue them in present, nor to come? For, not simply the poore, but the poore in spirit,* 1.614 are stiled blessed, of whom it is written: Blessed is he, that vnderstan∣deth ouer the poore and needie; our Lord wil deliuer him in the euil day. In maintay∣ning the ordinarie poore, there needs no vnderstanding, but pittie; in

the holie poore, there needs the vnderstanding of Beatitude, to bestow vpon him that is ashamed to take, and when he takes, is sorie that he reapes carnal things, hauing sowed spiritual.* 1.615 And S. Augustin hath the like saying vpon the Psalme:

The noble Cedars of Libanus, the loftie rich men of this world, when they heare with feare, Blessed is he that vnderstandeth ouer the poore and needie, they looke into their goods, their farmes, al their superfluous wealth, in which they seeme so loftie, and giue them to the seruants of God, they giue orchards, they build Chur∣ches and Monasteries, they gather sparrowes that make their neasts in the Cedars of Libanus. It is therefore as it were a kind of impost or custome due to Re∣ligious people from the Seculars, and Secular people vnderstand it so, and that makes them so free and open-handed, and alwayes so readie to supply al their necessities.

6. An other ground of this right (for so we may cal it) more solid then the other,* 1.616 is GOD himself; not only in regard of the general prouidence which he hath ouer al things in general, and prouideth for the birds of the ayre, and the flowers of the earth, or which he hath ouer al men, though they be wicked, rayning, and making his Sunne to shine vpon them; or ouer the iust, of whom it is written: I saw not a iust man forsaken, nor his seed seeking bread. But Religious men haue a particular reason proper to themselues;* 1.617 because, for∣saking their possessions, and their hopes, they haue cast themselues wholy vpon his fatherlie charitie. So that though there were nothing els, this were sufficient to oblige, as I may say, his goodnes to haue care of them, as a father of his children. For God is not one, that wil suffer himself to be ouer∣come with liberalitie and munificence; and consequently, we are so farre from leesing anie thing, when we forsake al we haue, as we are rather gainers by it; the infinit wisdome of God taking vpon him the charge of prouiding for vs, so that we may be assured,* 1.618 that we shal want nothing. On the other side, when we wil take vpon vs to prouide and care for ourselues by our owne wit and forecast, how manie things must we needs want? For our forecast is so slender and so short, whether we be to prouide for the future, or to order things pre∣sent, that we must needs often fal into manie great errours & inconueniences.* 1.619 Whervpon S. Iohn Chrysostome giues vs this Caueat: Take no thought for thine owne, but leaue it to God. For if thou leaue it to God, he wil prouide. And againe in an other Homilie, which is al in commendation of a Monastical life, he rec∣koneth this among the special benefits if God,* 1.620 because if God feed al flesh, much more wil he feed his seruants, that haue consecrated themselues vnto him; and consequently, al things necessarie are deriued vnto them out of the prouidence of God, as out of a fountain of running water. By which simili∣tude of a fountain, he would giue vs to vnderstand, both the abundance and perpetuitie of these benefits, and also that we come by them without anie la∣bour, as wa••er springs from a fountain.

7 And it is a pleasant thing to behold the examples of this prouidence of God ouer Religious people, and to reade the manie testifications therof, which are vpon record in ancient histories almost without number.* 1.621 But that is singu∣lar, which Palladius recounteth of Abbot Hellen; who falling a-sleep, after he had long fasted, there came an Angel, and awaking him, bad him eate of that which was set before him. And rising he saw that there was a large fountain of water

suddenly sprung-vp by him, and abundance of green hearbs round about him, and tasting of both, he sayd, he neuer in his life dined better. And afterwards when he wanted sustenance, he euer was wont to kneele downe and offer vp his prayers to God, and presently he was serued with diuers kinds of meate, with new bread, oliues, and other fruits. What can be more louing, or more pleasant to think of, then such a prouidence, which stoopes so low as to act the part of a Steward? Or why should we think, he wil forsake his other seruants, seing he was so careful to prouide for this his seruant by so daylie a miracle, as if he had been his Clerk? But, as I sayd, the Liues of Saints are ful of these kind of examples, but we wil make choyce of two especially, not vnlike the one to the other, and taken out of two Religious Families very like also togea∣ther.

* 1.6228. For S. Dominick in the beginnings of his Order, sending his Religious into diuers places, two and two togeather, according to the manner set downe by our Sauiou••, to preach pennance: it hapned that two of them being fasting and very wea••••e with their iourney, the ninth howre of the day being past, were dis∣coursing somewhat heauily betwixt themselues, how they might get some re∣lief, in that poore and vnknowne place; and as they were talking, there came vnto them a tal comelie man in somewhat a strange kind of habit, and gaue them a good check for their weake and smal faith. Could you, sayd he, belieue God so farre, as to forsake al for his sake, and cannot you now beleeue, that he hath care of you? He that giueth beasts their food, wil not suffer his children to dye for hunger, which you this day shal abundantly experience. And vanishing out of their sight (for it was an Angel) they went a litle onwards on their iourney; and coming to the next village, while they were at their prayers, a Priest inuited them very kindly home; and as they were going to his house, a Gentleman met them, and would by al meanes they should goe with him; and as these two were thus strayning curtesie togeather, the Lord of the place seing them by chance, ouer-ruled the busines, and bad both the Friars, and the Priest, and the Gentleman to his house, and feasted them very nobly.

* 1.6239. And it is recorded also of S. Francis, that when he sent anie of his Friars in Mission, he was neuer wont to giue them anie thing towards their charges vpon the way, but that onlie verse of the Psalme: Cast thy thought vpon our Lord, and he wil maintayne thee; the faith of which Verse was as good to them as anie money. It hapned therefore, that two of them, hauing tra∣uelled almost al the day long, what with emptines, what with wearines, be∣gan to ••aint; and though they begged relief, no bodie gaue them anie thing; til at last there met them a yong man, that vnderstanding of them the cause, why they were so wearie and sad, gaue them a couple of loaues; and as they sate downe to eate them, he reprehended them sharply in these words:

Men of litle faith, why did you mistrust the Diuine prouidence? Why did you not cal to mind the words of the Prophet, which the holie Father hath so often incul∣cated to you: Cast thy thought vpon our Lord and he wil maintayne thee; seing his goodnes is not wanting to the verie beasts of the field? Wherefore know, that God differred his help for no other reason, but to punish this diffidence of

yours with hunger.

And hauing held this and the like discourses with them, he vanished out of their sight.

10. Let others therefore in God's name haue their lands, and possessions, and rents, and duties gathered with much toyle and labour, subiect to hayre, and drowth,* 1.624 and rayne, and other mischances; we haue two Lordships, as I may cal them, the rents wherof are certain, and free from al miscarrying; to wit, first the Prouidence of Almightie God, in a manner obliged vnto vs through his owne infinit goodnes, and that act of ours, when we left al for his loue: and secondly the Relief from our Neighbours, due in a manner not only of charitie, but of a kind of iustice. And this is that which the Prophet ••••ay seemeth to pro∣mise, when he sayth:* 1.625 Thou shalt suck the m••lk of nations, and shalt be fed at the breasts of Kings. For by Nations, we may vnderstand the common people, by Kings, rich men, and men of authoritie; whose liberalities the Prophet compares to milk and a womans breast, because milk is the iuyce of harder meate, and of meate which is not gotten but with some labour, and some work of nature in the nurse to make it; and yet the infant sucks it without labour, and with a great deale of pleasure. So Religious people haue that for nothing, which others purchase with a great deale of labour, and sweate, and trouble, and oftimes not without danger. So that they may be wel likened in this to the anciēt Hebrewes,* 1.626 of whom it is written: And they possessed the labours of people.

11. We may therefore conclude, that he that misdoubteth, least in Religious pouertie, that which is necessarie, should be wanting, wants not only iudgement and consideration, but eyes to see, how manie thousands of men and women con∣secrated to God, haue been in al Ages, and are to this day maintayned through his goodnes and prouidence, and with such abundance and certaintie, that no Secular people can more certainly relye vpon their lands of inheritance. For they also haue their lands, to wit, those two Lordships, as I sayd, so rich and plentiful, that if our Lord should aske them,* 1.627 as anciently he asked his Apostles: When I sent you without satchel or scrip, did you want anie thing? they must of force answer with ioy and thanks-giuing, as the Apostles did: Nothing.

Of the feare, which others haue, least they may hasten their death, by the incommodities, which they shal suffer. CHAP. XXVIII.

WE haue cured this feare; yet there remayneth an other, which also concernes our life, which as it is the dearest thing we haue, so naturally nothing is more hateful and more detestable then that, which either bereaues vs wholy of it, or in part dimini∣sheth it And to anie man's thinking, it cānot be but that our life should be in some measure shortned with the labours, and wat∣chings, and continual paynes, and manie incommodities, which a Religious course must necessarily inuolue. Whervpon besides the hastning of our end, some may haue a scruple, least they be guiltie of their owne death, by thus

voluntarily, through corporal austerities cutting off the time, which is allotted them to liue. To answer this obiection therefore, we wil begin with this scru∣ple; for that being taken away, the rest wil be easie to answer.

* 1.6282. We must therefore vnderstand, that Diuines, who dispute this question at large, make no doubt, but that it is lawful for a man to shorten his dayes, and not only lawful, but commendable and meritorious. For though it be not law∣ful of purpose to kil ourselues; yet to do some good thing, whervpon it shal fol∣low, that our life wil be in no smal measure shortned, is not only lawful, but oftimes most acceptable to God. And we may iustifye it by manie presidents, and particularly by the anciēt approued custome of the Church of God, in appointing long fasts, and laying most grieuous pennances vpon such as offended; which doubtlesse could not but cut off not a litle, but much time of their life.

* 1.6293. And it is the more certain, the Religious people offend not in this kind, because whatsoeuer incommodities they suffer in Religion, others suffer as much in the world for other ends. For if Religious people watch al night, manie tra∣des-men doe the like for gaine; if they suffer cold, and hungar, and trauel much on foot, how manie poore people be there, that are in farre greater want, both of relief and apparrel, and other necessaries, and yet liue? It is euident therefore, that it is not rashnes, and that we ought not to haue anie scruple of doing that for the seruice of God, which so manie doe for the loue of the world.

4. Wherefore this point being cleered, that we are not murderers of our∣selues: If the case were so, that Religion did hasten our death, how glorious a thing were it to be of so noble a spirit, as to contemne al things, euen our owne life, for God? And if Religion did shorten our dayes, as Martyrdome doth take our life quite from vs, might we not iustly in this respect account Religion a kind of Martyrdome?* 1.630 For though we be not cut off suddenly, & with losse of bloud, that doth not alter the case; for we find that S. Marcellus is accounted a Martyr, though he lost no bloud, but dyed in a cage of wild beasts, by the continual stench of the place; and S. Pontianus, though banished into the Iland of Sardinia (which at that time was held to be a pestilent ayre) he pined away by little and little; and others, that either with labour of digging in mines, or with the weight of irons, in length of time, haue come to their end. If therefore Religion also should deale thus with vs, how much should we think ourselues beholding to it for making vs Martyrs,* 1.631 and bestowing so great a good vpon vs, as is Euerlasting glorie in heauen, and bringing vs so much the sooner vnto it, which of itself is generally accounted a great happines; and taking vs out of this mortal life, which is so barren of al goodnes, that in comparison of the life to come, it hath no good in it, but rather much euil? For we liue heer continually among so manie traps to catch vs, that we doe but prolong our miserie, and encrease affliction; & as long as it lasteth, we must of force abide the cruel assaults of our spiritual enemies, and stand to the continual hazard of the combat betwixt vs and the Diuel, the euent wherof is so vncertain, and withal of so mayne importance. What therefore, as I sayd, should we desire more then once to see an end of so manie euils, and such fearful dangers, and to end them in so blessed a manner as we may in Religion? For Religion, as we shewed in the first booke, affordeth extraordinarie helps in that doubtfull passage; so that wheras the verie thought of it is dreadful to others, the thing itself to vs is sweet, secure, and to be desired, in regard we haue so long

before shaken off al things, which, as so manie setters, are wont to hinder others, when the how••e of parting cometh; and enioy moreouer at that instant manie comforts, and among the rest the presence and prayers of so manie of our Reli∣gious Brethren, as then flock about vs. Wherefore seing in this life al things are irksome and tedious, and in the death of a Religious man al things so safe and happie, and death itself a beginning and entrance to a life more happie, though Religion should hasten our death, what harme should it doe vs? Rather if we were so wise, as we should be, we should euen for this reason desire it.

5. But to say the truth, it is a false imputation, which people lay vpon Religion, when they say,* 1.632 it is a bloud-sucker, and dispatcheth men apace out of the way (for this is their meaning though they wil not say so in expresse termes) Rather, if we looke wel into it, it prolongeth a man's life, as we may see by so manie aged men, as Religious houses are ful of, and we find vpon record in ancient Writers, euen among them, that haue lead most austere liues; as S. Hierome, who liued a hundred yeares; and S. Antonie a hundred and fiue; S. Pachomius was yet elder then S. Antonie by fiue yeares. S. Arsenius came to a hundred and twentie; and the same we reade of S. Romualdus, and he passed one hundred of them in Religion. Cassian mentioneth manie of his owne knowledge, & writeth almost of none, that liued not til he was very old, naming particularly three, Nesteros, Ioseph, and Cheremon; which last, he sayth, he saw a very old man, of a hundred yeares, stooping, and venerable for his hoarie hayres. Now if a spare diet, or the continual meditation of heauenlie things, or anie paynes of this nature, would kil a man (as these men wil needs haue it) they being so wonderful temperate in their diet, and liuing so au∣sterely as they did, should by consequence haue been taken away in a very some¦time.

6. But there is no such thing,* 1.633 as both reason and experience sheweth. They on the other side, that are rich among Secular people, and liue in al plentie and abun∣dance of pleasures and daynties, are almost continually troubled with crudi••ies and fumes, and want of sleepe; they are oftener and more dangerously sick, and passe sharper cures: and finally are subiect to farre more accidents, that hasten their ••eath, both for the reasons already mentioned, and for other causes, which their owne and others follie & rashnes doth draw vpon them, by 〈◊〉〈◊〉 and the like; from al which a Religious life is free; Temperance and the constant order which they keepe in al things, drying-vp superfluous humours, and so preseruing health. In which respect S. Iohn Chrysostom sticketh not to say,* 1.634 that Religious people, besides the abundance of spiritual blessings, which they enioy, haue also better health of bodie, by reason of their temperance and spare diet.

They are, sayth he, as strong as plough-men, and haue able bodies like beasts; wheras rich people, and they that are dayntily brought vp, and commonly accounted happie in it, are, as if they were bred in a quag-mire, tender and effeminate, and more subiect to al kind of diseases. And S. Hierome holds the like discourse against Iouinian,* 1.635 and proueth out of the Axiomes of Physick, that a moderate diet preserueth health; and addeth to this purpose: We read of some that being tormented with the gow••e and diseases in their ioynts, who by hauing their goods confis∣cated, being brought to playne and hard fa••e, were cured; for it freed them of house-hold cares, and profuse banckets, which destroy both bodie and oule.

* 1.6367. The constant peace and contentment of mind also, which Religious people enioy, is no smal meanes for them to liue long. For certainly as grief and passion doe wast a man's spirits, and put our life, as I may say, vpon the torture; so contentment of mind, redounding necessarily to the bodie, must also needs preserue it, and giue it much ease, by reason of the affinitie betwixt the soule and it. And though we grant, with S. Hierome in his discourse against Iouinian, that a Religious life, and such temperate courses, doe not make vs so strong as Nilo Crotoniates, that is nothing to the purpose. For what necessitie is there, sayth he, that a wise man, and a Christian Philosopher should haue so much strength of bodie, as one that professeth himself a Wrastler, or a Souldier, seing if he had so much strength, it would but egg him on to sinne?

8. Wherefore to repeate in brief that which hath been sayd, there be two wayes to answer this obiection. First, by denying that a Religious course doth shorten our life, and on the other side maintayning that Sobrietie and continencie doth rather prolong it; Secondly, by confessing that it doth cut off part of our dayes, and taking it for the greater benefit, in regard that wheras al men, Kings, Princes, and al must necessarily dye, Religion makes this necessitie in a manner voluntarie, by going, as is were, to meete death half way, and encreasing thereby our merit and reward in the measure which I haue spoken, the few dayes which we spare of the miseries of this life being added to eternitie, and abundantly re∣compenced by the encrease of our euerlasting felicitie. Contrariewise, they that neglect a Religious vocation for feares of this nature, buy those few yeares, which they get, at a very deare rate; neglecting so great a good for feare of so smal a losse, and putting their eternal saluation to so great a hazard.

An answer to those, whom the loue of their bodie hinders from Religion. CHAP. XXIX.

* 1.637AMONG al those that oppose Religious courses, we haue not a more dangerous and a more deadlie enemie, then our owne flesh. For naturally it loueth libertie and wantones, and is greedie of the pleasures of meate, drink, and sleep; it shunneth labour and paine; it is hateful to it, to be alone; it wil not fast; it flyeth pouertie & the incommodities therof as a grieuous crosse. So that whosoeuer wil hearken to his owne flesh, or cal it to counsel in this busines, shal be sure neuer to put his neck vnder the yoak of Christ, or neuer constantly to goe through with it. We must therefore at the verie first shut it out of doores, and haue no communication with it, but keepe it in order and awe,* 1.638 that it be alwayes submissiue and obedient, and presume not to command or giue directions.

We must chastise our bodie (saith S. Basil)

and restraine the motions therof as the motions of a beast; and by the com∣mand of Reason, as with a whip, stint whatsoeuer trouble it rayseth in the mind, and not giue al the raines to our wil without regard of Reason, least it be carried away headlong,* 1.639 and torne in peeces, as a coach-man with vnrulie horses. Let vs imitate Pythagoras, who seing a pupil of his giue himself to good cheer and pamper his bodie, said vnto him: Why dost thou build thy∣self a prison? And of Plato also it is reported,* 1.640 that vnderstanding wel, how manie hinderances came by the bodie to the mind, he chose to place his Schoole of purpose at Athens, which was an vnholesome seate, thereby to cut-of the superfluous health of our bodie, as one would prune a vine.

Thus saith S. Basil.

2. And supposing (as I haue said) that our flesh is made to be subiect, two things are wel to be considered in this place, which doe necessarily follow, First that it is not so hard a matter to keepe it in subiection,* 1.641 seing it is na∣turally borne to be subiect: Secondly if we d••e not keepe it in subiection, our fault is the greater. For if a man be ouercome by one that is stronger and more powerful then himself, it is pittie, but yet he is to be pardoned; but the spirit hauing so much power and strength to ouercome flesh, and to maister the desires therof, it is the greater shame if it doe not; specially seing if it be not maister, it fals into a most miserable seruitude, and is euerie foot apt to be drawne into al kind of vnworthie actions at the command of the flesh.

3. Wherefore i•• vpon the wholesome deliberation of entring into Religion, our flesh doe repine and draw back, as most commonly it wil, if it be afrayd of the hardnes of the dyet, and apparrel, and other austerities incident to that kind of course, we must take the more courage and resolution vpon vs, and arme ourselues the stronger, against al the allurements and nicenes therof, and force it to doe that, be it neuer so much against it, which when it shal haue accommo∣dated itself vnto, wil be so profitable both for flesh and spirit, and imitate the cou∣rage of S. Hilarion,* 1.642 who in the flower of his youth, as S. Hierome writeth, hauing taken vpon him a hard course of life, when he found his bodie grudge at it, in∣sulted ouer it in this manner:* 1.643 Thou asse, I wil make that thou shalt not kick; I wil not feed thee with corne, but with straw;

I wil punish thee with hunger and thirst, and lay heauie load vpon thee, and make thee think more of thy meate then of wantones.

6. But some bodie wil say with the Apostle:* 1.644 No man euer hated his owne flesh, but nourisheth and cherisheth it. And I grant, it is so; neither doe I deny, but that it is natural to loue our bodie.* 1.645 Nature teacheth vs to loue ourselues, and whatsoeuer is part of ourselues. Wherefore when we speake of chastising and curbing our flesh, it is vnderstood, that we must doe it out of loue, and not out of hatred of it, but consider withal, what is truly loue, and what truly hatred. If through sicknes a man's bodie be il at ease, and the Physician prescribe a diet to take away the peccant humours of it, or order that it shal be let bloud, or that a limme shal be cut off, as sometimes it hapneth, because the partie is otherwise past cure; he that shal follow the aduise of the Physician, shal he be said to hate his bodie, ar to loue it? Rather he shal be said to hate it, that doth not follow

aduise, because he hurteth his bodie and encreaseth his disease, and is oftimes cause of his owne death by it, which is the vtmost that hatred can arriue vnto. This therefore, which we doe in euerie ordinarie disease and distemper of our bodie, much more ought we to doe in greater and more dangerous diseases of the same, which are the euil inclinations, which it hath. For the feauer of lust, and whatsoeuer other exorbitant heate of desire, is no lesse a feauer, then when our bodie is out of order with distempered humours; rather it is the more dangerous feauer of the two, because it pulleth vs in hazard of eternal death. Wherefore, if we be content to take a bitter potion, or apply some other distastful medecine to this euil affection also of our bodie, we cannot be said to hate our bodie,* 1.646 but then most of al to loue it. To which purpose S. August••n writeth thus:

No man hates his bodie; wherefore, wheras some say they had rather haue no bodie, they are deceaued: for they hate not their bodie, but the corruption and burden of it; and that which they ayme at, is not to haue no bodie, but to haue a bodie intire and incorrupt. Now that some seeme to per∣secute their bodie with labour and continencie, they that doe it as they should, doe it not that they may not haue a bodie, but that they may haue it subdued, and pliable to al necessarie actions. For, because after the Resurrection, the bodie shal be in perfect quiet, altogeather subiect to the Spirit, and immor∣tally flourish, our care in this life ought also to be, to change our carnal con∣uersation for the better, that through disordered motions it resist not the spirit.

5. We haue therefore out of S. Augustin, that, to chastize our flesh, and bring it into subiection, is not to hate it, but truly and perfectly to loue it; not to goe about to kil it or destroy it, but to perfect it, and giue it a beginning of that beautie and glorie,* 1.647 which it expects, when it shal be configured to the glorie of Christ; which S. Leo also confirmes in these words: A man loueth himself so much them re,* 1.648 the more he doth not loue himself for the loue of God. But no man can speake more plainly in this case, then our Sauiour: He that loueth his soule, 〈…〉〈…〉 it; and he that hateth his soule in this world, keepeth it to life euerlasting. For by a man's soule in this place we must not vnderstand the superiour part,* 1.649 which we cal t••e Spirit; but that which depends vpon the flesh and bloud, and is called li••e. This our Sauiour bids vs hate; and yet not properly hate it, but because we must deale with it, as we doe with the things which we hate, that is, vse it hardly and rigourously.

* 1.6506. In this holie and wholesome hatred therefore, we must settle and fortifye our soule and reason, that it be not drawne from the performance of that, which a Religious vocation requireth, by the allurements of the flesh; and fortifye it, first, by the loue of God, which doth naturally reioyce in suffering hardnes for the seruice of God; we must fortifye it by the example of our Sauiour Christ, who suffered so much for vs, to the end we should follow his foot-steps; we must fortifye it by calling to mind the Diuine comforts and heauenlie sweetnes, which G••d of his go••dnes is wont to mingle with the labours and difficulties of a Re••igi••us cou••se, to season the harshnes of it. For he deales with vs, as we vse ••o dea••e with little children, when we desire they should take a bitter potion, or some wo••mewood-drink; before and after they drinke it, we put some sweet t••ing t•• it, to take away the bitternes of the potion: so God much more; because

the greatnes of the Diuine cōforts, drownes in a manner al the bitternes of w••at∣soeuer trouble of this life, and makes that we doe not feele it. The memorie also of the rewards of the life to come, and the hope of the recompence which we shal haue in Heauen, is a forcible encouragement to ouercome al trouble, which our flesh may suggest; for if we once settle our thoughts vpon it, we cannot but con∣curre in opinion with S. Bernard,* 1.651 who likeneth al corporal austeritie to seed; for when a husbandman cast his seed into the ground, there is a kind of shew of losse in it▪ and yet we should account him a foole, that for feare of that seeming losse, would not sowe, because the gaine, which he shal reape in the crop, is farre grea∣ter. S. Bernard's words are these:

How doe carnal people say vnto vs: Your life is a cruel life, you spare not your owne flesh? Let it be so; we spare not the seed. How could we spare it better? Is it not better for it to be renewed and multiplyed in the field, then putrifyed in the barne? doe you spare your flesh in this manner? Be it so, that we be cruel for a while in not sparing it; certainly you are more cruel. For euen at this time our flesh resteth in hope.

7. Finally the innumerable exāples of them that we know haue lead most austere liues,* 1.652 must needs be a great encouragement vnto vs, and perhaps the greatest tha•• we can think of, when we represent vnto ourselues a S. Antonie, S. Hilarion, the tw•• Macaries, S. Pachomius, S. Romualdus, S. Bernard, S. Francis and infinit others, that haue been rare for al kind of sanctitie, and particularly in dealing rigorously with their bodies. And perhaps in truth, or at least if we compare their manner of pro∣ceeding, with that which is ordinarie amongst others, we must confesse they we••e too seuere, and went beyond the moderation, which a bodie would think we••e reason. But God would haue it so in them, and gaue them that abundant mea∣sure of grace and strength, not that others should striue to be as rigorous in that kind as they, and compare with them in it (for that were absurd temeritie) but to the end we should the more willingly and more cheerfully apply ourselues to that measure and proportion, which is now vsed in Religious Orders, and not think anie thing intollerable, seing they went through with farre greater austerities. What therefore need we feare in a way, which, we see, hath been troden by so ma∣nie Saints before vs; in a way where we meete with such abundance of heauenlie comforts, as I haue discoursed of in so manie Chapters before; in a way, where whatsoeuer can be bitter, being cast into such a sea of sweetnes, must needs be exceeding sweet?

8. But al this, which we haue said, belongs to the cure of the mind, and the strengthning of it. Is there no medecine for the flesh itself? It is hard to find anie; because our flesh is neither capable of aduice, nor apt to tast the sweetnes of ver∣tue, nor to foresee the hope of that which is to come;* 1.653 so that properly that which it doth, it must doe vpon command, and be compelled vnto it, as a beast with the spurre, & switch, & curbe, & sometimes perhaps with good bast••nados, & by vse and custome be brought to that, which is reason, and made lesse shy of good order and discipline. And yet not to leaue it wholy destitute, but by rea∣son also to perswade it (as much as it is capable) to be content to take pai∣nes,* 1.654 and liue continent, we may lay before it that daintie exhortation, in which S. Bernard demonstrates, that a Religious and vertuous course of life, is pro∣fi••able for the flesh itself. These are his words: Doe not, ô bodie, doe not 〈◊〉〈◊〉 al the time.

For wel mayst thou hinder the saluation of thy soule, but

canst not worke thine owne. Al things haue their time. Let the Soule now labour for itself; or rather labour thou with it; because if thou suffer with it, thou shalt raigne with it. So much as thou hindrest the reparation of it, so much thou hindrest thine owne; because thou canst not be repayred, til in it God see his image reformed. Thou hast a noble guest, ô Flesh; a noble one indeed; and al thy welfare dependeth of the welfare of that guest; yeald due respect to so great a guest. Thou dwellest in thine owne country, but thy soule lodgeth with thee as a pilgrim, and a person exiled. I beseech thee, what country-fellow, if a Noble-man or a man of great power would lodge with him, would not willingly lodge himself in some corner of his house, or vnder the stayers, or in the verie ashes, and yeald the more honourable place to his guest, as it is sitting he should? Doe thou therefore the like; regard not thine iniuries or troubles, so that thy guest may haue honourable entertainement with thee. And that thou maist not peraduenture flight and contemne this thy guest, because he looked like a pilgrim and stranger, think carefully with thy self, what benefit the presence of this guest doth bring thee. It is he that giueth sight to thy eyes, hearing to thy eares, sound to thy tongue, tast to thy palate, and motion to al thy members. If there be anie life, anie sense, anie beautie in ••••ee, a knowledge it as a fauour of thy guest. Finally his parting wil shew, what his presence yealded; for so soone as the soule is departed, the tongue lyeth stil, the eyes see nothing at al, the eares are deafe, the bodie growes stif, the face growes wanne; and after a short time al wil be a stincking rotten carkasse, and al the beautie of it turned into corruption. Why therefore for euerie smal tempo∣ral delight dost thou disgust and hurt this guest, seing but for him thou couldst not so much as feele anie delight? Moreouer if being as yet exiled and an out-cast from the face of God, by reason of the falling-out of God and him, he be so bene∣ficial to thee, what wil he be when he shal be reconciled? Doe not, ô bodie, doe not hinder that reconciliation; for thy self mayst come to great glorie by it. Offer thy self patiently, yea willingly to al; let nothing passe which may be a furthe∣rance to this reconciliation. O if thou couldst tast this sweetnes, and value this glorie! The Lord of hoasts himself, the Lord of vertues, the King of glorie him∣self wil come downe to reforme our bodies, to configure them to the bodie of his glorie. How great glorie wil that be, how vnspeakable an exultation, when the Creatour of al, who came humble before and hidden, to iustifye soules, wil com•• loftie and manifest to glorifye thee (ô miserable flesh) not now in infirmitie, but in his glorie and Maiestie? How long therefore doth this miserable, foolish blind, senseles, and truly mad flesh seeke after transitorie and perishable comforts, yea certainly discomforts, if it happen to be put by, and iudged vnworthie of this glo∣rie, and moreouer eternally tormented vnspeakable torments?

Al this is of S Bernard.

Of them, whom the loue of the world hindreth from Religion. CHAP. XXX.

NO doubt but the comelines and beautie of Religion is so great, that were it not, that people are as it were held in irons by the flatterie of the world, and the false shewes which it makes of deceiptful pleasures, it were able to inuite and bring al men to embrace it. For we know there are manie, and euer haue been, that being called of God, and acknow∣ledging themselues to be so, haue made offers to follow him; and yet held back by the commodities and pleasures of the world, haue not had the hart to disengage themselues, and fly out of it, but stil haue remayned in their for∣mer fetters entangled. What remedie, but to shew them plainly before their eyes, what the world is wherin they liue, that is, what mischief lyes hid∣den in it vnder this shaddow of pleasure, which they are so loath to parte with? Six kinds of mischief we may reckon,* 1.655 reducing them to these heads: Deceipt, Shortnes, Miserie, Danger of offending God, Blindnes, Sinne.

2. First therefore what is more ful of deceipt, and a more open lye, then the world?* 1.656 making so manie faire promises, and performing nothing; and when it makes a shew of performing, coming farre short of what it pro∣mised, it telles vs, that the commodities which it offers, are special good, ful of contentment and happines, where indeed there is no true contentment, no solid ioy or pleasure to be had in them. And we shal not need to stand alleadging reasons to proue it, we see it with our eyes. For how manie doe dayly waite at Court, and spend yeare after yeare in attendance, ho∣ping for preferment, and promising themselues by certain coniectures and possibilities, that infallibly now they shal get it, and yet after so manie reuolutions they neither obtaine the suite they pretended, nor anie other reward or commoditie, but must giue it ouer with losse, dammages, and vtter ruine. Amongst them that labour to raise themselues, and their Fami∣lies by traffick and marchandize, few come to that which they desire, farre more grow banck-rout, by mischances at sea or otherwise. And to gran••, that the ambitious come to preferment, and the couetous to the wealth which they aimed at; neither of them certainly doe euer arriue to that con∣tentment of mind and pleasure in this life, for which they so much coueted ••••ese temporal things.

3. Rebecca desired to haue a child,* 1.657 and what did she not to compasse her d••sire? what meanes did she leaue vnessayed? And y••t after she was with child, and felt her children fighting in her womb, O, said she, ••••••t had been to be thus with me, what need was there to conceaue?

And manie there be, that dayly sing the same song, and falling into infinit trouble by the children, which perhaps they begged earnestly of God, wish they had neuer had them. And that which they doe in their children, others doe in other things; and being bitten by the incommodities of them, they loathe them, and hate them as much, as before they were hot in pursuing them. And no wonder; as long as they beheld them afarre-of, they seemed to be ful of sweetnes and pleasure; but when they come to handle them, then the vineger and gal appeares,* 1.658 which was in them. Which S. Iohn Chrisostome layes open before vs with his wonted eloquence in these words:

Manie haue been desirous of a wife; and the self-same day that they haue had her, they haue with open mouth called them happie, that neuer married. And if they that haue been married, haue accounted it a troublesome kind of life, what shal we say of them, that swallowed-vp in the gulfes of whoredome, and more slaues then the basest slaue that is, haue consumed themselues to nothing in those delights, and brought their bodies into diseases without number? But some bodie wil say, that Glorie is pleasant. Rather nothing is bitterer, then that kind of seruitude. For a man that is ambitious of glorie, is more slaue, then anie sl••ue, begging fauour of euerie bodie, but he that treadeth it vnder 〈◊〉〈◊〉, is aboue al. But it is a louelie thing to haue money. Rather I haue often shewed, that they, that are quit of money, and haue nothing, liue in farre grea∣ter abundance and quiet. It is therefore more delightful not to be rich, then to be rich ••••t to haue a wife, then to be married; to be free from vaine honour, then to be catching after the glorie, which is but wind, and to shunne al plea∣sures, then to swimme in them.

Thus saith S. Iohn Chrysostome.

* 1.6594. A second euil of the world, is the shortnes of al things in it. For in reason we must needs see, that no worldlie felicitie can be longer then a man's life is, that enioyeth it. And how short is euerie bodies life by na∣t••••e? how much shorter in manie, by vnexpected chances? We know there haue been manie Popes, that haue not held that Sea a yeare to an end; manie haue been preferred to Bishopricks, and Cardinalships, and Princelie dignities, that haue been cut off in a very short time, before they haue been almost inuested. And though people should liue a long time in them, and see ••euer so manie yeares, yet at last al must come to an end; and when that cometh, al that which is past, being gone, and come to nothing, we discouer plainly, that that which seemed before so long, was but a moment, specially if we compare it with the Eternitie, which followeth; which seemeth to be the meaning of those words of Ecclesiastes: If a man haue liued manie yeares, and been iocund in them,* 1.660 he must remember the dark time, and the il dayes; which when they shal come, the things which are past, wil be conuinced of vanitie. And the Prophet Es••y calleth al that felicitie a Dreame;* 1.661 because there is no truth, no soliditie, no permanencie in it, but al is meere toy; 〈◊〉〈◊〉 (sayth the Prophet) one that is hungrie, dreameth, and cateth; and when he awaketh, his soule is emptie; and as one that is thirstie, dreameth, and drinketh; and after he awaketh, he thirsteth stil, and is wearie.

5. And yet if in this short fel••citie, there were anie parcel of time, though neuer 〈◊〉〈◊〉 short,* 1.662 in which a man might say, he had his ful contentment, a man might seeme to have some reason to desire it; but it is nothing so. For heer comes the

third mischief, that the world is so ful of miserie and misfortunes, that the plea∣sures of it are like a litle honie mingled with a great deale of gal and bitternes, what with the diseases of the bodie, and with the vnfortunate chances of a man's estate, and household-busines, what with quarrels and mischances without num∣ber. One suffers in his honour, another in his goods, a third in his wife, or chil∣dren, or kindred; another comes by a blow in other things, which no wisedome, or vertue, or honestie can preuent or hinder. So that we must necessarily acknow∣ledge S. Gregorie's words to be true.* 1.663 The world were to be despised, though it should flatter vs, though with prosperous things it should insinuate itself into vs; but seing it is loaded with so manie stripes, ouertoyled with so much aduersitie, and doubleth vpon vs dayly so manie sorrowes, what els doth it cry vnto vs, but that it is not to be loued?.

6. A fourth euil, is the continual danger of offending God, & the manie temptations assaulting vs on euerie side,* 1.664 of which I haue spoken sufficiently al∣ready els-where. For in a manner there be as manie seueral occasions of sinne in the world, as there be seueral things in the world, al of them clawing and in∣flaming concupiscence, by the beautie or pleasure, which is in them. Our senses are as so manie gates and passages to destruction; some things take aduantage a∣gainst vs by our eyes, others by our eares, others by our tast, others by other fa∣culties of our soule, that we may truly say with the Psalme: It shal rayne snares vpon sinners.* 1.665 For these Snares hang as thick vpon the things of this world, as drops fal in a shower of raine some in pouertie, some in riches, some in friendship, some in distast with others, some in companie, some in solitarines, some in prosperitie, some in aduersitie, some in honour, and some in disgrace.

7. And a greater miserie vpon the neck of this;* 1.666 that people ordinarily are so blind in the world, that they see not, and consequently are lesse able to shunne these snares, walking as it were in darknes. Is it not great blindnes to liue as people vsually liue? To regard men more then God; to be more obseruant of the lawes and customes of the world, then of the law of God; to be so very sollici∣tous for that, which concernes the bodie, and so carelesse of their soule, as if they had none at al; finally to take so much paines for temporal and perishable things, and not to be willing to moue so much as a fingar for that which is eternal; and knowing so certainly as they doe, that they shal dye, to discourse and talke and proiect, as if they were alwayes to liue.

8. What wonder is it then, if through the multitude of these snares, and this hideous darknes, and blind mist, which hangs before their eyes, they fal into the last and greatest of al other euils, an infinit companie of sinnes and haynous offen∣ces, and bring al things to confusion? For we see, that in the world al in a man∣ner liue like beasts;* 1.667 their passions leade them by the nose, whither they list; they ••ustle and runne at one another, as beasts with their hornes and heeles, and are readie to eate vp one another through hatred and displeasure. The good are ne∣glected, the rich only and powerful, honoured; the poore, oppressed; truth, sanc∣titie, sinceritie in a manner exiled; deceipt, dissembling, flatterie, vanitie b••a••e sway; and, that which is the source of al other euils, a most desperate forgetfulnes of God, and their owne soules saluation. This is the face of the world, which if anie man wil behold and view with an vnpartial eye, he wil be so farre from being taken with it, that I perswade myself, he will vtterly detest it, and

think himself neuer at quiet til he haue gotten out of it, as out of a stincking prison and euer-winding labyrinth of errour; which is that which the Prophet Hieremie wi••hed:* 1.668 Who wil giue me in the wildernes an Inne of trauellers, that I may forsake my people, and depart from them, because al are adulterers, a com∣panie of transgressours?

* 1.6699. But some bodie wil say: Are al wicked that liue in the world? and is there no hope of their saluation? God forbid; some there be amongst Secular people, whom God doth preserue from bowing their knee to Baal; but they are few in comparison of others; and they that are, goe on but slowly, and with much diffi∣cultie, and easily get a slip, and fal back againe. Now when we aduise vpon anie thing, we alwayes regard that, which most commonly hapneth, and that which is natural to the thing, which we aduise vpon, and not that which hapneth to one or two. The nature of fire is to burne, & of water to drowne, whosoeuer goes into it: and yet the three Children had no harme in the fire, nor S. Peter in the Sea; and manie others haue escaped both without hurt.* 1.670 And is there notwithstanding anie man so mad, as to cast himself wilfully into the sea, or into the fire, because they escaped? For, as I sayd, we must regard the nature of the thing, not that which falleth out sometimes contrarie to the ordinarie course, by the particular proui∣dence of God. And the same we may say of the world. For seing the natural dispo∣sition of it is so euidently deceiptful and malicious, and the pestilent infection of Sinne so generally spred al ouer it, that it is hard to auoyd it, and few escape it; seing also there be so few in it, that find the narrow way to saluation, though some doe, in al reason it is to be shunned, as I sayd of fire and water.

10. For who can warrant thee, that thou shalt be one of those few? And what follie is it, to put a busines of so great cōsequence as thy eternal saluation or damnation in so great a hazard? or to imagine thyself so fortunate, that the poy∣son of the world shal haue no force vpon thee alone, though thou cōfesse, it gene∣rally infecteth others? This were madnes indeed, & a signe of litle care of saluatiō, specially beholding before our eyes so manie, that suffer ship-wrack; and holie Scripture so seuerely thundreth in our eares so manie feareful sayings, and amongst the rest that of S. Iames:* 1.671 Adulterers, doe you not know, that the friendship of this world is enemie to God? Whosoeuer therefore wil be a friend of this world, is made an enemie to God.

Against the feare, which some haue, that they shal neuer be able to shake off their euil customes. CHAP. XXXI.

THere be others, whom neither the loue of the world, nor of their owne flesh doth hinder from Religion, because it is too open, & too palpable a temptatiō to yeald vnto: But they are held back by another more suttle deuise & feare, least the euil habits which they haue gotten in the world, wil be stil hanging vpon them, stil confronting them; and haue not so much confidence as to hope to roote them out, because by long custome they are so deepely setled and ingrafted in them; & vnlesse they doe roote them out, they think they shal not be at peace and quiet, nor be able to perseuer in a course so con∣trarie

to their wonted strayne.

2. But they that buzze vpon these thoughts,* 1.672 first, in my opinion, feare where there is no feare; for there is no reason at al, why they should doubt, but that in Religion they shal ouercome al these euil customes whatsoeuer they be; and se∣condly, I doe not wel vnderstand the ground & drift of their discourse in it. For if they conecaue, that a bodie must continue to liue a secular life, and that it is be••ter to doe so, because they think they shal neuer shake off their euil habits; me thinks it fares with them, as if a man finding himself in a long iourney, quite out of his way, should choose to goe on in his errour, rather then go back againe, because of the labour & difficultie which he apprehēds in it; wheras he knoweth most certainly, that the farther he goes on, the farther he goes out of his way, & consequently shal either neuer come into the right way againe, or, if he resolue euer to come into it, must take much more paynes and labour to effect it; for so these kind of people wil either be continually heaping one vice on the back of another,* 1.673 despairing (as the Apostle speaketh) of themselues, or, if at anie time they think of reforming them∣selues, and returning into the way of vertue, it wil be the harder for them to com∣passe it, the longer they continue their wonted customes.

3. But the principal meanes to breake the neck of this temptation, wil be to shew euidently, what a grosse errour they are in, that think it so impossible a thing to ouercome their euil customes, wheras indeed in Religion they may be easily ouercome; which we shal quickly demonstrate, if we consider the nature of the customes themselues,* 1.674 & the grace of God. And from the nature of the euil custo∣mes I argue thus: Euil customes are habits; and the nature of al habits is, that as they are gotten by vse and often acts, so if we cease from these acts, by litle and litle the habits themselues vanish away and perish. As for example; if a man be skilful in musick or in picture-drawing, or if he write a faire hand, or haue anie other art or science, as he got it by vse and practise and often endeauour, so if he neuer exercise it, or, which is more, if he practise it but seldome and carelesly, it decayes of itself, and at last he quite looseth it. And no doubt but we shal find the like in al euil dispositions of the mind also; as if a man be cholerick, or intem∣perate in his diet, or other pleasures, and cease from the acts of these vices, as be∣fore they grew & waxed stronger and stronger by being fed with daylie offences, so if we take away their former allowance, they must needs grow weak, & lessen in vs.

4. Besides that,* 1.675 as those euil dispositions were bred by euil actiōs, so the practise of vertue breeds cōtrarie habits of vertue; as when a Religious man doth not only cease from acts of pride and vanitie, but practiseth humilitie, & embraceth al occa∣sions of contempt of himself from his verie hart; when in steed of the loue of worldlie wealth, & his wonted pleasures he begins to loue the hardnes of pouertie and the like, in al which a Religious state doth incōparably help him, ministring daylie occasions of these & other vertues, & in a manner forcing them vpon him.

5. And what need I be long?* 1.676 Not only the endeauour & application of a man's mind is thus effectual, but the verie sight of so manie good men as are in Religion, & the daylie conuersing with them, is able of itself to alter a man, be he neuer so rude and vnciuil, and by litle and litle to instil goodnes into him. If we take a beast out of the woods or forrests, and bring him vp at hand, he leeseth after a while his wildnes, and becomes as tame and gentle as a whelp.

And this we see effected not only in deere, and wild goates, which are naturally timorous, but in lions and beares, which are otherwise of themselues fierce and cruel; and yet these beasts can adde nothing inwardly of themselues, nor vse anie endeauour to ouercome their nature, but the bare custome of being among men doth silently worke vpon them, and by degrees giue them another nature and fashion, and make them tame. What effect therefore must the self-same needs haue in men, who haue iudgement moreouer and vnderstanding, & can inwardly apply themselues, and labour their owne reformation and polishing.

* 1.6776. And if nature, and industrie, and application be thus forcible, what shal we say of the Grace of God? It must certainly needs be much more powerful and more effectual, and in a short time worke a perfect cure vpon whatsoeuer in vs. For, as the Wise-man sayth: It is easie in the eyes of God, suddenly to make a poore man rich.* 1.678 And by his holie Prophets he often promiseth, that he wil help & assist vs forcibly in this kind; as when in Esay he saith: Feare not, because I am with ther, decline no••, because I am thy God; I haue strengthned thee, and holpen thee, and receaued thee in the hand of my lust.* 1.679 And then giuing vs to vnderstand, that we haue no cause to doubt of the victorie, he addeth: Behold, they shal be confounded, and ashamed al that sight against thee; they shal be, as if they were not; and the men shal perish, that contradict thee. Thou shalt seeke them, and thou shalt not find them; men that are re∣bellious against thee, and they shal be as if they were not. Who be these, that are rebel∣lious against vs, but euil customes, and sinful motions of the mind, which wil not hearken to Reason, and obey it? such as we cannot haue at that command, but that sometimes they wil be stirring against our wil. These habits therefore & inclinations remaine in vs, as if they were not; that is, they remaine in vs not to our destruction, but for exercise; to put life into vs, not to take away our life from vs; finally as occasions of a greater crowne, not as snares to our ruine. Which is the reason, why S. Paul tearmeth the contradiction of his flesh, not a sword,* 1.680 or a lance, but a prick; because a prick cannot runne through a man to wound him, but only prick him, and serues meerly to awake vs, and stirre vs vp to runne, & be more quick and careful in the performance of vertuous actions. This is the effect, which the Grace of God works in vs: It reformeth our vnderstāding, our wil, our sensual appetite, and al the powers of our soule, and putteth it, in a miraculous manner, in another kind of hue, which is that New creature, of which the Apostle so often speaketh.

* 1.6817. And we should hardly beleeue, that it were possible there should be such a sudden alteration in the seruants of God, but that we find it by experience in ourselues, and see it with our verie eyes in others, and haue for it the testimonie of al such men, that haue written of spiritual things and Religious courses. Cassian applieth those words of the Psalme (Wonderful are thy works,* 1.682 and my soule shal know them exceedingly) principally to the works, which God, as he saith, ordereth by his Saints of his daylie operation. For who, sayth he, wil not wonder at the works of God in himself,* 1.683 when he seeth the admirable rauening of his bel∣lie, and the costlie and pernicious lauishnes of gluttonie suppressed, and brought to take a litle coorse fare, seldome, and against his wil? Who can but be astonished at the works of God, when he feeles the fire of lust so cooled, that he finds scarce the least motion in his bodie? wheras before, he esteemed it altogeather natural, & in a manner vnquenchable.

How can he but tremble at the power of God,

when he sees people of a rough and firie disposition, that were apt to be put into raging choler by the friendliest seruice a man could doe them, to arriue to such mildnes, that they are not only not moued at al with iniuries, but reioyce in them with a noble courage, when they are offered? Who certainly can choose but ad∣mire the works of God,* 1.684 and with great affection cry out: Because I haue knowne, that great is our Lord; seing himself, or another, from being extremely couetous, become liberal; from being prodigal, become sparing; from prowde, humble; from being nice and effeminate, austere and carelesse, and voluntarily to embrace and reioyce in pouertie, and want, and periurie of things present? These are cer∣tainly wonderous works of God, which particularly the soule of the Prophet, & of such as are like to him, acknowledgeth with admiration by the light of extra∣ordinarie contemplation.* 1.685 These are wonders which he placeth vpon the earth; which the same Prophet considering, calleth al people to admire them, saying: Come and see the works of God, which he hath placed wonders vpon the earth, taking away war∣res to the end of the earth; he wil bruse the bowes, and breake the weapons in peeces, and burne the targets with fire. For what wonder can be greater, then in a moment of time to make Apostles, of couetous Publicans; patient preachers of the Ghospel, of cruel persecutours? Insomuch that with the shedding of their owne bloud they haue dilated that Faith, which before they persecuted. These are the works of God, which the Sonne professeth,* 1.686 that he dayly worketh with his Father, saying: My father to this day worketh, and I doe worke.

Al this is Cassian's discourse.

8. S. Bernard goeth farther,* 1.687 and sayth, that a soule by reason of this grace of God, is in a manner omnipotent, though not by the strength which it hath of itself, but of God. And interpreteth to this effect those words of the Canticles: Who is this that ascendeth from the desert, flowing in delights, leaning vpon her beloued?

Truly (sayth S. Bernard) leaning in this manner, she wil grow strong against her∣self, and more powerful then herself wil bring al to reason; anger, feare, desire, and ioy; and gouerne like a good coach-man the charriot of her soule, and bring into captiuitie al carnal affection, and the inclinations of the flesh, to the b••••k of reason, in seruice of vertue. How possible are al these things to her that leanes vpon him,* 1.688 who can do al things? what a confident speach is it? I can do al in him, that strengthneth me? Nothing doth make the omnipotencie of the Word more eui∣dent, then that he maketh al omnipotent, that confide in him: So a soule, if it presume not of itself, if it be strengthned by the word, wil easily haue ful command ouer itself, that al iniustice shall haue no command ouer it. So, I say, him that leaneth vpon the Word, him that is cloathed with vertue from aboue, no force, no fraud, no allurement can pul downe from his standing, nor bring in subiection from the command,* 1.689 which he hath.

If therefore this be true, which S. Bernard sayth, how can we feare, least our crooked inclinations should be more kept downe with the weight of them, then relieued by the sweetnes of his grace? For really it concernes no man so much as it concernes God, to cure the wounds and sores of a soule, that hath put itself wholy into his hands to be cured, and to thrust out old customes with new, as we beate out one nayle with another; as S. Bernard also speaketh.

9. Let vs heare, what S. Augustin sayth in this busines; for his testimonie is of great weight, as deliuering for the common good that, which himself experi∣enced in the change, which he made of the course of his life. These are his words:

Meere toyes and vanities of vanities held me back,* 1.690 my ancient house-wiues, and shooke me by the coat of my flesh, and secretly muttered: doest thou leaue vs? and from this instant shal we not be with thee anie more for euer? and from this instant must it not be lawful for thee to doe this and that anie more for euer? And a litle after: They held me back while I yet was slow in breaking away, and ridding myself of them, and passing thither whither I was called, my violent custome sayd vnto me: Dost thou think thou canst be without these?

10. And thus it passed with him in that strife and great quarrel of flesh & spirit, as he calleth it; but when he had once broken prison and shaken-of the bands in which he was intangled, and giuen himself so wholy to the seruice of God, that he neither looked after wife, nor anie worldlie hopes, how was it with him then, and what did he find in himself? How sweet, sayth he, was it presently vnto me, to want the sweetnes of those toyes?* 1.691

Now it was a comfort to forsake that, which before I was afrayd to loose. For thou, ô true and soueraigne Sweetnes, didst cast them out of doores before me, and entredst thyself in lieu of them, sweeter then anie pleasure, but not to flesh and bloud; cleerer then any light, more priuate then anie secret, more loftie then anie preferment; but not to them that are loftie in themselues.

11. We haue S. Cyprian also, that can witnes the same out of his owne know∣ledge, setting downe the two seueral states of his mind in these words:

While I lay in darknes, and in the dead of the night, while in the sea of this wauering world I was tottering,* 1.692 and perplexed, and floating with wandring steps, that which the Diuine commiseration promised me for my welfare, seemed hard and harsh vnto me, as the world went with me then, how a man could be borne againe, and alter his mind and soule, the frame of his bodie remayning as before. How is it possible (said I) to make such a change, and so vpon the suddain and so speedily to shake-of that, which being bred in vs, is growne hard by the setling of that natural matter, or by long vse made a custome, through ancientnes of age and time? These things haue taken too deepe roote in vs. When shal he learne fru∣galitie, that hath been accustomed to long suppers and curious banckets? or he that hath shined in his silkes, and been glorious in his rich garments and cloth-of-gold and purple, when shal he stoope to plaine and ordinarie apparrel? He that hath been compassed with troupes of clients, and countenanced with a long trayne of officious followers, wil think it a torment to be alone. It cannot be otherwise, but that custome of drinking wine wil be alwayes calling vpon a man with tough perswasions; pride wil puff him vp; wrath wil set him on fire; couetousnes wil disturbe him; crueltie wil egg him forward; ambition wil flatter him; lust wil cast him headlong. This discourse I held often with myself. For as I was entangled with diuers errours of my former life, which I did beleeue was impossible to shake-of; so I yealded to the vices, which did then cleaue vnto me, and out of despayre of being better, I fauoured my euils, as mine owne, and borne in my owne house. But when by help of the Regenerating water the fowlnes of my former life was washed away, and the light from-aboue shined vpon my pure and sanctifyed breast, when receauing from heauen, the second natiuitie had repayred me into a new man; presently, after a strange manner, things which were doubtful, appea∣red certain; that which was shut-vp from me, was layd open; dark things became lightsome; that which was hard, was easie; & that possible, which before seemed

impossible to be performed.

Al this, and much more is out of S. Cyprian; which euerie Religious man may see and acknowledge in himself. For that, which Bap∣tisme wrought in him, Religion worketh in vs, dying to the world and our former conuersation, and being new-borne in it to God and a spiritual life. And Religion is so much the more able to worke this alteration in vs, because it doth both help vs manie wayes to encrease the inward grace, which we receaue in Baptisme, and furnisheth vs besides with manie outward meanes and instruments speedily and easily to, to attayne to al perfection.

An answer to them that feare, that they shal not perseuer in Religion. CHAP. XXXII.

HAuing shut-out this feare, which tooke occasion of the corruption of our former life, it wil not be hard to cure another feare not vnlike vnto it, and most commonly caused by it, to wit, least our resolution how∣soeuer it be seruent in the beginning, in time growing cold, we looke back,* 1.693 and be swallowed vp againe in the world. This feare riseth first by consideration of our owne infirmitie, man by nature being wonderful weake, specially when he meetes with hard encounters; and then the lamentable ends of those, that began to runne wel, & in the midst of their course haue sunck and fallen back, worke forcibly vpon our apprehension; insomuch that some think it wis∣dome, to learne by others perils, and to looke to themselues betimes. But S. Gregorie doth excellently discouer this kind of temptation and deceit of the Enemie, and conuinceth it to be no other,* 1.694 in these words:

Oftimes we see manie that desire the life of holie conuersation, but haue not the power to vndertake it, because they feare suddain chances and disasters that may befal them, who while like prouident men they take thought to preuent vncertain euils, are vnprouidently detayned in the bonds of their offences. For they lay manie things before their eyes, which if they happen in their conuersation, they feare they shal neuer be able to subsist. Of whom Salomon sayth wel:* 1.695 The way of lazie people, is as hedges of thornes; For while they loue the way of God, their fearful suspicions meeting with them, prick them as thornes of the hedges that are in their way. This is S. Gregorie's opinion of this busines. And in my iudgement, that saying of Iob may be fitly applied vnto them: They that feare the white frost, snow shal vpon them. For while they giue way to feare of vncertain dangers to come,* 1.696 they remaine for the present in great and most certain euils.

2. But to lay open the roote of this distrust, let vs consider, what may be the causes of so soule a breach betwixt God and vs, after we haue plighted our troth and bound ourselues by Vow vnto him. There can be no other ground of it, but if either God depart from vs, or we frō God, that is, if either God forsake vs, & with∣draw his holie spirit frō vs,* 1.697 or we suffer ourselues to be ouercome with tediousnes, or labour, or inconstancie, & so forsake him. As for the first, it cannot enter into anie man's thought to think, that the infinit goodnes of God will at anie time take

from vs the guifts, which once he hath bestowed vpon vs. And S. Paul assureth vs of it when he sayth:* 1.698 The guifts of God are without repentance; and God himself by his Prophet in these words: I am God, and am not changed; & consequently that which S. Augustin sayth to God, is true: No man leeseth thee, but he that leaueth thee. God therefore neuer reiecteth them that seeke him; he neuer casteth them forth, that come vnto him, as himself professeth; and heauen and earth shal first passe away, before anie change or shadow of vicissituted come vpon him. Seing therefore there can be no danger on this side, al the danger is in ourselues and our owne infirmitie.

13. But yet because no bodie is il for nothing, and there is hardly anie to be found so malicious as to delight in sinne, because it is sinne, but that some other cause drawes him into it; let vs see, what cause there may be to disioynt and break this league of societie and friendship so inuiolably and religiously sworne betwixt God and vs. In humane friendship manie things of this nature may hap∣pen; for in time we may discouer some flaw in the league itself, or some wrong may be offered, or one partie may be damnifyed in his state, or we may think we haue enough of it,* 1.699 as oftimes it falleth out. Nothing of al this can be sayd of God; for we cannot feare, least the continuance of our loue with him be preiudicial vnto vs, seing we haue al that we haue, of him, and he most bountifully makes vs partakers of al that is his. Neither can we feare, least his conuersation grow te∣dious, seing we find written of the Eternal Wisdome: Entring into my house I wil rest with it; for the conuersation with it, hath no bitternes; nor the liuing togeather with it, anie tediousnes, but ioy and gladnes. And therefore that also is true, which the same Wisdome reporteth of itself:* 1.700 They that eate me, shal stil hunger; and they that drink me, shal stil thirst. So that by enioying God, we shal be so farre from hauing our desire of him quayled at anie time, as rather it wil be daily more inflamed, the more degrees of his infinit beautie and goodnes we shal dayly discouer, and the better and cleerer insight we shal haue into him. And if, while we were as yet in the world, a smal raye of that beautie, which is in Religion, shining vpon vs in that darknes, was so powerful as to bring vs vnto him, as it were, out of a farre countrey, and to draw vs with such a violence as was able to breake through al the snares the Diuel had to hold vs back; what wil not the sunne-light and excellencie of Religion doe, when we shal haue had leasure to enter more into it, and by the knowledge and possession of so great a good, be more taken and enamoured with it. And if it were able to force vs to loue it and embrace it, while we were free and vnconstant, how much more wil it hold vs in loue of it, when we shal be obliged and bound vnto it with that triple cord, which is hardly broken.

* 1.70114. What ground therefore can we imagine, that we can haue, to alter from our purpose, with so great losse and shame to ourselues? Shal we alter in regard of the rigour and austeritie of that kind of life? Wherefore then haue we spoken so much of the commodities of it (which alone were sufficient) and of the sweetnes besides and pleasure which is in it? Rather seing we are naturally so much taken with pleasure, & follow so greedily the bare shadow of it in the idle toyes, which the world doth thew vs, we haue no cause to feare, but that meeting with the verie fountain of pleasure, which is God, we shal stick the faster by it, and drink with more contentment of it. For our part therefore, we haue no cause, why we should euer repent ourselues of a thing, which hath been inuented and commen∣ded vnto vs by God, so carefully practised by so manie holie men, so earnestly

desired and embraced by ourselues, and found by our owne experience to be much more beneficial and delightful, then we could either hope or imagine.

15. What is it then that we feare? the secret vnderminings, or open assaults of the Diuel?* 1.702 But of them also much hath been sayd before, to shew that we must wholy contemne them, considering the manie helps which we haue to ouercome them as the State itself, in which we liue as in a Castle; the custodie of the holie Angels, the care and watchful eye of God to defend vs; and infinit other things, which of themselues are powerful and strong helps; but much more the Grace of God diffused in our harts by the Holie-Ghost, which is giuen vs, and which doth so cloathe vs with vertue and strength from aboue, that if inconstancie come vpon vs, it setleth vs; if we be weake and feeble, it strengthneth vs; if we faint and languish, it puts life into vs; and taking vs as it were out of the hands of the thee∣ues (which are the Diuels) half aliue, and placing vs in the humble, but whole∣some stable of Religion, it cureth vs with wine and oyle. The wine (as the shar∣per of the two) is Religious discipline, and the incommodities which are incident vnto it; but this wine is alayed with oyle, that is, with an admirable kind of sweet∣nes, which giues a pleasant taste to al the incommodities which are in it. And therefore though we bring to Religion a nature cut, and mangled and weakned with manie wounds and sores, we haue no reason notwithstanding to misdoubt our perseuerance, hauing so manie gentle, but yet efficacious medicines of the Grace of God, to cure it.

16. But al acknowledge,* 1.703 that the grace of God is powerful, and it cannot be denyed; yet some stil feare, least through their owne fault and offences they make themselues vnworthie of this grace, and so leesing it and forsaken by it, they fal into their ancient errours. But they that lodge this feare in their breasts, and in regard of it for beare to put themselues into the seruice of God, are farre wide of the mark, and know not indeed, what Grace is, which is therefore called Grace, because it is giuen freely, and not for anie desert of ours. And we shal not need to looke so farre back as to the example of S. Paul, who was a persecutour, or of S. Matthew, who was a publican, or of S. Marie Magdalen, who was a sin∣ner, to iustifye it, seing we haue proof and example cleer enough of it in ourselues. For if when we were yet enemies, when we fed hogs in farre countries, when we wandered like the lost sheep, God of his owne good wil sought vs out, fol∣lowed vs when we were flying from him, compelled vs when we striued against him, expected vs when we sought delayes and held back, and in the end brought vs home vpon his shoulders; what wil he not doe for vs now we liue in his house, and in his seruice?

17. Let vs compare one time with another,* 1.704 and that state we were in, with that in which now we are; then liuing in extreme darknes, there was no goodnes at al in vs, al was sinne, al was earthlie, al tending to the seruice of this world, our thoughts, our words, our deeds, al bending that wayes, we liued in perpetual forgetfulnes of God, in loosse carelesnes of al heauenlie things. But now we spend al our dayes in the practice of vertue, in the seruice of God, in the denyal of ourselues; and though we offend sometimes, our faults are but smal and venial, and easily ouermatched and couered with the abun∣dance of the good deeds which we doe. If therefore the goodnes of God were so great towards vs in that first state, that our ancient deformitie could not hin∣der

him from taking vs out of that mire, and placing vs in his armes and bosome; now that we are washed (though perhaps our feet need stil some washing) wil he shake vs off & cast vs out of his armes againe? He that dealt so louingly by stran∣gers, yea by his enemies, as to adopt vs his children, & take vs into his house; now we are his children, & haue done him so much seruice, & liued so manie yeares in his house, wil he thrust vs out, and casheer vs from among the rest of his children, among whom he had ranked vs? O absurd suspicion, & feare vnworthie of such a father, vnworthie of children that haue been so nobly brought vp! How much better & more truly doth S. Bernard iudge of this loue of God towards Religious people,* 1.705 expressing himself in these words?

He, He, I say, gathereth you togeather, that loueth you as his owne bowels, as the most pretious fruit of his Crosse, as a most worthie compensation of the bloud which he shed.

He sayth, that Reli∣gious people are the fruit and worthie recompence of the Passion of Christ, because the vertue therof is chiefly seen in them, and because, though no other fruit had come of it, this alone had been enough for the Sonne of God, to think al his labour and sufferings wel bestowed. Wherefore if no marchant be so mad, as to cast away the Iewels which he hath bought at an excessiue rate, when he may keep them; what shal we think of him, that feares, least God cast vs off vpon the suddain, whom he hath bought with the pretious bloud of his only Sonne, and enriched with such inestimable guifts and treasures?

* 1.70618. B••sides, we must consider the difference, which is betwixt a seruant and a sonne. If a seruant offend, or become vnprofitable, he is put away, because he is a seruant, and, as our Sauiour sayth, remaineth not in house for euer; but though a sonne be sick, and able to doe nothing, yea though he offend and displease his fa∣ther, he shal be corrected with therod,* 1.707 perhaps with a stick, and yet they wil be rather a comfort to him (as the Prophet speaketh) then an affliction,* 1.708 but it is not the fashion to banish him out of his father's sight; it cannot sinck into the hart of a father to do so, the loue wherewith he entertayned him in his house with mu∣sick,* 1.709 when he returned from a farre countrey, wil not suffer him to vse such ri∣gour, much lesse thrust him out of doores.

* 1.71019. If we were to deale with a man like ourselues, we should doe him wrong, if we should think him so vnciuil and froward, as to fal-out with vs vpon euerie flight occasion, and neuer be friends with vs anie more. How much greater wrong therefore shal we do to the infinit goodnes of God, if we take him to be of so harsh a disposition, notwithstanding that we see before our eyes dayly,* 1.711 how he beares with an infinit number of most greeuous sinnes, and dis∣sembles their offences, because of repentance. Rather as we are confident of our owne brother, or of our father, or of anie man, that we know doth entirely loue vs, or (why should we speak of others?) as if perseuerance in vertue & Religion were in our owne power, our hart would be at rest & ease; so must it be now it is in the hand and power of God; and so much the more, the greater we know his loue is towards vs, louing vs more then we loue ourselues, and desiring with so much af∣fection our eternal welfare and perfection, as the Apostle sayth of him: His with your sanctification.* 1.712

20. What therefore is our dutie to doe: That which S. Augustin did, when he found himself in the like fearful humour, least he should not haue strength and courage

enough to goe through with that new course of life,* 1.713 which he was then resoluing vpon. For he writeth of himself, that he heard as it were a voyce speake within him: Cast thyself vpon him; feare not; he w••l not wit••draw himself, that thou mayst fal; Cast thyself securely; he wil receaue and cure thee. For if no man was euer so barbarously hard-harted and cruel (so he were a man) as to withdraw him∣self, and suffer another man to be dasht and hurt against the ground,* 1.714 if he see that in his fal from some high place he is willing to saue himself in his ar∣mes rather the more trust and confidence a man puts in vs, committing himself and his life into our hands, with this hope, he obligeth vs the more not to for∣sake him, or suffer him to perish for want of anie thing, that we can doe for him. If therefore the nature of man euen among those, that are none of the ciuilest, goe against such barbarous proceeding; who can suspect anie such thing of that bottomles pit of clemencie and goodness, that he wil forsake vs, hauing relyed ourselues wholy vpon his goodnes, and prudence, and vndoub∣ted promises?

21. Finally we must consider,* 1.715 that wheras the works of God pert••yne partly to Nature, and partly to Grace; no man euer had the least feare, least in his natu∣ral works he should breake the vniforme order and constant course of his Diuine beneficence. No man euer doubted, least the Sunne should not rise euerie day, and with the vsual proportion, according to the times of the yeare, giue light to the earth; or that it would not rayne according to the seasons, so that the fruits of the earth should fayle: we plough, we sow, we plant, we prune our trees and vines, as if we were assured of al those things; which notwithstanding if they should fayle, al our labour and charges were quite lost. We make great vaults and conduits to conuey the water to manie mils with excessiue cost and ex∣pence; which al were in vaine, if the head of the fountain should decay; but it is so certain, that it wil not decay, that no man euer spared cost for that reason. If therefore it neuer comes into our thought, to misdoubt these na∣tural things, why should we not in spiritual things hope, that the fountain of the Grace of Heauen wil continually flow? And if it were foolish for a man to forbeare to sow his ground, or plant trees, or follow anie such kind of work vpon such a kind of idle feare, how much more foolish is it to omit our spiritual work, and such a work as is the vndertaking of a Re∣ligious course of life, for the like feare, least forsooth the Sunne leaue shining vpon vs at noone-day, or the fountain of Diuine grace dry away in the midst of the current of it? Yet some bodie wil say: We see diuers fal;* 1.716 who knowes whether I shal at last be one of them? S. John Chrysostome propoundeth this verie doubt in his Apologie for a Monastical life; where ar∣guing against parents, that hinder their children from embracing Reli∣gious courses, he bringeth them making this obiection: How shal I know that my sonne shal perseuer, and neuer fal from his purpose? for manie haue fallen. To which S. Iohn Chrysostome, and I answer: How dost thou know, that he shal not perseuer? for manie haue perseuered; yea manie more, then haue fallen; so that we haue more cause to trust in regard of them, then to distrust in regard of these. And then he cōuinceth them by that, which they doe themselues; for they send their childrē to schoole, & are at charges with them, & yet few come

to be eminent in learning, because it depends of manie things, wheras in Religion a man needs not anie great wit or strength of bodie to perseuer, & to arriue to per∣fection, but willingnes and endeauour; and concludeth thus: How vnreasonable therefore and vnworthie is it, to runne into feare and despayre, where for the most part there be manifest tokens of certain hope and saluation at hand; and where there is lesse hope, & subiect to so manie impedimēts, there not to despayre, but rather to be greatly and certainly in hope of a thing, which is most difficult?

22. And this which S. Iohn Chrysostome sayth of learning▪ is of force in al states & employments in the world;* 1.717 for people cease not to traffick, because manie in traf∣fick haue become bank-rout; neither doe they forbeare to goe to sea, because ma∣nie haue perished by ship-wrack, nor they leaue not the warres, though infinit pe∣rish in them, some with one kind of death, some with another. And yet euerie one of these kinds of life are dayly subiect to so manie dangers & hazards, that we haue much more reason to feare misfortunes, then to hope that we shal goe prosperously through with them, especially considering, that no human wisdome or forecast is able to preuent al mischances. But in Religion these accidents happen seldome, & to very few, in comparison of the rest, and by moderate care & diligence they may be preuented & eschewed; & are alwayes preuented, if we be as we ought, & haue but a wil to vse those helpes, which the state itself affordeth vs. Wherefore let vs hearken to S. Gregorie, who like a maister-workman very handsomely cuts off this temptation with the knife of Reason, and the authoritie of the holie Scripture.

Another, sayth he, setting the desires of the flesh at naught, is thinking to forsake al, and to betake himself to the seruice of Almightie God; he purposeth to cu••he himself with the raynes and bridle of Continencie & Chastitie:* 1.718 but seing others that haue fallen euen after Chastitie, he is afrayd to doe that which he hath a mind to doe, and turneth back in his thoughts, when looking before him, he was with the steps of his mind euen now mounting on high. Of whom Salomon sayth wel: He that obserueth the wind, doth not sowe; and he that considereth the clowdes, shal neuer reape. By the wind we vnderstand the malignant spirit, that blowes vpon our mind with temptation; by ••he clowdes we vnderstand a sinner, that is carried away by the violence of temptation. He therefore that obserueth the wind, doth not sow, & he that considereth then cl••wdes▪ neuer reapeth, because he that feareth the temptations of the malignant spirit, and considering the falles of the wicked. despayreth of himself, doth neither in present exercise himself in the seed of good works, nor shal heerafter be refreshed by reward of iust recompense.

Thus sayth S. Gregorie.

23. The summe therefore of this whole discourse is this: If the resolution of fol∣lowing a Religious course were to come of ourselues, or if it were so to come of God,* 1.719 that it were necessarie we should deserue it, we had reason doubtles to feare our owne frailtie & inconstancie. But seing it comes so from God, that on our part it requireth no desert, but giueth vs al the desert we haue; as the grace of God from the beginning worketh it in vs, so it alwayes euer after worketh it, preseruing vs. We haue an excellent example of it in S. Peter the Apostle, when inuited by our Sauiour, he walked vpon the water, and was held vp aboue it by his holie hand,* 1.720 when for feare he began to sink. This doth liuely represent vnto vs a Religious state. For as it is a great miracle for this heauie and lumpish bodie of ours to walk vpon the water, so it is no lesse a miracle, when

our corrupted nature (which of itself is alwayes bearing downewards to earthlie things, to the workes of the flesh, to libertie and licentiousnes) by the vertues of Pouertie, Chastitie and Obedience breaketh through al these wicked inclinations, & walketh aboue them, as a bodie aboue the water. And cōsequently we cannot bring this to passe by our owne natural strength, but by the power of God; and it is the effect of his voice, when he sayth vnto vs: Come; as he sayd to S. Peter, & by it giueth vs the like admirable power, as he gaue to him, & as long as the force of this voyce lasteth, so long we remaine with this power, & performe it with the self-same facilitie & agilitie as we did at first. How comes the vertue of this voice to decay sometimes in vs, & to grow faint? By Diffidence, as it hapned to Peter, when letting our thoughts runne more vpon the winds & the waues, that is, vpon the difficulties & temptatiōs which sometimes rush-in vpon vs, then vpon the grace of God & the vertue therof, we begin to feare ourselues, and by fearing sink. Yet if sometimes through frailtie we chance thus to stagger, we haue at hand a present remedie and refuge, to wit, God himself, who stretching forth his hand wil instantly hold vs vp,* 1.721 and stay vs, &, as the Apostle sayth: He that gaue vs to w••l, wil giue vs also to accomplish and confirme vs to the end, without crime, in the day of the coming of our Lord IESVS CHRIST.

Against the temptation of delaying our entrance into Religion. CHAP. XXXIII.

AS in warre it is the fashion of the weaker side to be asking truce; & in euerie troublesome thing that cannot be wholy auoyded,* 1.722 we labour at least, that it be differred as much as may be; so it is one of the Diuel's cunning tricks among the rest, when he can∣not wholy remoue people from their resolution of entring into Religion, to pretend diuers causes, why they should delay their entrāce. To some he layes before thē their tēder yeares, as not ripe yet for the yoak of Christ; others he perswades, that they must take longer time of deliberation, aske aduise of their friends, haue some trial of their strength, some experiēce by the practise of good works before hād, that so they may prepare their way for greater & harder matters. Let vs see therefore, what force & reasons these pretences haue.

2. And to speake first of age; It is so farre from being true, that a man's youth is not a fit age for the seruice of God,* 1.723 that it is the fittest time of al others to serue him. Which the Prophet telleth vs, when he sayth: It is good for a man, when he shal haue carried the yoak from his youth; & insinuateth what commodities come of it: He shal s•• (sayth he) solitarie, and hold his peace; because he hath lifted himself aboue himself. The meaning of which words, as S. Thomas interpreteth, is, that they take the yoak of Religion vpon them in their youth, lift themselues with much more ease & to better effect, aboue their nature & natural inclinations, & leade a most quiet life, free from al worldlie cares & troubles; and strengthneth this his explication with the authoritie of S. Anselme, who likeneth those, that are brought vp in Monasteries from their childhood,* 1.724 to Angels; and those that enter in elder yeares, to men.

3. The commodities of entring in our youth are these. First, youth being na∣turally vnprouident, and by reason of our weaknes pliable, as wax, to whatsoeuer vice, if we passe our youth in the world, amidst so manie snares and occasions of

sinne,* 1.725 how easie is it for vs to entangle ourselues in manie errours, which wil afterwards hinder vs from taking a course of vertue and saluation? or if at last we resolue vpon such a course, wil as so manie wounds make vs runne the slower & the weaker in the spiritual course we shal vndertake? Wheras on the other side, if we consecrate the flower of our youth and life to God, we shal find the quite contrarie, and preuent those dangers and misfortunes.

4. Secondly, youth is aptest to receaue good impressions, & is most disciplinable, while the mind is yet emptie, &, like a peece of white paper, fit to receaue what∣soeuer a bodie wil write in it; or like a yong tree, which a man may bend & leade which way he wil. And we see it euidently, for example, in most beasts, as in horses and dogs, and some kinds of birds; if we teach them while they are yong, we find by experience that they are apt to take, euerie one according to their seueral kind; but if we let that time passe, they grow so stubborn, that we can neuer bring them to anie thing. It is true, that al times with man are in season for vertue; but if we speake of a facilitie and a kind of nimblenes in it, we find it certainly faire greater in that tender age before a man be hardned in vice and vanitie.

* 1.7265. Thirdly, that which we learne in our youth sticks faster by vs, and can very hardly euer be b••tted out. So sayth S. Hierome in one of his Epistles: It is hard to ra•••• 〈…〉〈…〉 an vnwrought mind hath drunk in; a new earthen vessel keepe•• along 〈◊〉〈◊〉, the sa•• 〈◊〉〈◊〉 I••••nel, with which first it is seasone••. Aristotle also conceaues, that it doth much import what custome a man takes in his youth, and sayth, that al in a manner lyes in that. And in another place he sayth: The first things doe euer take p••ssessi••n of a man's mind, and preiudicate it, and theref••re he ordereth that in a Common-wealth wel gouerned, al obseene things be put aside from children, that they may not so much as see the picture of anie such thing, nor a Comedie or Tragedie. Which care can neuer be had of them in the world, nor can it be ex••ected or hoped for; but in Religion it is constantly and most certainly ob∣serued.

* 1.7276 Finally, it is no final commoditie, that in yonger yeares a man's mind is liuelie & ful of vigour, it is not diuided, nor distracted with businesses or affections of se∣ueral natures so that if we apply it wholy at that time to God, and bend our spirits, before they be tainted, to heauen lie things, our progresse in vertue must needs be the greater, and our course the swifter. Which the grauest of the Heathen Philo∣sophers expresseth excellently in these words: As that which as first powred out of a vessel, as alwayes the cleerest, the beaute and muddie staff stick••s to the bottome: so in our yeares, that which is best, is first; shal we suffer that rather to vent itself among others, and keepe the lees to ourselues? Let this stick fast in our mind, & let vs esteeme it as spoken from an Oracle: The best day of the age of each mortal wight, flyes first abroad. Why the best? Because that which remaineth, is vncertain. Why the best? Because, while we are yong, we may learne,* 1.728 we may apply your mind to that which is best, while it is yet pliable and tractable; because the time of our youth, is fittest for labour, fittest for the whetting of our wits in learning, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 est for corporal exercises in al kind of works; that which is behind, is more dul, more feeble, neerer to a••end. Thus Seneca.

7. Al which commodities we may see euidently expressed in a heauenlie Vision, which Humber••us (a famous man,* 1.729 & General of the Dominicās) was wont to recount of a certain Religious man, that after his decease appeared in the night∣time to one

of his fellow-brethren, compassed with a great light; and leading him out of his Celle shewed him a long ranck of men clad al in white, shining wonderful bright; & they carried most beautiful Crosses vpon their shoulders, marching al towards heauen. Soone after, there followed another ranck farre more comelie to behold & more glorious, and euerie one of them carried a daintie Crosse, not vpon their shoulders, but in their hand. After them againe appeared a third ranck more beau∣tiful & more gallant then the other two, & their Crosses also surpassed the others by farre, both in workmanship and comelines, & they did not carrie them them∣selues, but euerie one had an Angel marching before him, & carried his Crosse for him; & they followed cheerfully, & as it were playing. The man being astonished, & musing much at this sight, his companion that had appeared vnto him, told him, that they of the first ranck were Religious people, that had entred in their old age; the second were such as had entred at man's estate; the third and last, whom he saw so lightsome and cheerful, were they that entred into Religion in their youth.

8. And as this,* 1.730 which we haue sayd, ought greatly to encourage and comf•••• people of yonger yeares, so they that are men already growne, ought not to be dis∣mayed. First because, as the common saying is, It is better to turne back, thou••h with some difficultie, then stil to runne on in an errour. Secondly, if we wil speake of facilitie & ease, they that are elder in yeares, want not their comforts also, and their helps and furtherances towards the leuelling and the taking downe of the ruggednes of the way they walke in, & towards the sweetning of their sorrowes & troubles; of which kind of comforts and the plentie of them, I haue spoken at large in this third booke. And we cannot also deny, but it often faileth out, that though S. Iohn,* 1.731 as the yonger, runne before, more speedily then S. Peter, yet Peter the elder entreth first into the monument,* 1.732 that is, comes first to perfect Mortifica∣tion, & perfect similitude with our Sauiour Christ. And the workmen, that were called at the Sixt and Ninth howre, though they wrought but one howre, receaue the same reward with them that were hired early in the m••rning. For it is neuer too late to returne to God; rather it is alwayes time, and we are alwayes wel∣come, at whatsoeuer howre we come to him, who alwayes expecteth vs, alwayes knocketh at our doore, alwayes embraceth and entertaineth those, that come vnto him, with ioy.

9. But it is time we say something of the other pretences,* 1.733 which the Diuelis wont to sowe, as cockle, vpon the good seed, which God cast into our mind; either to choak it vp, if he can possibly, or at least to hinder the growth of it. And briefly to answer al these temptations in one word; there is one excel∣lent remedie for them al, to wit, throughly to perswade ourselues and ac∣knowledge as a certain truth, that whatsoeuer delay we make in so profitable so wholesome, so important a thing, and subiect to so manie deceipts and cousenages of the Enemie, is not only to no purpose, but in••••nitly dange∣rous. This is the reason, why al holie men, knowing too wel, how manie wicked snares lye hidden vnder these deceitful deliberations,* 1.734 cry vnto vs with one voyce, with one consent, to breake off al delayes, and not to differre it by anie meanes. Make haste, I beseech thee (sayth S. Hierome) and seing thy ship stick in the suds, cut the rope in sunder rather then vnty it. S. Iohn Chrysostome in one of his Homi••ies to the people, hauing set forth to admiration the

beautie and chiefly the pleasure, that is in a Religious life, concludeth thus: Perhaps manie of you now are warme at hart, and burne with a great desire of so beautiful a conuersation. But what doth it benefit you, is while you are heer, you haue this fire; & as soone as you goe out, you quench i••, & the flame & beat vanisheth away? What remedie? While thy loue is yet 〈◊〉〈◊〉, got presently to those Angels, & there inflame it more. Doe not say: I wil first speake with my friends,* 1.735 I wil dispatch my businesses. This delay is a beginning of shrinking away. The Disciple would haue buried his father; and Christ would not let him. Wherefore? because the Diuel is at hand eager to insinuate himself into our mind, & if he get but a smal resp••t or prorogation, he bringeth vs to great coldnes. Therefore one doth aduise vs: Differre not from day to day.

* 1.73610. We may learne of what opinion S. Augustin was in this busines, by that which he sayth of himself, bewayling his owne dulnes & lingring fashion, when it was past, in these words: I had not what to answer thee, when thou saydst vnto me: Rise thou that steepest; and R••se from the dead, and Christ wil enlighten thee. And shewing me on euerie side, that thou saydst true, I had not anie thing at al to answer, being conuinced by the truth, but words only slow and sleepie: Now, and Behold now; let me alone a little. But Now & Now had neuer enough;* 1.737 and Let me alone a little, grew to great length of time. And as heer he acknowledgeth his owne fault in seeking so manie delayes, so he highly com∣mendeth the two brethren, that vpon reading the Life of S. Anthonie were so hot vpon imitating him, that at the self-same instant, and in the self-same place, when they had read it,* 1.738 they consecrated themselues to the seruice of God. And vpon the same groundsels-where he exhorteth al in this māner:

Behold the Giuer of mercie openeth the ga••e vnto thee. What dost thou stay for? Thou shouldst be glad, if he should open vnto thee at anie time vpon thy knocking. Thou didst not knock, & he openeth,* 1.739 & dost thou remaine stil without? O differre not. The holie Scripture sayth in a certain place of the works of mercie: Doe not say, goe and come againe, to∣morrow I w••l giue, when thou canst presently doe wel; for thou knowest not what may happen the day following. Thou hast heard the commandment of net differ∣ring to be merciful towards another, & art thou cruel towards thyself by delayes? Giue almes to thy owne soule. We doe not say, thou shouldst giue it anie thing, but doe not put aside the hand of him that giueth.

* 1.74011. S. Anselme also sayth excellently wel to the same purpose in one of his Epistles:

Make hast to so great a good, because thou canst not by anie other good more effectually come to the Soueraigne Good. I haue seen manie that haue pro∣mised, & then differred, whom death so preuented, that they could neither dispatch that in which they had engaged themselues, nor begin that for which they had passed their promise. And againe: He that differreth til the time to come, & perhaps til the time, that wil neuer come, to reforme his life, leaueth vndoubtedly a certain good and contemning that which he leeseth, he sheweth that he loueth not that which he expecteth, and deserueth not to haue it.

* 1.741••2. The Iudgement of S. Thomas in this point (being so great a Diuine as he was) is not a little to be regarded. He therefore both in one of his Opuscles, & in his Summe of Diuinitie proposing this question (whether long de••iberation vpon this counsel be commendable?) proueth that which we are saying, by manie weightie reasons, that we must obey God in it out of hand, and diligently put in execution that which he speaketh vnto vs. Though what doe we stand picking reasons heer and there out of Authours, seing we haue the

authoritie of the Ghospel for vs?* 1.742 We see Peter and Andrew, so soone as they were called by our Lord, presently obeyed his calling, forsaking their nets and their boate. The like we reade of Iames and Iohn, and in a more difficult and weightie occasion, of S. Matthew; who, besides the general obligations of brethren and kinsfolk, set light (as S. Chrys••stome obserueth) by al the human dangers, which might haue befallen him from the Princes of the land, leauing their seruice before he had cast-vp and made euen his accounts.

13. But nothing doth more euidently confirme that which we are saying, then that wheras he that was inuited by our Lord to the Apostleship,* 1.743 did not refuse it, but craued respit, for a pious end, to burie his father; the Diuine Wisedome not∣withstanding answered him: Follow me, & leaue the dead to burne their dead. Which S. Iohn Chrysostom expoundeth in this manner:* 1.744 This he sayd not bidding vs to ne∣glect the loue of our parents, but shewing, that nothing must seeme more necessa∣rie, then the businesses of heauen, though the rubs which are cast in our way, seeme great, necessarie, and insuperable. This therefore is that which al must think and doe, that heare the voice of our Lord calling, inuiting, and perhaps drawing them.* 1.745 And S. Thomas to this purpose doth iudiciously among other things applye and opinion of Aristotle's in his bookes of Morals, where putting this questiō: What it is in a soule, that first and principally moueth it? he answereth, that Rea∣son first moueth al other parts and powers of it, and that which moueth reason, is something better then reason; not knowledge or learning (for these are not better then it) but God, and a litle after he addeth, that they whom God moueth, need not take further aduise vpon the busines, because they are led by a better principle then either Reason or Counsel.* 1.746 And S. Bernard rarely and eloquently sayth thus: How manie doth the accursed wisedome of the world supplant, and extinguish the spirit conceaued in them, which our Lord would haue vehemently enkindled? Doe nothing, saith it, rashly; take time enough to consider of it, looke more dili∣gently into the busines; the thing which thou goest about, is great, and needeth much deliberatiō: Try first, what thou shalt be able to doe; aduise with thy friends, least after thou hast done, thou happen to repent it.

This is the wisedome of the world, earthlie, sensual, diabolical, an enemie to saluation, a choaker-vp of life, mother of tepiditie, which is wont to prouoke God to vomit. It sayth: looke to thy self. And wherefore? what needes there anie consultation, seing thou makest no doubt but the word comes from God? The Angel of Great Counsel calleth, what dost thou wayte for the counsels of others? who is more faithful, who more wise then he? Leade me, ô Lord, and I shal be led; be thou more strong, and ouer∣come. I know what those things are which ought to be done quickly. I am saued from the mouth of the pit of hel; and shal I seeke respit, and hold back, and delay to be gone, if perhaps something may be effected in the meane time? I did hide fire in my bosome, and hauing burnt my side, and my verie bowels lying naked, and the corruption running downe, shal I stand deliberating, whether I shal awake, whether I shal shake it off, whether I shal cast it from me? A great matter in verie deed is offered me; so much therefore the more willingly, and the more speedily is it to be admitted of, and embraced with open armes, with feruour and ioy. Let him proue himself, that confideth in his owne strength; for the strength of God is already sufficiently proued. Let him aduise with his friends, that hath not read: The enemies of man, are his domesticals. Why doth he, that obeyeth not the Ghospel,* 1.747

vse the Ghospel so often? For there certainly we reade, that to one that promised to follow our Lord, but desired first to burie his dead father, it was answered by our Lord,* 1.748 that he should suffer the dead to burie their dead; and to another that asked only, that he might bid them farewel, that were at home, he sayd: No man putting his hand to the plough and looking back, is apt for the kingdome of heauen.

Al this of S. Bernard.

* 1.74914. Moreouer, the better to breake with the delayes, which the Diuel puts in our head, we shal doe wel to think, first, that (as S. Thomas aduiseth) seing al the treasures of wisdome and knowledge of God are hidden in Christ, we offer him wrong, when hauing had his counsel, we goe afterwards to take the aduise of anie mortal man. Secondly, that though there were no other harme likelie to befal vs, the verie delaying a busines of so great weight, is a great harme and hinderance vnto vs; for it bereaueth vs of the vse and benefit of so manie good things as are in Religion; a losse which can neuer be repayred; for, so manie dayes, yea so manie howres, as this de∣mur••ing taketh vp, so much gaynes and profit doth it take from vs; because in Religion no day, no howre passeth without excessiue gaynes. Thirdly, we runne hazard of inconstancie; and as we are al mutable, frayle, infirme, we put ourselues in danger of yealding in the meane time, either to the im∣portunate sollicitations of the Diuel, or the flattering shewes of the world, or to our owne flesh, that stil repineth and laboureth to slip the collar. A ship out of the harbour, is alwayes in danger, and ought to desire nothing more, then speedily to put into the hauen.

* 1.75015. How speedily doe we desire, that al other businesses should be dispatched, euen those that are of greatest weight and consequence, though they bring a heauie obligation vpon vs for tearme of life? Who doth admit of so manie delayes, if he pretend for a Bishoprick or other promotion, or if he be to marrie? and yet who knowes not, what a heauie burden the one is, and how ful the other is of troubles and inconueniences? In Religion we tye ourselues to God, and know that his nature is gentle, affable, louing, li∣beral in his gui••••s, patient in bearing our imperfections. When we manie, we tye ourselues to a woman; a woman, I say, of as frayle a nature at least as ourselues, in sexe inferiour, most commonly inclinable to manie vices, to anger, pride, head-longnes, pratling, and some yet greater; and it is a wonder if we light not vpon such a one. The yoak of Religion hath been long tryed before by as manie as are, or euer were Religious. What therefore shal we need to feare passing at such a foard, where such an infinit com∣panie haue passed before vs with happie successe?

* 1.75116. And finally, we must remember, how death continually hangeth ouer our head, and the manie chances that may bring vs vntimely vnto it; of which S. Augustin speaketh thus:

Who hath promised thee to morrow? Where thou readest, that if thou reforme thyself, thou shalt haue pardon; reade me, if thou canst, how long thou shalt liue. Therefore thou knowest not, how long it wil be. Reforme thyself, and be alwayes readie. Wherefore differrest thou til to morrow?* 1.752 And S. Bernard in an Epistle to certain Nouices of his, commendeth them highly, because they were so forward to put their pur∣pose of Religion in execution. The Crosse of Christ, sayth he, wil not anie

more appeare emptie in you, as in manie sonnes of distrust, who delaying from day to day to be conuerted vnto our Lord, taken away by vnexpected death, in a moment descend to hel.

17. These are the points,* 1.753 which they that by the instinct of God are cal∣led out of the boysterous waues of this world to the quiet hauen of Religion, ought seriously to consider. For what is the drift of this pretence of taking aduise, or making some trial of ourselues, but a colour and shadow to cloake and hide the snares which the Diuel layes for vs, and the secret loue of the world, which we are loath openly to acknowledge, to the end we may be long in leauing that, which we leaue vnwillingly? which is scarce credible, how dangerous a thing it is; for nothing is more easie, then at last neuer to for∣sake that, which we are so loath to part with. And they that doe so willingly accept of delayes, let them giue eare to S. Bernard, a man of no meane vn∣derstanding and experience in these things. Let them hearken to what he sayth to one Romanus a Subdeacon of the Court of Rome, and make account, that he speaketh to themselues: Why dost thou delay to bring forth the spirit of saluation,* 1.754 which thou hast so long agoe conceaued? Among men, nothing is more certain then death, nothing more vncertain then the howre of death; for it wil come like a theef in the night.

Woe to them that shal be great with child in that day. If it come vpon them, and preuent this wholesome child∣birth, alas! it wil break through the house, and extinguish the holie yong impe. For when they shal say, Peace and securitie, then suddain ruine wil come vpon them, as the paynes of a child-bearing woman, and they shal not escape. O therefore make haste, get away, depart, let thy soule dye the death of the iust, that thy latter things also may be like to theirs, O how pretious in the sight of our Lord is the death of his Saints!* 1.755 Fly, I beseech thee, stand not in the way of sinners. How canst thou liue, where thou darest not dye? And againe the same S. Ber∣nard writing to another, that had asked a yeare's respit to make an end of his studies, speaketh thus vnto him: I beseech thee, lay thy hand vpon thy hart, and reflect that the terme of thy yeare, which to the iniurie of God thou hast taken respit in, is not a yeare pleasing to God, nor to please him in, but a sower of discord, a feeder of anger, and a nourisher of Apostasie, a yeare to extinguish spirit, to shut out grace, to bring thee into that luke-warmnes, which is wont to prouoke God to vomit.

Of a temptation rising from our Parents and Kindred. CHAP. XXXIV.

BEHOLD an other engine which the Diuel makes vse of against a Religious vocation, grounded in the tender affection which euerie one beares naturally towards his kindred; which S. Hierome fitly tearmeth the Ramme,* 1.756 or a warlick instrument to batter downe Pietie and deuotion; for it hath two parts, as it were two hornes, wherewith it endeauoureth to shake and beate downe this rampire of Saluation. The one is the natural loue which they of whom we are borne, and they that are borne with vs of the same Stock, doe clayme as it were by right. The other comprehendeth al the wayes which Kindred is wont to vse, to turne a man's resoluti••n from so holie a purpose, by praying, by entreating, by teares, by ar∣gument, by laying load vpon reasons concerning their house, and familie, and twentie such other deuises.

2. Against this suttle and withal vehement and strong temptation of the Ene∣mie (for both concurre in this,* 1.757 which is seldome seen in others) it behoueth vs to be armed, and first to be throughly possessed, and to hold it as an infallible Ma∣xime, that when once we are assured, that it is the wil of God that calleth vs to Religion, what way soeuer we come to be assured of it, whatsoeuer afterwards offers itself vnto vs to diuert vs, or draw vs from that vocation, cannot come but from the Diuel. Wherefore whatsoeuer our parents, friends, or kinsfolk, or anie bodie els (for it is alone who they be) say or doe in this kind, we must giue them the hearing, and make account of al, as coming out of his shop, that layeth wayte for al; but as a cunning theef, is there most watchful and diligent, where the bootie is greater,* 1.758 and of whom it is written: His food is the elect. For oftimes whom he hath not been able by himself to conquer, he hath conquered by these kind of smoother instruments, as making their way more easily into our breasts. And it is an ancient deuise of the Diuel, which fel too wel out with him in our first father Adam.* 1.759

For what importeth it (as S. Augustin speaketh to this verie point) whether in a wife, or in a mother, so that Eue be she that we must beware-of in euerie wo∣man? For this shaddow of pietie comes from the leaues of that tree, with which our forefathers did first couer their nakednes out of a most damnable pietie. Climacus therefore is in the right,* 1.760 when he sayth: It is better to contristate our parents, then to contristate our Sauiour IESVS. He created vs, he redeemed vs; they by their loue haue often been the destruction of their beloued. The loue of God, and the holie desire of him, extinguisheth in a soule the carnal loue of parents: but he that imagineth that both these loues can be shut-vp togeather in one hart, deceaueth himself. Let not the teares of thy kindred moue thee, least thou bring vpon thyself euerlasting teares, while thy parents and kinsfolk compasse thee round like bees, or rat••••e•• like waspes, weeping and lamenting, that so thou mayst ouer∣come grief with grief.

Thus sayth Climacus.

3. Yet because they, that are ignorant and vnlearned, pleade in this case

the law of Nature, and the commandment of God, willing vs to honour our parents, let vs see, what force this their argument hath. And first, we must suppose as a principle of Diuinitie,* 1.761 in which al agree, that in this kind of busines we owe no obedience at al to our Parents; and Diuines giue three reasons of it. The first we may take out of S. Thomas, where he sayth, in that which belongs to the nature of the bodie, al men are equal among themselues; a seruant is not inferiour to his maister, nor a child to his pa∣rent, meaning, for example of corporal necessities, generation, and the like; from whence he concludes, that no man can in reason be compelled either to marrie, or to liue a single life, for other mens, or his owne fa∣ther's pleasure And Aristotle deduceth the same out of the grounds of nature; for hauing disputed at large the obligation which children haue towards their parents,* 1.762 in the end he putteth this question: whether in al occasions they must so liue in obedience to them, as it can neuer be lawful for them to de∣part from it? and answereth, that they are not bound in al. For if a child be sick, he must obey the Physician rather then his Father, in that which concernes his health; and in like manner, the General of the field, in that which belongs to the lawes of armes.

4. If anie bodie alleadge the commandment of the Law,* 1.763 willing vs to honour our Parents; we answer as S. Augustin did to the Heretick Adaman••us, who grew to that heighth of impietie, that he was not ashamed to slander the Ghos∣pel, as if it were contrarie to the Old Law in this point. For he answe∣reth, that we must both honour our parents, and yet without anie impietie may contemne them,* 1.764 to preach the Kingdome of heauen, because we must honour them in their rank and degree; but when that honour stands in compe∣tencie with the loue of God, specially if Parents hinder that loue, then we must neglect it and shake it off.

5. A second reason is,* 1.765 because the power which parents haue ouer their chil∣dren, being a participation of the authoritie which God hath ouer them, from whom, as the Apostle speaketh, al paternitie is deriued, it is but as the power of a deputie or delegate. Wherefore if God command one thing, and a Parent an other,* 1.766 who can make anie question, but the power and iurisdiction of a parent ceaseth, because it is contrarie to the wil of him that gaue that power? For it is as if a King should place a Steward of his house-hold, or a Gouernour in a towne, and that Officer should command one thing, and the King t••e con∣trarie, by obeying the King's Officer, a man should be a rebel and disloyal to the King. Vpon which ground S. Bernard in the Epistle which he put his hand to, for one Helias a Monk of his Monasterie, to his parents, sayth thus: The onlie cause,* 1.767 why it may not be lawful to obey our parents, is God. For he sayth:

Who loueth father or mother more then me, is not worthie of me. But if as good and vertuous parents you loue me, if you carrie towards your sonne a faithful pietie,* 1.768 wherefore doe you disqu••et me, when I seeke to please the Father of al, who is God? why doe you labour to with-draw me from the seruice of him, whom to serue, is to raigne? Truly now I know that the ene∣mie•• of man are his domesticals.* 1.769 In this I ought not to obey you; in this I acknowledge you not to be my parents, but my enemies.

* 1.7706. A third reason is, because if we cast our accounts right, and summe-vp al duties and the heads of them, which we owe to our parents, we shal find, that in comparison of God, we haue receaued litle or nothing from them. For wheras Man is a compound of soule and bodie, parents haue no hand at al in bestowing our soule vpon vs, which is notwithstanding the best part of vs, and in a manner al in al. For our soule is wholy created by God, and neither man nor Angel can possibly come neer the effecting of it, by al the power they haue. As for our bodie, if they had the whole framing of it a∣lone, yet we should not owe them much more, then if they had bestowed a garment vpon vs, or some kind of instrument to worke with, or a vessel to hold something in; for these are the seruices which the bodie doth for the soule, and truly not much more; rather in manie things it hindereth it, it troubleth it, it dulleth it; so that it hath not al that belongs to a perfect instrument, in the functions for which a soule needs it. Wherefore, as I sayd, though our parents had been the sole framers and giuers of our bodie, what were it? But indeed how litle of the bodie itself doe our parents giue vs' For if a man should spit vpon the ground, and God should presently of that spittle frame an image or some other thing, who should be sayd to be authour of that image? God, or he that by chance spet vpon the ground? For in like manner, God vseth the vnfashioned matter which falles from man, to fashion a bodie out of it: He fra∣meth it, he orders it, he makes the sinnewes of one part of it, the bones, the bloud, and the rest of the members, of another: and man is so farre from hauing anie hand in it, that he knowes not how, nor whether anie such thing be done at al; as we see euidently, be∣cause oftimes when they most desire children, they are farthest from hauing them.* 1.771 Which S. Augustin expresseth pleasantly in these words: While men beget, God createth.

For if thou createst, tel me what thy wife shal bring forth? and why doe I say: tel me thou? let her tel me, that knoweth not what she goeth with.

* 1.7727. Moreouer that litle which parents giue of their owne, they can∣not absolutly by right cal it their owne, because they haue it from God; and it is more God's then theirs. Holie Iob sheweth, that he vn∣derstood this very wel to be so, where he attributeth the framing of his whole bodie, and euerie part of it, so wholy to God, as if man had no hand in it, but that it was wholy round about, as he spea∣keth, formed by the hand and fi••gar of God. Hast thou not, sayth he, stroked me like milk,* 1.773 and curdled me as cheese? with bones and sinnewes thou hast ioyned me togeather, and thy visitation hath preserued my spirit. And an other Prophet: Thou art our father, and Abraham knew vs not; as who should say:* 1.774 what did Abraham giue vs, that we should owe him the name of a father? But our Lord and Sauiour himself doth expresse it in the fittest and weightiest tearmes: Doe not cal to yourselues a father vpon earth; for one is your Father,* 1.775 who is in heauen.

8. And though parents were the authours and giuers of al this, it reacheth no farther then this natural life, which scarce deserues the

name of life;* 1.776 and if there were no other but it, were not to be cal∣led life but death. The grace of God is that which giueth vs true life; and what hand had father or mother in giuing vs the grace of God? Did not our mother rather conceaue vs in sinne, as the Prophet Dauid com∣playneth, men condemned, before we were borne? Which seing we can not deny, he alone is our father, of whom we haue both our liues; him only we must thank for it, him only we must obey and hearken vnto, as to our father. Which is the ground of the aduise which S. Hierome giues to Furia, a noble Matron, in these words: Thy father wil be sorie, but Christ wil be glad.* 1.777 Thy familie wil lament, but the Angels wil giue thee the ioy. Let thy father doe what he wil, with his goods.

Thou are not his, whose thou art by generation, but whose thou art by regene∣ration; his, who redeemed thee at a deare rate, with his owne bloud. And it is not only lawful, but fitting, that euerie Religious man say to his parents that,* 1.778 which Helias (whom we mentioned before out of S. Ber∣nard) sayd to his, that were against him: What haue I from you but sinne and miserie? I acknowledge and confesse, that I haue this corruptible bodie from you, which I carrie with me, and this alone; can you not be contended, that yourselues being miserable, you haue brought me a miserable wretch into this miserie of the world? that being sinners, you haue begot me in sinne a sinner? that as I was borne in sinne, you haue bred me vp also in sinne? but enuying me also the mercie which I haue obtayned of him, that wil not the death of a sinner, you wil make me ouer and aboue the sonne of hel and perdition.

9. If we turne these things seriously in our mind, we shal easily maister that tendernes of affection, which is so natural towards flesh and bloud, when∣soeuer it shal stand betwixt vs and so great a good; but much more, if we duly consider that rigorous saying of our Sauiour:* 1.779 He that loueth father, or mother, more then me, is not worthie of me. Which, if we beleeue S. Bernard, is to be vnder∣stood thus,* 1.780 that to loue our kindred more then Christ, is for our kindred sake not to fulfil that which Christ, when he was in flesh, taught vs both by word and example.* 1.781 And it is not without great reason, that the infinit goodnes of God pas∣seth so seuere a doome vpon this fault. For we must imagin, as if there were two that did cal vpon vs both at once, Christ on the one side, our parents on the other: both of them lay before vs, what they haue deserued at our hands, but their cause is farre vnequal. That which God hath bestowed vpon vs, is infinitly of greater value, then that which our parents haue giuen vs, besides that they had it of God to giue vs, and so it falles out to be more truly indeed the guift of God. Both of them therefore inuite vs: God promiseth heauenlie things, things of in∣estimable weight, things that are most assured; they proffer earthlie things only, which indeed are of no value, neither is it in their power to giue them vs when they wil. God, though he should promise vs nothing els but himself, is himself beautie, goodnes, happines, honour, & worth itself, and of himself a large reward for al the paynes we can bestow. Wherefore, when we turne our backs to God, when we preferre the wil of an other before his wil, we doe him infi∣nit wrong. And what doome, what punishment doth he deserue, that is

not ashamed, that is not afraid to preferre a mortal man before God immortal, darknes before light, durt and ashes before heauen? A punishment doubtles then which there is none greater, a punishment most iust and most sutable to the fault committed: He is not worthie of me. Nothing can fal more heauie vpon man then to be reiected as vnworthie of the companie of his God, no pu∣nishment be more iust, then that he should be reiected, seing he had so litle re∣spect, as to preferre a creature before his Creatour, specially being inuited by him, and God offering himself so louingly vnto him.

* 1.78210. Let vs see therefore, what S. Gregorie prescribeth for the care of this so preiudicial an affection, and the euils, which, according as he declareth, rise of it.

There be manie, sayth he, that doe not only not couet other mens goods,* 1.783 but forsake also whatsoeuer they possessed in the world; they contemne themselues, they seeke not after the glorie of this pre∣sent life, they keep themselues off from these affections, and treade vnder foot almost al the prosperitie that smileth vpon them. And notwithstanding intangled yet in the bond of carnal affinitie, while they yeald indiscreetly to the loue of their kindred, oftimes they returne through affection to their alliance, to the things which they had ouercome euen with con∣tempt of themselues. And while they loue their carnal friends more then needs, drawne to outward things, they become diuided from the pa∣rent of their hart.What doe those therefore but walk in a net, hauing been loosened from this present world by the perfection of life which they had begun,* 1.784 but intangled againe in it by the inordinate loue of earthlie consanguinitie? This is the reason, why Truth itself saith: If anie one come to me,* 1.785 and doe not hate his father, and mother, and wife, and children, and brethren, and sisters, and moreouer his owne life, he cannot be my disciple. In which saying when after the hatred of our kindred he inferreth the hatred of our owne life, he euidently sheweth, that we are commanded to hate our kindred, as we are to hate ourselues; that drawing them to eternal things, and neglecting their carnal fauour, when it hindreth vs, we may learne to loue them with the art and temper of discretion, as it is fitting, and wholesomely to hate them, to the end hatred may learne so to rise by loue, that we may more truly loue them by hating them. For this cause it is sayd by Moyses: He that shal say to his father and to his mother, I know you not, and to his brethren, I am not acquainted with you,* 1.786 and haue not knowne their children; these haue kept thy speech, and thy couenant, and obserued thy iudgements. For he coueteth to be more familiarly acquainted with God, who for the loue of pietie desires not to know those, with whom he was before carnally acquain∣ted. For the knowledge of God is to our great preiudice much dimi∣nished, if it be diuided by carnal acquaintance. A man must therefore seuer himself from his kindred and alliance, if he wil be truly vnited with the Father of al; to the end that whom he couragiously neglecteth for God, he may loue them the more solidly, the more he is vnacquainted with the soluble affection of carnal coniunction.

Al this is out of S. Gregorie, and much more to the like effect, concluding in the end, that though this natural affection tempts vs and presse

vs hard sometimes, it is notwithstanding to be kept downe, and the way of vertue not to be forsaken for it. And to expresse it, bringeth a similitude out of holie Scripture of the two Cowes, which drew the wayne, in which the Arke of God was carried home;* 1.787 for they lowed after their calues which were shut vp at home from them, and yet went on, declining neither on the right hand nor on the left.

So, sayth he, it is necessarie, that they march, who hauing put their neck vnder the yoak of the holie Law, carrie ••ow the Ar•••• of God by internal knowledge; condo••ing the necessities of their kindred, and yet not declining from the way of vprightnes which they haue begunne.

11. We must needs grant, that al this is both truly and excellently wel spoken by S. ••regorie; yet because the temptation is violent and dangerous, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 we see that manie runne hazard in it, and some also sometimes doe ••al, let vs 〈◊〉〈◊〉 some more quick admonitions concerning it, not of our owne, but of such a•• 〈◊〉〈◊〉 as haue been both admirably eloquent, and are to this day venerable for sanctitie and authoritie in the whole Church of God. S. Hierome shall be foremost, who in his Epistle to Heliodorus hath this weightie saying:* 1.788 Hearken to the proclama∣tion which thy King doth make: He tha•• is not with me, is against me: and he that gathereth not with me, scattereth.

Remember the day of thy imolmert, when buried with Christ in Baptisme, thou tookest thy oath in the Sacrament, that thou wouldst not spa••e father, nor mother, for his name. Behold the enemie laboureth to kil Christ in thy breast. Behold the camp of thy aduer∣sarie sigheth after the pay which thou receauedst, when thou were pressed. Though thy litle nephew hang about thy neck, though thy mother with her hayre loosse about her eares, and tearing her cloathes, shew thee her breasts at which she nursed thee, though thy father lay himself downe vpon the threshold, passe by them, treading on thy father, with drie eyes, escape to the standard of the Crosse. It is the onlie kind of pietie, to be in this cruel. There wil come, there wil come heerafter a day, when thou shalt returne conquerour into thy countrie, when thou shalt enter the heauenlie Hierusalem crowned like a man that hath been valiant. I know wel enough with what kind of fetters thou wilt say thou art hindered. I haue not a breast of iron, nor a hart that is hardned. I also haue passed by these things. Now thy forlorne sister hangeth vpon thee with her tender armes; now thy home borne seruants with whom thou hast been br••d til this day, say vnto thee: To whom dost thou now leaue vs to serue? Now she that was thy nurse, loaden with yeares, and thy foster-fa∣ther next in natural pietie to thy owne father, cryeth: To whom dost thou leaue vs now, we are readie to dye? The loue of Christ, the feare of hel fire doth easily breake these irons. But the Scripture on the other side commandeth vs to obey our parents. But againe whosoeuer loueth them aboue Christ ••ee••••th his owne soule. My enemie holdeth his sword at me to kil me, and shal I think of my mo∣thers teares? Shal I forsake the warre-fare of Christ for my father, whom for Christ I owe not so much as the burial, which I owe vnto euerie bodie for Christ?* 1.789 Peter by his feareful manner of aduising, was a scandal to our Lord when he was to suffer. Paul answered his Brethren, that with-held him from going vp to Hierusalem▪* 1.790 What make yee weeping, and troubling my hart?

For I am readie not only to be bound, but to dye in Hierusalem for the name of our Lord I••SVS CHRIST▪ This warlike ••a••une of pietie, by which Faith is shaken, must be

deaded with the rampire of the Ghospel:* 1.791

These are my mother and my brethren, Whosoeuer do the wil of my Father who is in heauen. If they beleeue Christ, let them be on my side, when I am to fight for Christ; If they beleeue him not, let the dead burie their dead.

Iudiciously spoken by S. Hierome, and specially in that he concludeth, that they that beleeue in Christ wil alwayes be readie to fauour anie bodie, that is going to the seruice of Christ: and consequently they that do not only not fauour such a busines, but hinder it, and diuert and stay people by al the deuises they can from it, what followeth, but that they do not beleeue at al, or scarce beleeue in him?

* 1.79212. Let vs heare, how S. Augustin with no lesse eloquence, and with equal weight of reason doth presse his friend Laetus to the contempt of the world.

For af••er a long discourse he sayth thus: Let not parents be angrie that our Lord com∣mandeth vs to hate them,* 1.793 seing the like is commanded vs of our owne life; for a•• heer it is commanded of our life, that we hate it with our parents, for Christ, so that which the same our Lord sayth in an other place, of our life, may fitly also agree to parents.* 1.794 Who loueth, sayth he, his life, shal leese it. For I wil also boldly say: Who loueth his parents, shal leese them. Behold the desire of the knowledge of truth, and of learning the wil of God in the holie Scriptures, hath seazed thy hart; the office of preaching the Ghospel doth draw thee. Our Lord beareth vp the dru••••e to the end we should watch in the camp; to the end we should build a towre, from which we may ouerlooke▪ and chase away the enemie of life euerlasting The heauenlie trumpet calleth the souldier of Christ into the field; and ••hal a mother stay him? And what doth she say, what doth she alleadge? Perhaps the ten months, in which thou didst burden her womb, and the paynes of child birth, and the labour of bringing thee vp. Kil with this wholesome word, kil and destroy the faire speeches of thy mother, that thou mayst find her in life euerlasting. Remember that thou hate this in her, if thou louest her, if thou be a yong souldier of Christ, if thou hast layd the foundation of the tower; for this is but a carnal affection, and soundeth yet of the old man. The seruice of Christ exhorteth vs to kil this carnal affection in ourselues and in our kindred: and yet not so, that anie bodie ought to be vngrateful towards his parents, and scorne the benefits, by which he was borne into this life, and bred vp and main∣tayned, when they are reckoned vp vnto him: Let him obserue rather pietie eue∣rie where. These take place, where greater things cal vs not away. The Church our Mother, is mother also to our mother. The Church conceaued vs of Christ; she was in labour with vs in the bloud of Martyrs she brought vs forth into euer∣lasting light; she nursed vs with the milk of faith, and doth stil maintayne vs, pre∣paring more solid food for vs, and trembleth to see that you wil be yet crying ••••ke little-ones w••••hout teeth. This mother spred throughout the whole world, is molested with so manie seueral annoyances of errours, that her children, now abortiues, stick not to wage cruel warre against her. By the rechlesnes also and sluggishnes of some that she holds in her bosome, she greeues to feele her ••immes grow cold in manie places, & to be lesse fit to cherish her little ones. Frō whence therefore shal the looke for such help as is due and reasonable, but frō other chil∣dren, from other mēbers of hers, of which number thou ar•• one? Wilt thou there∣fore turne to carnal words, forsaking her necessities? doth not her complaint sound more lamentably in thy eares? doth not she shew thee bowels that are more

deare, breasts that are heauenlie?

Thus speaketh S. Augustin, are much more to the same effect, which whosoeuer desireth to reade, may find in him.

13. We wil passe to S. Bernard,* 1.795 as copious and eloquent as the former two, vpon the like subiect. For thus he writeth to one Gualterus a famous learned mā.

What shal I answer thee to this? that thou leaue thy mother? it seemes to be vnnatural, that thou stay stil with her? but neither is this good for her, that she should be the destruction of her owne sonne. Perhaps, that thou serue the world, & Christ also? But no mā can serue two maisters. Thy mother desires that which is cōtrarie to thine, & consequently to her owne saluation. Choose therefore which thou wilt of the two either to stand for the wil of one, or for the saluation of both. But if thou loue her dearely, forsake her rather, least if thou forsake christ to stay with her, she also perish for thee; otherwise she that brought thee sorth, hath deserued little at thy hands, if she perish for thy sake; doth she not perish for thy sake, if she kil him whō she brought forth? And th••s I say to condescend in some measure & to haue some respect to thy carnal affection. But it is a faithful speech, and worthie of al acceptance, that though it be impious to contemne thy mother, yet to contemne her for Christ, is an act of greatest pietie. For he that sayth: Honour thy father and mother; he also sayd: Who loueth father or mother more then me, is not worthie of me.

And thus much out of the ancient Fathers.

14. But no exhortation can be of more force, nor more worthie to be hearke∣ned vnto,* 1.796 then the exāple of our Sauiour Christ, who though he had so worthie a mother, would notwithstāding remayne three dayes without her in Hierusalem, to execute that wh••ch was his Father's. This was a preamble to that which after∣ward he did in elder yeares, when he left to dwel and conuerse with her, that he might wholy giue himself to the seeking of mens saluation; wherin when once he was employed, and word was brought him, that his mother was without, ex¦pecting, he answered:* 1.797 Which is my mother, and who are my brethren? Finally, which is most considerable of al the rest, he chose to suffer death before her face; to teach vs by al these passages of his life, that we must not for respect to our carnal kin∣dred, forgo the studie of vertue and perfection.

15. And how forcible this his example ought to be with al, hath been particu∣larly declared vnto vs, by that which hapned to one Albertus, a yong man borne in ••ermanie, of noble extraction, for he was sonne to the Count of Falkenburg & allyed to the King of France; and being sent vnto him, to be brought vp at Paris with the sonnes of that King, he chose rather he heauenlie warrefare, and caused himself to be inrolled into the Order of S. Dominick, which was then in a manner newly begun, about the yeare of our Lord One thousand two hundred & thirtie. When this newes was brought to his father, though he were now an ancient man, he could not contayne himself, but came instantly post to Paris with a great retinue, & vsed al the endeauours and al the art he could, to ••••ake this resolution of his sonne (for he was his onlie sonne) but al in vayne, the loue of God hauing hardned the hart of the yong man against al carnal loue, and al he ••ayre promises and allotements his father could inuent. But 〈◊〉〈◊〉 was not an end; for he had yet a stronger combat with one Theodorick a cosen German of his, who pearced with greef vpon this accident, vsed al meanes possible to weaken the purpose of his yong cofen, by teares, by entreaties, by argument, by putting him in mind of his mothers loue and greef, telling him that she was now either dead, or vpon

the point of death for sorrow. It hapned that they were ••itting right before an Image of our Sauiour Crucified, his mother standing on the one side, and S. Iohn on the other.

Albert therefore fixing his eyes vpon that picture, and pointing at it with his fingar, spake thus to Theodorick: Behold Cosen, the Sonne of God, when he saw his mother and his cosen German, both of them so deare vnto him as you know they were, pearced with the sword of greef, would not yet come downe from the Crosse, though he could easily haue done so but to his owne and their excessiue torment remayned in it til death. Wherefore, I also wil neuer for∣goe this Crosse of a Religious life to which I haue climed, though I should see both my mother whom you tel me of, and you my Cosen german to fal downe dead at my feete: Rather, Cosen, come you also vpon this Crosse with me, and make off the snares and fetters of this world, in which you stand intangled with such infinit danger.

What hapned? This seruent speach of the yong man struck so deep, that Theodorick resolued presently to forsake the world, and entred into the same Order of S. Dominick, the whole cittie standing amazed at it, so much the more, because he was wonderfully giuen before to the humours of this world, and al kind of vanitie.

* 1.79816. That which S. Antoni••e relateth in this kind is no lesse admirable. In the same cittie of Paris, a famous Doctour entred into the Order of S. Francis. His mo••her, that was a very poore woman and in no smal want, among other good offices which the had done him, had maintayned him at his booke by the labour of her hands. She therefore with manie teares, and much crying-out, began to lament her losse, and the miserie she was brought vnto by the entrance o•• her sonne into Religion,* 1.799 and stuck not to taxe her sonne, and al the Fathers of that Order, as people that dealt vnnaturally, and very vniustly with her. Her sonne being troubled with these her clamours, began to s••agger in his resolu∣tion; and praying before a Crucifix, and as it were asking leaue that he might go out againe to releeue his mother, he saw as it were the bloud springing out of our Sauiour's side, and withal heard this voyce: I maintayned thee at a dearer rate then thy mo••h••r; wherefore thou must not forsake me for thy mother. Wherewith astonished, and withal strengthned, he quite stopped his eares to al the entrea∣tings and complaints his mother could euer after make.

Against them that hinder their children or kinsfolk from Religion CHAP. XXXV.

HItherto we haue done our best endeauour to encourage them that are called to a Religious course of life, and to put hart into them to with∣••tand the importunitie of their kindred. It remayneth that we say so∣m••thing, whereby parents and kinsfolk on the other side, may be kept off from vsing such importunitie. For so, as in a battaile, the one armie being

weakened,* 1.800 and the other reinforced, the victorie wil be the more allu••ed. And what can anie man say more forcible to keepe them off, then that wittingly, or vnwittingly they fight in verie deed against God himself; a warre both impious, and that which must needs follow, fatal to themselues? For without al doubt to impugne the counsel of God, to destroy that which he doth build, to scatter that abroad which he doth gather, to cut off the souldiers which he doth mu••ter vn∣der his Colours, is nothing els, but to ioyne in league with the Diuel, and to wage warre against God; which, as I sayd, is both an enormous offence, and to them that are so bold as to attempt it, infinitly preiudicial. And accordingly God doth very often shew, how highly he is displeased with this sinne, by strange and most euident punishments.

2. Pontianus bondslaue to a cruel barbarous maister as S. Gregorie of Tours re∣counteth, inflamed with the loue of God,* 1.801 fled into a Monasterie. His maister re∣demanded him with wonderful importunitie, & he could not be denyed, becau∣se he challēged that which was his owne, but suddenly he was strucken blind; and acknowledging the hand of God in it, was maruelously sorie for his fault, and easily gaue his consent, that though the man was his slaue, he might remaine where he was in the seruice of God; yet notwithstanding receaued not his sight againe, til Pontianus had layd his hands vpon him, that the cause of his blindnes might be the more apparent:* 1.802 And yet, as I sayd, the man required but that which was iust and reasonable. For as S. Thomas and Diuines agree, a slaue cannot be taken from his seruice without his Maister's consent; yea though he make his profession in Religion, it is voyd and of no force, how soeuer inuiolable that bond of vow is in other cases. If therefore God were so much offended, for the rede∣manding of a slaue, and shewed his anger by so greeuous a punishment, haue we not reason to think he wil be much more offended, if a man hinder his kinsman, or his brother, or a father his owne child from Religion, hauing, for as much as concernes this point, no power at al ouer him?

3. S. Ambrose,* 1.803 so worthie an author, relateth of a yong Gentlewoman (that was then yet liuing when he wrote the relation) noble, as he sayth, in the world, but much more noble in God, that flying to the Altar, out of the desire she had to liue a Religious life, her kindred were much against it, and pressed her to the cō∣trarie, offering her a great marriage, and promising mountaines of wealth and worldlie commodities; but she remayned constant and vnmoueable. Wherupon one of them more bold them the rest, spake ru••••ly vnto her in this manner Wha•••• if thy father were now liuing, dost thou think he would suffer thee to liue vnmarried? Perhaps, sayth she, he therefore dyed, that he might not hinder me. And not long af∣ter, this man dyed, and euerie one was so fully perswaded, that he was taken away for this his importunitie, that the rest fearing what might happen to them∣selues, began to farther her in her request, though before they had laboured so much against it.

4. But that which S. Hierome recounteth in his Epistle to ••aeta, is yet more ter∣rible;* 1.804 and these are his verie words:

Praetexta••a, in her time a noble Matron, by commandment of her husband Hymetius, who was vncl•• ••y the father's side to the Virgin Eustochium, changed her apparel, and wearing, and kembed after the fashion of the world her hayre, which she had neglected, cou••ting to ouercome both the resolution of the Virgin, and the desire of the mother. And behold the

same night she sees in her sleep an Angel, that came vnto her, threatning with a terrible voyce to punish her, and breaking forth into these words: Were thou so bold as to preferre the commandment of thy husband before Christ? How durst thou handle the head of the virgin of God with thy sacrilegious hands? which euen now shal wither, that thus tormented thou mayst feele what thou hast done, and the fift month being ended thou shalt be carried to hel.

And if thou perseuer in thy wicked fact, thou shalt be bereaued both of thy hus∣band and of thy children. Al this in order, as it was told her, was fulfilled, and speedie death signed and sealed the late repentance of the miserable woman. So doth Christ reuenge the profaners of his temple; so doth he defend his iewels and precious ornaments. This is the relation of S. Hierome.

5. And we might bring manie like examples of later yeares; but what can we bring more substantial to our purpose then this which we haue sayd, or out of a more substantial authour? Wherefore it cannot be denied, but this kind of sinne hath been alwayes almost reuenged by God with present and greeuous punishments. So that we see the saying of the Apostle fulfilled also in this: If anie one violate the Temple of God, God wil destroy him. For if this be true of a temple of stone,* 1.805 dedicated to his Diuine Maiestie, how much more true wil it be in a deuout Soule, which is a Temple farre more holie and more deare to God? Wherefore if parents be so eager vpon this busines, because they loue their children▪ and think it hard to want them, they must consider that they cannot doe their children, whom they loue so deerly, more harme in anie thing▪ and consequently that it is not loue but hatred; and if they doe it for their owne comfort and solace in this life, they haue iust cause to feare, first least they offend God, and secondly least they sayle of that comfort and benefit which they seeke.

* 1.8066. And we shal not greatly wonder, that God doth so severely punish this offence, if we consider the greeuousnes of it, which S. Anselme layeth open before vs in one of his Epistles in these words: If he that separateth the pre∣tious from the base, that is, a soule from the world, be as the mouth of God: ••e, whose mouth and hand draweth out a soule, that adhereth to God, to the world, what shal he be? Shal not that fal vpon him: which our Lord sayth: He that gathereth not with me, scatte••eth: and he that is not with me, is against mee? And S. Chrysostom laying load vpon this offence, reckoneth how manie degrees of malice this one sinne contayneth. The first degree of malice against our neighbour, sayth he, is to neglect the beast or ca••tle of our enemie, if they chance to stray, or fal into the mire; and this carelesnes was forbidden by the law of God. The second, not to releeue our enemies themselues, if they be in want. The third, to contemne our neighbour, if ••e be a stranger. The fourth, to contemne those that are of our acquaintance. The fift, to neglect not the bodies only, but the soules of our Brethren that are perishing. The sixt, to neglect our children that are in distresse. The seauenth, neither to looke after them o••••selues, not to get others to doe it. The eight, to hinder them that offer themselues to help them. The ninth, not only to hinder them, but volun∣tarily to oppose their saluation. Behold to what height of malice and crueltie in S. Iohn Chrysostom's op••nion, this preposterous loue of parents doth bring them, that thinking to doe their children a pleasure, they become pa••••icides, and cōmit

so much the more barbarous murther vpon them, as the life of the soul is better then the life of the bodie.* 1.807 Against which crueltie S. Bernard doth deseruedly ex∣claime in this manner:

O hard-harted father, ô cruel mother, ô barbarours & im∣pious parēts, yea not parents but pe••ēptorie man-killers, whose sorrowes are the safetie of their children; whose comfort, their destruction; who had rather I should perish with them, then raigne without them. ô strange abuse! The house is on fire, the flame ••ingeth my back; and when I am flying, I am forbidden to go out; when I am escaping away, they perswade me to returne. And they perswade me that remayne in the fire, and out of obstinate madnes, and mad obstinacie, wil not shunne the danger. O furie! fye vpon it. If you slight your owne death, why do you desire mine? If, I say, you care not for your owne saluation, what auay∣leth it you to persecute mine? why do not you rather follow me that am flying, that you may not burne? doth it ease your payne, if you kil me with you? and is this your onlie feare, least you perish alone What comfort can he that burneth, afford them that burne? What comfort, I say, is it to the damned, to haue fellowes of their damnation? or what remedie is it for them that die, to see other dying?

7. Parents therefore,* 1.808 to the end that by opposing the wholesome counsels of th••ir children, they may not fal into these mischie••es which S. Bernard layeth before vs (and that which I say of parents, al friends, and kinsfolk, and al others must take as spoken to themselues) let them duly weigh these considerations and arme themselues with them, as also by the heroical examples of such as haue not only couragiously borne the losse of their children,* 1.809 but reioyced in it for the loue of God. Let them set before their eyes first that noble mother of the Mac∣chab••es, which in one howre lost not one or two, but seauen sonnes; and did not leese them so as they stil remayned aliue, though separated from her, as in Reli∣gion, but saw them torne in peeces before her eyes, and taken from her by most barbarours torments. And yet what sayd she, what manner of exhortation did she vse vnto them? She exhorted euerie one of them, as the Scripture speaketh, stoutely, in her countrey-language, filled with wisedome, and instilling manlie courage to her wom••nish thought, sayd vnto them: I know not how you appeared in my womb, and as followeth, al ful of noble aduertisements.

8. S. Felicitas in the New Testament patterned her vertue;* 1.810 and as S. Gregorie dis∣courseth, hauing as manie sonnes as the other, She did feare in leaue them behind her in flesh, as much as carn•••• parents are wont to feare, l••ast by death they should send them before them. And the mo••her of Mel••thon may be ranked with them; for he being one of the fourtie Martyrs, and the yongest among thē, in the prime of his youth, she seing ••im lye w••••h his thighs broken in peeces and yet aliue, exhorted him to cōstācie; & moreouer when the rest were catted away, she tooke him vp vpō her shoulders, & following the catt, put him with his cōpanions when he was dead.

9. What shall I say of Abr••hā,* 1.811 who did not, as these women not hinder the put∣ting to death of his sonne by the hand of another, but vpon the commandment of God did not stick with his owne hands to put his sonne to death, and the sonne which was al the hope he had of posteritie? This is a resolution which beseems a faithful man, specially a Christian: This is constancie required in the Ghospel, to desire rather that our children obey God then ourselues; not, as we see now the fashion is, to diuert them, and by al the craft and deuises possible to peruert them, when they are going, not to death, but to life, and to a farre more

pleasant life, and to think they haue done a great exployt, if by what meanes soeuer they can, they ouerthrow a man's resolution, that is aspiring to Religious perfection.

* 1.81210. Anna Mother to Samuel did not so, but after manie yeares of sterilitie ha∣uing receaued a sonne, offered him glad and ioyful in the Temple when he was but three yeares old. And God did not suffer himself to be ouercome by her in liberalitie, but for one sonne gaue her manie, as it were the interest-money of that one which she had lent him.

* 1.81310. Paula that famous Roman Matron, was in the light of the Ghospel not in∣feriour vnto her. S Hierome doth high••y extol her, because the desire which she had to see her country was only to the end the might see her sonne, her daughter in law, her grandchild that had renounced the world, to serue Christ, which in part the obtayned.* 1.814 Such also was (as we read) the mother of S. Bonauenture; for she vowed him to ••h•• Order of S. Fran••••s when he was yet but an infant, and he fulfilling that vow o•• hers, became so great a man as we know he was. The l••ke hapned to S. Andrew Bishop of Fie••ols,* 1.815 a very holie man: for his parents hauing no c••••ldren, had made a vow that if God would send them a sonne, they would offer him to the Order of the Carm••lit-Friars; and they had this Andrew; but when he came to yeares, misled by the libertie and licentiousnes of this world, he h••d quite other thoughts in his head, but that his mother, beyond her sex and the affections of a mother, wonne him by her counsel and earnest exhortations, to de∣dicate himself to God in the flowre o•• his youth.

11. I mu••t confesse there be but ••ew examples of this nature (men are so weake in this point) ••et those that are, are sufficient to moue anie man liuing: and parti∣cularly that which we read of S. Bernards mother,* 1.816 which also in reason ought to weigh the more with vs, because the was dead, and in heauen, and could not be deceaued in her iudgement. It is recorded therefore, that when he began to think of leauing the world, and laboured withal to draw as manie of his bre••hren and kinsfolk as he could to the same resolution, a yonger brother of his called Andrew, of a fierie spirit, as yong so••ldi••rs vse to be, shewed himself wonderful backward 〈…〉〈…〉 altered vpon a heauenlie Vision, he cryed out: I see my mother. For 〈…〉〈…〉 mother, with a pleasing and cheerful countenance, giuing her children the io•• vpon so wholesome a del••beration; and he was not alone that saw her 〈◊〉〈◊〉 S. Bernard also. And if she had been aliue at that time she would haue done no 〈◊〉〈◊〉, for they write of her that she was so deuout a woman, that she did alwayes presently offer her children to God in the Church, so soone as they were borne, and brought them vp euer after as if she had not bred them for the world, but for Religion. And yet parents may learne by her, of what opinion they shal be in this matter after death, when they shal see playnly before their e••es the eternitie of the life to come, and how quickly al things passe away in this world. How wil they then lament and bewayle themselues, if they haue been the cause that a sonne of daughter of theirs hath fallen from so great a good into so great in seri•••• 〈◊〉〈◊〉them therefore do that now while they are hee••, which they would certainly do, if they were suffered, as fine was, to returne from that life to giue aduise to their children, since they must as certainly beleeue the things of the other life, as 〈◊〉〈◊〉 they had seen them with their eyes.

12. Finally, if they desire that we apply some kind of cure to themselues, to

strengthen them on this opposition of the flesh against the spirit,* 1.817 they may con∣sider these ••ew things following; First that when they offer one or two or more of their children to God, in truth they giue him nothing of their owne, but make restitution vnto him of that which was his before. For as we aduised children before, to the end to ouercome the natural loue to their parents, to think with themselues, how final a thing it is which they receaue from them, so, to the end that parents also be not ouercome with too much affection towards their children, and that they may with more ease and more cheerfully offer them to God, it behooueth them to remember, that they are not theirs, but God's, in a māner almost, as an image of stone, or wood, is not the grauing-iron's, nor a picture, the pen••••••s, but both the artificer's. So that when God redeman∣deth them, he vseth his owne right, and challengeth but his owne; and whosoeuer wil retayne them, retayneth an other's goods. which is a kind of theft,* 1.818 or rather Sacriledge, because that which he takes, is from God. For that which S. Gregorie sayth, he takes ••s true;

While vnaduisedly we hold them back, that are making hast to the seruice of Almightie God, we are found to denie him something, who grants vs al things.

13. This is that which the mother of the Macchabees, whom we spake of not long since, had before her e••es and made open profession of, when she en∣couraged herself and her children in these words:* 1.819 I did not giue you spirit, and soule, and life; nor did I knit toge••ther the limmes of euerie one of you; but the Crea∣tour of the world, who framed man's natiuitie, and found the beginning of al, and wil restore vnto you againe spirit, with mercie, and life, as now you neglect your s••lues for his lawes. And the same account al parents must make in the like occasion. For so they wil find that they wil leese nothing, by le••sing their children for the seruice of God.* 1.820 For thus they must reason with themselues: What should I do, if this child of mine should be taken from me by sicknes, or in the warres, or by some other accident of manie, which the life of man is dayly subiect vnto? Should I then also storme against God, by whose appointment al things hap••pen? How much better is it for him and me, that he liue in the house of God, in seruice of so great a Prince?

14. If it be the absence of their children that troubles them so much,* 1.821 that they enioy not ••he companie of them, whom they loue so deerly, first this is too effeminate and too womanish a kind of loue, not to be able to endure their ab∣sence, when it is so beneficial vnto them. Secondly, how manie be •••• ere, that vpon diuers occasions neuer see their children in manie yeares, either because they are marc••ant-venturers, or serue some where in the wa••••es, or beare office in the Common-wea••••h▪ and their parents are content they should be from th••m, preferring the benefit and commoditie of their children, before their priuate comfort?

14. Finally,* 1.822 the admonitions which S. Iohn Chrysostom giues vpon this sub∣iect, are worthier to be consi••ered, that seing people do, and suffer, so manie di∣uers things to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 great estates ••or their children, and to leaue them rich, they cannot leaue them better prouided, nor more wealthie, then if they bring them vp to Religion and true deuotion, for these are the riches which s••ick by a man al his life time, and after he is dead, and put their possessours in sa••eti•• and beyond al dāger. Besides that, a man is then most maister of his children, when he

giues them to God; for God is better able to gouerne and order them, and wil haue greater care ouer them. Wherefore if we make account that when a Prin∣ce takes one of our children from vs, and placeth him in some great office in the kingdome, it is a farre greater aduancement for him. then if he had been bred al the dayes of his life at home, and parents ordinarily do think themselues ho∣noured by it, and are glad of it; much more when God calleth anie of them to his seruice: And consequently parents ought to be very willing that anie of their children may serue in so heauenlie a seruice,* 1.823 not bringing them vp into the tem∣ple, as Anna did her Samuel, but as it were into heauen itself, there to be dedica∣ted to the diuine seruice with the Angels. For Religious people wayte vpon God with the Angels; in which respect also their parents themselues haue greater ho∣nour and happines by them, then if they had remayned in the world. Thus sayth S. Iohn Chrisostome, and is certainly in the right.

15. For if Christians haue that Faith and light in them, which their name ma∣kes shew of, they should not only not be sorrie, but greatly reioyce both in their sonnes behalf, and their owne, that God doth vouchsafe to do them so great a pleasure, as to take a child of theirs into his seruice, seing to serue him, is to raigne. For to seeke no further, wheras the AEgyptians anciently did worship a Cro∣codile for their God, if it had hapned at anie time, that anie of their children was deuoured by a Crocodile, they thought it a heynous offence, to shead so much as one teare for him, rather they made great signes of ioy, and were wont to make it a Holiday, as if they had receaued in it a great benefit. In what blindnes there∣fore is that Christian, that shal mourne if a child of his be called to the seruice of the true and liuing God, being called not to death, and so miserable a death, but to the happiest and pleasantest life that can be?

* 1.82416. Wherefore let vs giue eare to the wholesome and reasonable aduise of S. Basil:

Seing, sayth he, so great rewards are offered them that follow the warfare of Christ, let fathers willingly permit their sonnes, and mothers their daughters, to come to him and bring their children cheerfully themselues vnto him, and let them reioyce at the hope of immortal goods, wherof they shal be partakers togeather with their children, and endeauour to haue them their patrons in the sight of God. Let vs take heed, I beseech you, least we sh••w ourselues to be too streight-harted in this vnseasonable loue of our children; and let not the la∣bours fright vs, to which they seeme to go, but rather reioyce that they shal meete w••th so great glorie Let vs offer to God, that which we haue receaued of him, that we also may haue par•• of the glorie and commendation of our children, offe∣ring ourselues togeather with them.

For they that proceed in this cheerful manner,* 1.825 and perseuer thus constantly, may haue that of the Psalme fitly sayd of them: Blessed are you of our Lord, who made heauen and earth; and may pray as Moyses: Lord blesse their works; breake the pride of them, that haue resisted them.

An answer to them that say, they cannot know when it is a true vocation of God. CHAP. XXXVI.

THere remayneth yet a question and doubt, not vn∣like to that which we find propounded in the Psal∣me: Manie say who wil shew vs good things?* 1.826 And we may answer with that which followeth in that verie Psalme: The light of thy countenance, ô ••ord, is signed vpon vs. For we shal meete with some, that while they are breeding these wholesome purposes of a Religious life, perswade themselues that they are inwardly so disposed in mind towards God, that if they knew certainly his blessed wil, they would readily follow it; but they pretend, it doth no•• cleerly appeare vnto them, what his wil is. And some indeed say so from their hart, others take it as a colour to shadow their im∣perfection; because in verie truth it goes against the hayre with them, to breake with the world,* 1.827 and forsake the pleasures therof. Both must be in∣formed, that the calling of God, is not so secret and hidden a thing, but rather playne and casie to be vnderstood, wherof S. Bernard is witnes, who sayth thus: Most certainly the conuersion of soules, is the work of the voice of God, and not of man; and there needs no great labour to come to heare this voyce:

It is rather a labour to stop thy eares that thou mayst not heare it. For this voice offereth it self vnto vs, it presseth-in vpon vs, and ceaseth not to knock at euerie man's doore. For it is not only a voice of vertue, but a ray of light, shewing men their sinnes, and togeather lightning the hidden things of darknes.

2. Which testimonie of S. Bernard, is seconded by plaine and euident rea∣son; because God calling vs to the intent we should come vnto him, his calling were in vaine, vnlesse he called vs so, as we might vnderstand him. For what Maister, doth euer giue order to haue a thing done by his seruant, but he deliuereth his mind so, that he may be vnderstood by him? And they that teach in schooles, their busines being no other but to instruct and informe their schollars, must not only deliuer such things as their schollars may be capable of, but also in the manner of their deliuerie, they most frame themselues to their cōceit and abilities, and if need require, o••ten repeate the sa∣me things ouer and ouer againe, & explicate that which may seeme obscure vnto them; and if they proceed not in this manner, it is a fault in them, which fault cannot be in God And though this be most certain, yet I wil heer set dow••••cer∣tain rules and directions, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 may leade vs to the truth of this busines without danger of mistaking, if 〈◊〉〈◊〉 declare, what errours and dangers are to be auoyded in it.

* 1.8283. First therefore, wheras the setling of a man's self in a course, which must last al the dayes of his life, is one of the greatest businesses, which a man hath in this world, and which needeth best aduise, we see notwithstanding that commonly men carrie themselues more carelesly and ne∣gligently in this, then in anie other thing; though in anie other busines, if through negligence or ignorance the matter be mistaken, the losse reacheth no farther then that particular thing; wheras if we erre in this, the whole course and frame of our life must needs hang awry, this being as it were the hinge vpon which it must beare. And yet commonly men are so care∣lesse of this point, that they rush into what course of life soeuer comes next at hand by chance, or fal presently vpon that which the least occasion or hope of commoditie presents vnto them. Some carried with the streame▪ of the world, take the way which seemeth to leade most directly to honour or wealth, perswading themselues that, that is best, because commonly people are so perswaded. Others taking example by their parents, and fol∣lowing the principles which they instil into them, take the same course, which they haue done before them, and in that which they are borne, in that they continue al their life time; Which is al the reason which most men haue, why they apply themselues, some to the Law, others to the studie of Physick, others to serue at Court, or in the warres, or to traffick and marchand it; and to be short, there is so litle choice made, or aduise, and counsel taken in this busines, that it is an vsual thing among al sorts of men, to leape into that which is next, or which they take a phancie to, be it what it wil, or which some chance, or accident or other hath cast vpon them. Which rash and casual manner of procee∣ding makes that it is no wonder, to see most men repent themselues of the course of life which they haue vndertaken, or if they doe not re∣pent themselues, yet they fal into infinit errours by reason of it. Wheras if they would vnderstand what reason is,* 1.829 first when they come to yeares of discretion, or not long after, they should take leasure, to bethink them∣selues, and seriously to consider, what is the end of man for which he was created, to wit, for eternal glorie, and how this glorie is the thing which we must al seeke after; and wheras the seueral courses and occupations of this life, are not only necessarie for the vpholding of this common wealth of the world, but are wayes also to that eternal glorie, for which we are made, euerie one must make choice and enter vpon that w••••, which may best leade him to the final end of that eternal Beatitude, and may be most pleasing to our soueraigne Lord and God, which is the cheefest thing we ought to a••me at, and indeed the vpshot of al. For it is not the part of a seruant, such as we al are, nor can it belong vnto him, to enter vpon what place or office in his maister's house he wil himself, but to take that which his maister ordaineth for him. And this which euerie man ought to doe when he first comes to yeares, and in that crosse-way, as I may say, at which he then arriues, if he haue not done it then, and consequently haue fallen into some errour in the choice which he made of his course of life (if it be not such a state as matrimonie, or some other which cannot be altered, by reason of the obligation annexed vnto it) he must proceed, as in al

other errours, rather to correct them, then to goe further on in them: for it is better to be at some losse by going back againe, and sit downe with it, then by stil going forwards in our former errours, be farther and farther from remedying them.

4. Wherefore,* 1.830 to the end we may at first settle our estate as it ought, or afterwards take the right course in altering it, if anie alteration be to be made in it, first we must bring ourselues to an Indifferencie, and so quiet our mind, that we hang not more after one thing then after another, but desire meerly to fulfil the wil of God, what soeuer it be. For so it is the dutie of a good seruant to doe, as I sayd before; and if he carrie not himself in this manner, he cannot be sayd to seeke the wil of God, but his owne. But whosoeuer doth this, shal quickly see the heauens cleer of al cloudes, and receaue the light from God, which he desireth. And this is a rule which Climacus also prescribeth in these words:

In searching the wil of God,* 1.831 we must needs dispose ourselues so, as al our owne wil cease, and leane on neither side; for when it shal be wholy purged of al self-affection, then it wil be fit to receaue the inspirations of God.

5. Another rule is, that we must not in this busines desire or expect Re••uelations or Miracles,* 1.832 or anie extraordinarie signe or token aboue the course of nature; because God hauing giuen vs by nature an vnderstanding and the light of Reason, which togeather with Faith and the Grace of God doth sufficiently shew vs, what is fitting for vs to doe for saluation, his pleasure is, that we make vse of that light, and by it he speaketh and ma∣nifesteth vnto vs, what he wil haue vs to doe. Wherefore they mightily mistake themselues, who, when they aduise vpon these things, would haue an Angel come to them from heauen, or at least require some such signe of the wil of God, as may be altogeather vnquestionable. For we ought not to doe thus, nor desire anie thing beyond the ordinarie custome and manner of proceeding of God with men. And the manner of proceeding of God is, that though he assist vs with his light, it is the light of Faith, not of cleer sight, and consequently there remaineth something that is obscure in it. And S. Ignatius,* 1.833 the Father and Founder of our Order, was wont to say a thing which is both true and prudently obserued by him, and worthie to be noted, that, if we were to aske signes of God, we should rather aske them and desire more euident signes of his wil, to remaine in the world, then 〈◊〉〈◊〉 embrace the Euangelical Counsels. For our Sauiour himself hath euidently exhorted vs to his Counsels, and on the other side layd before vs as eui∣dently the excessiue dangers and difficulties which are in a secular state, and in wealth, and honour which the world is so greedie of; so that, if we wil conclude righ••, reuelations and extraordinarie tokens of his wil, are to be required rather, for a man to venture vpon the world, then to enter into Religion.

6. Moreouer,* 1.834 as our soule hath two powers; Wil and vnderstanding, so commonly there be two kinds of vocation; The one, when our wil is inflamed with the loue of a Religious life, and a man finds himself carried vnto it without stop or stay, or making any question of it, but goes on

with exceeding pleasure in thinking of it. The other, when our Vnder∣standing is enlightned, and therin we discouer the vanitie and dangers of this world, and see cleerly on the other side the quiet, the safenes, the vnualuable treasures of a Religious life, though perhaps our affection be somewhat dul, and not so readie to follow that which reason shewes vs. This second manner of vocation, to say the truth, is the better of the two; and more generally approued by those that are wise and experienced in these businesses, then the other which consistes only in a seruent motion of our wil; for being grounded in the light of Reason and Faith, it is lesse subiect to errour, and more like to last; and as they also obserue, more noble; because Reason and Vnderstanding, is that wherin man differs from a beast, and excelles al corporal creatures: Wheras the slownes and backwardnes of our wil may be holpen diuers wayes, and manie motiues and incitements there are to quicken it, if we reflect vpon them, and cast them seriously in our mind.

* 1.8357. By which also we may see, that they are likewise in an errour, that think they are neuer called of God, vnlesse they feele such extraordinarie motions towards Religion in their minds, that they burne with desire of it, and find themselues carried towards it, without anie trouble or difficultie. For the lu••••pish and earthlie condition of our nature, wil not suffer vs to moun•• so high, without labour and difficultie; and the Diuine wisedome, is not wont to destroy nature, but to help it; nor to kil our enemies outright, that we may haue no bodie to fight withal, but to giue vs grace and strength to ouercome by fighting, because this is a more beneficial for vs manie wayes, and more wholesome.

* 1.8368. Agreed therefore, that we must vse the discourse and iudgement which God hath giuen vs, thereby to find out his wil; the way and meanes which directours of spirit, tel vs we must take in it, is this: First, as I sayd, we must lay before vs the end, for which we were created, which is but one, to wit, by louing and seruing God, to come to euerlasting happines. Secondly, we must present to our consideration, al the courses of life which are sitting to be aduised vpon, and examine and search diligently into euerie one of them, what help, what inconuenience is in it, compared with the final end we ayme at, and resolue vpon that, which both in it self, and for vs, is absolutly the best; as they that are to take a iourney, choose the easiest, the shortest, and the most commodious wayes. Thirdly, we must beare in mind, that most certainly the day wil come when we shal die, and giue a strict account to God of al our negotia∣tions; and consequently in reason we must now doe that, which then we would with we had done; and choose that, which then we would giue anie thing we had chosen; For what follie were it, in a busines of such weight, to carrie our selues so, as we know we shal repent it at last in vayne?

* 1.8379. A third thing, which they that desire to know the wil of God, and 〈…〉〈…〉 to what he calleth them vnto, must vnderstand, is, that they m••st not t••i••k to come to the knowledge of it, in the midst of the vanities, and distrac∣tions, and multiplicities of busines of the world. But let them withdraw themselues a litle out of that noyse,* 1.838 that they may haue th•••• ••ares free, and heare what their Lord, their God, speaketh to them; and first of al, if there be no reason to the contrarie, let them purge their soule by a general confession

of al their sinnes, for that wil be a great help for the light of God to come more freely into them, al cloudes of darknes being dispersed. Then let them giue themselues somewhat more then ordinarily to prayer and medita∣tion, to rayse their harts from earthlie,* 1.839 to heauenlie things, and finally pre∣sent themselues before the Throne of God, as a schollar before his Maister, pliable, attentiue, desirous of this heauenlie doctrine. For what wonder is it, if we heare not the voice of God,* 1.840 when our mind and soule is otherwise busied, and taken vp with the cares, and delights, and loue of earthlie things buzzing continually in our cares. To which effect, S. Bernard writeth to o••e Thomas, that was in the like consultation about leauing the world:

O deerely beloued, if thou prepare thy inward eare to the voyce of God, sweeter then honie and the honie-combe, fly the cares which are without, that hauing thy inward senses free and vacant, thou also mayst say with Samuel: Speake, ô Lord, because thy seruant heareth. This voyce doth not sound in the market place, it is not heard abroad. A priuate counsel, re∣quireth priuate audience; it wil certainly giue ioy to thy hearing, and gladnes if thou harken vnto it with a indicious eare.

10. And yet we must adde one thing more,* 1.841 to wit, that whosoeuer de∣sireth this light, must not only, as S. Bernard aduiseth, come neare to God, but come with a mind resolued absolutly to do whatsoeuer God shal say vnto h••m. For there be those that do not deale vprightly and sincerely with God, but desire of curiositie, to know his wil, not to performe it, but to know it, and to be thought in some sort to haue done their dutie; but they are so farre wide from being discharged of their dutie by it, as they incurre a greater fault, as a seruant ••hat knoweth his maister's wil, and doth it not. And moreouer this verie thing, is a meanes that God doth not giue them that light which he would, because he sees, that it wil be in vayne to giue it them,* 1.842 and to their preiudice; which is that which we reade in the Psalme: Good vnderstanding to them that do it; because God giues a good vnderstanding, to them that do, or are resolued to do, that which they vnderstand, as S. Gregorie* 1.843 noteth in these words: He that wil vnderstand what he hath heard, let him hasten to fulfil by work, that which hitherto he hath been able to heare.

10. A fourth thing,* 1.844 which we must beare in mind, and must needs be a great setling and comfort vnto vs, in this consultation, is, that euerie instinct which moues a man to a Religious course of life, cannot be, but of the Holie-Ghost. This is a posi••ion of S. Thomas, both in the booke which he wrot against them, that withdraw people from Religion, and in the second part of his summe of Diuinitie, where he sayth that he that cometh to Religion▪ cannot doubt,* 1.845 but that he is moued therunto by God, whose it is (as the Prophet spea∣keth) to leade into the right way, supposing he knowes in his cōscience, he hath no sinister end in it,* 1.846 but comes out of a desire of vertue, and of the seruice of God. Wherefore when the scripture saith vnto vs: Try the spirits if they be of God, it is to be vnderstood of spirits, that be doubtful, & is to be practised by them, that haue the charge of admitting others into Religion; for they not knowing with what mind and intētio•• people offer themselues, do wel to try their spirits. And he saith further, that if it should happen that Sathan trāsfiguring himself into an Angel of

l••got should moue vs to Religion,* 1.847 we haue no cause to be afraid; first be∣cause as long as he suggesteth that, which is common for good Angels to put into our mind, there is no danger▪ for we are not forbidden to bene∣fit ourselues by our enemie, specially when we know not that it is our ene∣mie; secondly because though the Diuel should moue vs to Religion, he alone could neuer moue vs so effectually, vnlesse God did inwardly draw vs; and concludeth, that a thought of entring into Religion euer comes from God, by what meanes soeuer it come into our mind.

11. This is the doctrine of S. Thomas, and that his onlie authoritie may not carrie it, we may confirme it by reason; because, as Cassian writeth, wheras our thoughts rise from three heads or fountaines,* 1.848 to wi••, either from a good spirit, or from an euil spirit, or from our owne spirit; We may easily vnderstand, that thoughts of mortifying our flesh, of forgoing our freedome, of taking vp our Crosse, cannot be from our owne spirit, because nature doth abhorre and shanne al austeritie; much lesse can they be from the Diuel; for what hath he to do with perpetual Chastitie, with Obedience, with the voluntarie humiliation of ourselues, he being the Prince of pride, and nothing more hateful to him, then these vertues? And if this wicked spirit cannot moue vs to anie particular vertue, as to the loue of God, to a greater faith, or hope in him, or to true and solid humili∣tie, no more then ice can be cause of fire, or fire of ice, much lesse can he moue vs to that vertue, which in a manner comprehendeth al vertues. If anie bodie feare,* 1.849 least the Diuel do it out of craft, and for some sleight which he hath in it, that he may afterwards worke vs some greater mis∣chief; this is also a great errour, much like to that, in which the Iewes were, that absurdly and impiously obiected to our Sauiour: In the Prince of diuels he casteth out diuels: And they must be answered with the answer which our Sauiour gaue: That Sathan cannot diuide his owne kingdome; for so he should do in this, if he should go about to thrust sinne out of a man's soule or, which is al one, bring a man to a place where he may easily get out of it. He is not such a foole, not so little skilled in this warre against soules, as to let go the prev which he hath in his claw••s, and to suffer it to saue itself in so strong a hold, and a place which doth so much annoy him, and he himself to help him forward to that place, vpon hope that he shal reco∣uer him afterwards with greater gayne. Seing therefore this is but an idle and foolish feare, and of such only as know not the deuises which the Di∣uel hath, it remayneth necessarily, that it must be the good spirit to whom we owe the beginnings, and the proceedings, and perfection of so great a work.

* 1.85012. If anie man obiect, that some fayle and go back from the course which they haue begunne; and therefore they were not called of God, because the coun••••l of God remayneth for eue••; S. Thomas shal make an answer for ••s whose words are these: Not al that is of God, is eternal: for if it were so, God should not be the Creatour of things corruptible;* 1.851 which was the he∣resie of the Manichees. And as it is in nature, so it is in grace; for grace is giuen vs so, as while we liue in this pilgrimage, we may leese it, because we haue freedome of wil, which as it might haue reiected the heauēlie guift, when it was

first offered, and so not receaued it, so it may cast it away when it hath receaued it. And therupon S. Thomas concludeth, that the thou 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of entring into Religion needeth no probation, whether it be of God or no; but whos euer feeleth such a motion in his soule, must admit of it, as of the voice of his Lord and Creatour, and a voice which tendeth wholy to his good and benefit.

13. I haue been the more willing to enlarge my self in this matter, because if it be once agreed, that these holie and wholesome thoughts cannot proceed from the craft of the Enemie, nor from our owne natural inclinations, but of the sole goodnes and liberalitie of our Sauiour IESVS, it cuts off a great part of the occasion of feares, and doubts, and demurres in the busines. And that which I sayd before, followeth euidently, that long consultation about it, is not only vnprofitable, the thing being so cleer in itself, but very dangerous, because it giueth scope to the Diuel to play vpon vs the longer.* 1.852 It followes also, that when we are in deliberation about this busines, we must not cal our carnal friends and kindred to counsel (which both S. Thomas and al others with •••• y••t consent del••uer) both because the natural affection which they haue, hinders them that they cannot see truly, how things stand; and because, as our Saui••ur him∣self sayd,* 1.853 not al receaue this word; that is, al are not capable of it. And what aduise can they giue in a busines which they doe not vnderstand: Wherefore, as if a man be to build a house, he doth not cal paynters or gold-smiths to counsel, but maister-carpenters or masons; and if a man be sick, he doth not send for Lawyers to aduise with, but Physicians, and those of the best; and as in al other things we take the opinion of such men as are most versed in the thing we aduise about, so in this great work, being to build a spiritual house, which may stand against al winds, and weather, and flouds, and to attend to the cure not of our bodie but of our soule, shal we goe and aduise with them, that either haue no iudgement at al in these things, or are preiudicated with the seueral affection wherewith they are corrupted? It is therefore to be imparted only to ver∣tuous men, and, to speake truly, to them principally that haue gone the way before vs, that is, to Religious men, who hauing had experience of it, are the better able to direct others vnpartially in it, and shew them how to proceed without errour. For were it not wonderful follie and madnes, if a man had a iourney by sea, or land, to take such a guide as neuer went the iourney in his life, when he may haue his choice of manie, that haue done nothing els al their life-time?

14. A fift rule in this busines is,* 1.854 that al vocations of God are not alike, and that there cannot be one rule giuen to measure them al by, so as a man may say, it is not a good vocation, because it agrees not with this rule. God is richer t••en so, and more plentiful in his counsels ouer the sonnes of men, and drawes them vnto himself seueral wayes; and men themselves being of such seueral dispositions and natures as they are, and hauing so manie different exercises and customes and fashions, it agreeth best with them to be brought to God by different meanes. For as fowlers haue not one kind of net, nor one kind of bayte, to catch fowles, but some for one kind, and others for others, as they know the humours of the birds are: so God bendeth and applyeth himself to the seueral natures of men, both for their benefit, to winne them the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to

himself, and to keepe the sweetnes which is fitting in his fatherlie prouidence ouer al. Wherefore as he called P••ter and Andrew from their boates, and Matthew from the Custome-house, because the one was a Publican, the others fishermen; and tooke S. Paul in the heate of his zeale of persecuting the Church, because that was then his humour: so in al Religious vocations, one is called vpon one oc∣casion, and others vpon others, and some also out of the midst of their sinnes.

Which manifold wisedome of God,* 1.855 Cassian among others admireth, dispensing (as he speaketh) the saluation of men with different and vnsearchable pietie, and bestowing the largesse of his grace, according to euerie one's capacitie, diuers, & innumerable, and vnsearchable wayes; while he quickneth the course of some, that goe willingly and silently on, to greater feruour; some that were vnwilling, he compelleth against their wil; heer he helpeth to fulfil that, which we profitably desired; and there he inspireth the verie beginings of a holie desire; which manifold largesse of the Diuine dispensation the Apostle considering, cryes out: O height of riches of wisedome and knowledge of God!

How incomprehensible are his iudgements, and his wayes vnsearch∣able!

* 1.85615. And it is easie to see, that this which Cassian saith, is true, if we con∣sider what occurrences of place, and time, and other circumstances God hath made vse of, to bring people vnder this his blessed yoak of Religion. As that which S. Hierome writeth of Paul the first Hermit, that going by chance into a denne or caue of earth to hide himself from the rage of Decius and Valerianus,* 1.857 that persecuted the Church of God, after he had been there a litle while, began to take a delight in that solitude;* 1.858 and that which he began of necessitie, he continued willingly, and perseuered in it al his life-time. The angrie humour of the yong Prince Arcadius was the occasion, why that great Arsenius, who afterwards was so great a Saint,* 1.859 then Maister to the yong Prince, forsaking the world gaue himself wholy to the seruice of God; for while he sought to put his bodie in safetie, he found the much more deceitful safetie of his soule. What shal I say of Paul surnamed the Simple,* 1.860 who taking his wife in adulterie, forsooke wife, and house, and al, and went strayt to S. Antonie, in whose schoole he came in a short time to great perfection of sanctitie. That which we reade of Abbot Nutius,* 1.861 a famous holie man, is yet more admirable; for while he was yet a Heathen, and a notable theef, he went on a time to robbe a Monasterie of Nunnes; and getting vp to the top of the house, there he fel asleep, and saw in his sleep a King admo∣nishing him to desist from his wicked courses; wherupon he presently desired to be Baptized, and betooke himself to a Religious course of life, and therin came to that sanctitie, that besids other miracles, like another Iosue, he caused the Sunne to stand. The like is recorded of Moyses a Black amore,* 1.862 a notable cutter and murtherer, that being once in danger of his life, he fled into the next Monasterie to saue himself, and there strucken with remorse of conscience and feare, tooke vp his rest,* 1.863 and neuer parted thence. An accident also brought S. Ro∣mualdus to a Monastical life, wherin he so much flourished. For his father S••gius (who afterwards became a Monk vpon his sonne's example) hauing killed one of his kinsmen vpon a deadlie quarrel, which he had against him, lay close for some dayes in the Monasterie of Classi••; where Romualdus partly by

the good admonitions of one of the Monks of that house, partly by the aduise of S. Apollinaris that appeared twice vnto him, resolued to forsake the world; so that the murther which his father had committed, in which he also had some hand, was the occasion of so great good.

16. But nothing is more admirable in this kind,* 1.864 then that which Sophronius, a graue and ancient authour, recounteth of a yong man, that seing a noble Ladie buried in rich attire, out of couetousnes attempted the next night to breake open her graue, and steale away her apparrel; but the woman rising-vp sud∣denly, layd hold of his hand, and rebuking him very sharply, threatned him withal, that she would neuer let him goe, but there he should dye with the stench and ordure of the place; yet at last vpon the wonderful earnest sute he made vnto her, she told him, she would let him goe, vpon condi∣tion he would promise her faithfully, to enter presently into Religion; which he both willingly promised, and speedily performed; for from the graue he went strait to a Monasterie, where the Abbot, whose name was Iohn, admit∣ted him, and related this whole storie to Sephronius not long after it hapned; adding moreouer, that the man wept so bitterly, when he came vnto him, that his teares were witnes sufficient of the truth of so rare a miracle; and the happie successe declared, that this also was a true and wel grounded vo∣cation.

17. What shal I stand recounting the infinit multitudes of them,* 1.865 that haue been brought to Religion by houshold-afflictions and calamities, by sicknes, by some wrong or other receaued in their estates, or in their persons and good name, and by other inconueniences which haue hapned vnto them in the world? People commonly are wont to censure them, as if they entred out of despaire, and not as moued of God. But they speake ignorantly, fixing their eye vpon that which is without, and not seing the inward grace of God. For in truth, neither pouertie, nor sicknes, nor anie worldlie affliction is strong enough to pul a man out of the world, and bring him to Religion: But if a man enter, and enter in that manner, and with those intentions as he ought, it is certain, that the wisedome of God doth outwardly indeed vse that as an instrument, sprinkling world••ie things al ouer with gal, to withraw a man's hart from them; but in∣wardly he giues him his light and the knowledge of his truth, which pulles him from his former estate, and brings him vnto his holie Mountain, and into his tents. And we proue it euidently thus. For how manie be there and haue alwayes been, that oppressed with like pouertie, sicknes, and calamities, haue neuer had notwithstanding the least thought of entring into Religion, but rather haue stuck the faster to the world? What is the reason therefore, that they saued not themselues out of that ship-wrack, and these escaped, but that these had the help and hand of God to draw them out?* 1.866 S. Hierome vnderstood the truth if this point very wel, and vseth this argument among the rest to Iulian, in his long and eloquent Epistle, which he wrote vnto him, to per∣swade him to forsake the world. For wheras he had buried two of his daughters almost at a clap, and besides lost his wife, and suffered much in his temporal estate by inrodes which the enemie made into the countrey, S. Hierome maketh vse of al this, and telleth him, that they are warnings from God, who as

it is written of the children of Israel,* 1.867 instructeth him with stripes and sorrow, And S. Macarius also in one of his Homilies obserueth, that it doth often happen, that God handles a man roughly with miseries and afflictions, that being otherw••se too much wedded to the loue of earthlie things, and seing al things f•••• crosse vnto him, he may beginne a discourse thus within himself: Since I cannot haue my wil in the world, behold I quit the world, and betake myself to God, wholy to serue him; and at last he thanks his il fortune, because by that occasion he was drawne to the sweet yoak of our Lord.

* 1.86818. And Cassian reckoning three kinds of vocations, placeth this in the last place, when by losse of goods or by death of friends, or by other such ac∣cidents, they that refused to follow God in prosperitie, are compelled to follow him by aduersitie, against their wils, as the Hebrewes, of whom it is written in the Psalme:* 1.869 When ••e killed them, they sought him, and returned vnto him; and early in the morning, that is, speedily, without delay, they came vnto him. And addeth, that though this kind of vocation seeme to be the meanest and of least esteeme, yet men of great perfection, and great feruour of spirit, haue been called by it, and haue been nothing inferiour to others, that entring vpon the seruice of God vpon nobler principles, haue brought their life to an end with great commendation.* 1.870 Clima••us sayth excellently wel, that it is the fashion of God sometimes to catch men by an honest kind of craft, and draw them in by a wile, to saue their soules. His words are these: Let vs not contemme some that renounce the world without anie great consideration, because the spirit doth sometimes piously deceaue soules.* 1.871

For oftimes such a renunciation hath better successe then another which came vpon more aduise; as the seed, which fals from the hand of the husbandman where he doth not de∣sire it should, groweth sometimes better, then where it was sowed of pur∣pose. I haue seen some, that haue gone into a Monasterie with no holie intention, but driuen by necessitie, who afterwards were taken with the great wise∣dome of the Abbot, and the milde conuersation of the Monks, and God giuing them the light of grace, they arriued to an eminent state.

Thus saith Cl••ma••u••.

19. The last rule, which we haue to set downe, is about the comparing of Religious Orders among themselues,* 1.872 so to make a right iudgement of them; for this also is necessarie, and requires an vnderstanding that is iudicious. For though in embracing a Religious course in general, we cannot erre, as I haue shewed, yet in choosing this or the other particular Religion, we may erre, & the Diuel may put manie mists in our way. For oftimes when he sees a man desirous of perfection, he puts a course in his phancie, where perfection is not followed, as it should be, that the good desires, which he had, may come to nothing; oftimes with preposterous feruour he egs him on to take more vpō him then the strength of his b••die is able to beare; and finally al his deuises tend to bring a man to doe either too much, or too litle. Wherefore that in the choice of a particular Insti∣tute we be not drawne into errour, two things are to be discreetly weighed. First, whe••her the Institute itself be perfect; and secondly, whether it be perfectly and carefully obserued. For though a Religious Familie haue neuer so holie Rules and orders in it, if they be not kept, or if few doe keepe them, the holines of their

Rule is to litle purpose; and no man ought to be so confident of himself, as to hope to beare himself vp against the multitude, and to keepe the right way where the rest goe wrong. And consequently a man must not so much consider, which Order is most renowned for antiquitie, or for memorable acts in times past, or for the members of holie men that haue been in it, but which now at this present is more holie, more obseruant of Religious discipline, and more ful of that first spi∣rit, wherewith the Order was begun and founded.

20. And if we be desirous of some signes to direct our iudgement in this kind,* 1.873 we may consider these things following. First, if there be an exact order obserued, that no bodie haue anie thing in priuate to himself, neither money nor anie thing els, but al things be kept and serued out in common. Secondly, if there be chari∣tie, no contention, no hanging off from one another. Thirdly, if ambition be wholy excluded, and al pretences and proiects for preferment and honour, and rather such employments declined, as carrie a shew of greatnes and auth••riti••. Fourthly, if obedience to Superiours be kept entire & inuiolable without exem∣ptions. Fiftly, if the Religious be seldome permitted to deale with their carnal friends and kindred, and not but vpon some spiritual occasion. And finally, if they be zealous of the good of soules, and for that end spare no labour or paines that is requisite. These are the chiefest and most important things, which are to be looked into. Other things, though of lesse moment, are not also to be neglected; as the greatnes of the Order, if it abound in good subiects, if it be spred farre and neere, if it haue people in it of diuers nations. For so it must needs abound like∣wise in learning and wisedome, and haue greater helps to effect that which it doth vndertake, and more store of good works, by the communication wherof euerie particular man of the Order hath the greater benefit. As a fire is the greater, the more store of wood is layd vpon it, and the wood itself takes the easier, and burnes the faster, and makes the more lightsome fire, when there are manie sticks togeather, then when they are layd one by one. Though al this is but extrinsecal; that which I sayd before of the perfection of euerie Institute, belongs to the es∣sence and substance of it. And because in Perfection there be manie degrees, if we wil know how to compare them one with another, we must take S. Thomas in our way, who answereth the question in these words: The greatest perfection of a thing,* 1.874 consisteth in attayning to the end, which it hath.

21. Wherefore, to value the perfection of euerie particular Iustitute, we must weigh two things: First, whether it haue a nobler end; and secondly, whether it haue meanes accordingly more proportionable for the attayning of that end,* 1.875 be∣cause the more perfect the work is, to which a course of life is ordained, the more worthily we must esteeme of that course; and likewise the more effectual and abundant meanes it hath for the effecting of those works, the better is the Insti∣tute, and the more to be preferred. But because no man can begin a new life, vnlesse he repent himself of his old, and consequently euerie Religious Order, in that it enters a man vpon a new course of life, is a state of pennance, therefore we may make a third compa••ison of Religious Orders among themselues, in matter of pouertie austeritie of life, and al kind of corporal afflictions, though the two first comparisons belong more to the nature and essence of Religion, and by them we must iud••e of the greater or lesser perfection which is in them, both because per••ection consisteth more in inward iustice, then in outward restraint, & because

outward austeritie may vpon occasion hinder some greater good, specially for the help of our neighbour. And al this in a manner is S. Thomas his discourse, which for these generalities may be applyed to find out the true value, and make a true iudgement of the dignitie of euerie particular Order.

* 1.87622. And that which he sayd last, concerning austeritie of life, may be confirmed out of S. Gregorie, where he sayth:

It is of farre higher desert, to keepe our wil al∣wayes subiect to the wil of another, then to weare away our bodie with great fa∣stings, or to slay ourselues by compunction in a more retired sacrifice.

But to re∣turne to the rule which S. Thomas giues for the valuation of Religious, that which he writeth in another place,* 1.877 is also to be considered as pertayning to the same rule: that the Religious which are ordayned to teach & preach, are the first in rank among the rest; because these workes proceeding from the abundance of Con∣templation, comprehend both Action and Contemplation.* 1.878 In the second rank he placeth those, which attend only to Contemplation; and in the third, those which are altogeather in Action. And among those of the same rank, they are more ex∣cellent, that haue more vniuersal employments, and better rules and orders; as for example, if they haue more and better meanes to assist their neighbour, and so of the rest.

* 1.87923. Finally, we must also apply a cure to their errour, that when they are in de∣liberation about the choice of a Religious course, decline of purpose those Or∣ders, in which they see there be manie rare men of excellent parts, because forsooth they shal be no bodie, and leane to those courses, where there are but few men of learning or other qualities, thinking that there they shal be in their kingdome. Which, to speak the truth, is but an absurd and foolish kind of ambition, special∣ly in a busines which should be farthest off from it, and therefore also we shal not need to spend time in confuting it, but content ourselues with mentioning it; only I thought good to relate what passed with S. Anselme in this kind.* 1.880 For when he was thinking what place he might best choose for the course of Religion, which he intended, two Monasteries offered themselues to his consideration: that of Cluni,* 1.881 where there was no practise of learning, and that of Becque, which was famous for learning. He was loath to put himself into that of Cluni, be∣cause hauing bestowed some time in studie, he saw al would be lost, and on the other file, in Becque he feared that among so manie learned men he should be of no esteeme. And these were his thoughts at that time, when, as afterwards he was wont to say of himself, he was not yet tamed, nor had not the contempt of the world grafted in his mind. But reflecting vpon himself, he sayd thus to his owne soule:

What? Is this to be a Monk, to desire precedencie of others? to be am∣bitious of honour & renowne? Choose therefore rather that place, where for the loue of God thou mayst be behind al, where thou shalt liue in obscuritie, and be t••e last and lowest of al. And with this resolution, which doubtlesse was from God, he chose the Monasterie of Becque; but the euent was farre beyond his expec∣tation.

For his liuing among so manie learned men, was not only no hinderance to his learning and fame, but growing dayly in learning, he grew also more fa∣mous then he was in the world; which hapneth also most commonly to others.

The Conclusion of the whole Work, to Religious people. CHAP. XXXVII.

Hauing now discoursed at large of the riches and manifold commodities of a Religious course of life, and taken a ful view of the worth, and dignitie, and beautie of it in the sight of God and man, and shewed withal, that no earthlie thing for pleasure and sweetnes is comparable vnto it; It is time to consider, what effect al this togeather ought to work in the mind of him,* 1.882 that findes himself inuironed with such a world of blessings, powred forth so largely vpon by the bountiful hand of God, who is sole Authour of them. For if profit alone, or in matter of profit one single be∣nefit, one point of gayne, specially if it be eternal, ought to be aboue measure estee∣med; what shal we say of such an infinit number of spiritual commodities, and to∣geather with these commodities, so manie noble and vndoubted titles of true ho∣nour, and finally such abundance of solid ioyes and cōforts? For God in this great work of Grace hath proceeded as in the principal operations of Nature, vpon which the conseruation of euerie particular thing in his kind depends; for besides the necessitie which is of them, he hath plāted in itching pleasure in them, to draw his workes neuer to cease, neuer to be wearie of that kind of operatiō. And in like manner hath he contriued this wholesome forme of liuing, that though it be in itself somewhat austere and bitter, yet the wonderful benefit which comes of it, makes it worthie to be desired, as a medecine in sicknes, and againe he hath so sea∣soned it with ioyes and comforts, that though it were not so profitable, it is not∣withstanding to be infinitly loued for the sweetnes which is in it, and to be pre∣ferred before al mortal comforts.

2. Which seing we haue made plaine to euerie bodie in the discourse of these three Bookes, with what disposition of mind is it fitting we should entertaine and make vse of so great and so vseful a blessing? In my iudgement three things may be required of vs,* 1.883 which are heads and fountains of manie others. First, thanks∣giuing for so great a benefit; secondly, a careful endeauour dayly to encrease in perfection; and finally a diligent and watchful custodie of so ample and so rich a treasure. First therefore, as I sayd, the greatnes of the benefit requireth a thank∣ful mind. For if in euerie litle curtesie, which one man doth another, it is held a kind of inciuilitie, not to returne a man thāks for it; how much more vnciuil must it needs be,* 1.884 not to be thankful to God, for so rare & diuine a thing? specially seing the Maiestie of God is so great aboue man, that the least thing which we receaue of him, must needs be an inestimable curtesie. And this thankful mind inclu∣deth manie things; it includeth knowledge, it includeth memorie, it includeth loue and good wil, it includeth finally ioy euerlasting. For vnlesse a man know and vnderstand, what is giuen him, he cannot be thankful for it; if he know it, and quickly forget it, he is equally vnthankful: but if a man know it and remember it▪ he cannot but be inflamed with excessiue loue of God, because he cannot but loue him that is so good, and so manie

seueral wayes good to him, and finally seing himself so loaded, so enriched, so adorned with his liberaliue, he cannot but reioyce, and excessiuely reioyce at it. But because al depends vpon the knowledge of the greatnes of this benefit, the first thing that we must perswade ourselues of, is, that this vocation to Religion is absolutely the greatest and the soueraignest benefit, which God can bestow vpon man in this life.

* 1.8853. For what can a man desire more? Honour, or wealth, or learning, of elo∣quence, or to be soueraigne Emperour of the whole world? But al this is corpo∣ral, and consequently perishable and lile worth. That is only great, which is great in the sight of God, such as spiritual things are: Now of these spiritual things, of vertue, or whatsoeuer other goodnes▪ what is there that aboundeth not in a Religious state? so that he that hath that state, hath al. Which is that which S. Bernard so much extolleth in one of his Sermons in these words: And first he created thee with the rest,* 1.886 and among the rest he created thee not without a sin∣gular prerogatiue of honour. After this againe, that infinit Maiestie inflamed with excessiue loue of thee, redeemed thee. So easily with a word, as he created thee? No, but he wrought thy saluation in the midst of the earth thirtie yeares, was nayled to a Crosse, condemned to die, adiudged to be a mockerie. But towards vs he hath added another special benefit, in that from the broad and spacious way which leadeth to death, he hath drawne vs with his finger, & placed vs in the coun∣sel and Congregation of the Iust. What ought he to haue done more which he did not? Whose breast is of so hard a stone, as not to melt at the multitude of such and so great benefits, powred out vpon vs by such and so great a hand? With reason ••herefore doth S. Bernard require of Religious people a grateful remembrance of such wonderful guifts, and a memorie inflamed with wonderful loue.

* 1.8874. Let vs remember, how mindful God did require the ancient Iewe should be of the benefit of their deliuerie from the seruitude of Aegypt, ordayning the yearlie solemnitie of the Paschal Lamb in memorie of it, to be performed with so manie rites and ceremonies; and he did almost no special thing in fauour of them, for the remembrance of which he did not appoint some certain day in the yeare to be solemnized. We therefore▪ we, I say, hauing been deliuered out of the land of Aegypt, that is, out of the dark and toylesome prison of this world, hauing been fed in the Desert, as I haue shewed, with the most delightsome Ma••••a, hauing receaued the Law by the ministerie of Angels, to wit, our written Rules, and the wil of God made knowne dayly vnto vs by the light and conduct of our Superiours; how much more iust and reasonable is it, that we should keepe a continual and liuelie memorie of this benefit? And as God tyed the memorie of those ancient benefits, not to euerie ordinarie day, but to dayes that were holie & festiual, to signifie that the remembrance of them must be festi∣ual & ful of ioy: so the consideration of this our vocation must be alwayes accom∣panied with cheerful ha••t alwayes ful of ioy and mirth. For what is there that can contristate a Religious man, if he know his owne happines? for the incommodi∣ties which he may suffer, are nothing to the comforts which abound in this state. When Anna bewayled her vnfruitfulnes, her husband Helcana cheered her vp in this manner Anna,* 1.888 why weepest thou? and wherefore is thy hart a••••licted? Am not I better to thee, then ten sonnes? If one of vs may say thus to another, certainly God may with much more reason say it; for if we haue God, as doubtlesse in Religion

we haue him, it is more to be valued, then if we had al the creatures in the world; and the losse of al creatures, is abundantly recompenced by only possessing God. Besides that, in Religiō the noblenes of our spirit purchased by forsaking al things, and consequently contemning them, and liuing continually in the contempt of them, makes that there is nothing vpon earth, that can either seeme so beautiful as to deserue our loue, or so harsh and hateful as we should be afrayd of it. Wherefore, to conclude, if we wil shew ourselues to be what indeed we ought to be, and what God desireth we should be, we must neuer cease from giuing thanks to God, neuer slack or relent in it; and though we can neuer returne him so manie thanks as he deserues, not beare him that true affection for his benefits, which the thing itself requires, let vs notwithstanding employ vpon him as manie, as our weaknes is capable of; and acknowledge at least & confesse, that he hath so gone beyond vs with the immensitie of his guifts, that we shal neuer be able so much as to think sufficiently, what thanks is fitting to giue him.

5. But if we know the true value of this benefit,* 1.889 and esteeme it as we ought, it must needs produce in vs the second thing which I spake of, to wit, an excessiue and euerlasting desire of attayning to perfection; so that al our thoughts, al the powers of our soule, wil be continually bent vpon it. For first, this is that which God requires at our hands, whose wil is our sanctification. This his loue demandeth of vs; for it hauing been towards vs so profuse and without stint, we cannot bet∣ter, nor in a more bountiful manner correspond to his loue, then if we loue him againe, and adorne and set forth ourselues in that manner, that we may truly de∣serue to be loued by him. The state itself in which we are, demandeth it, because it is nothing els but a profession of vertue and perfection. Wherefore, as it is a shame for a souldier to be a coward, and for a student to be no schollar, and men take it as a disgrace to be thought so; so in Religion, where the studie of vertue & sanctitie is only in request, it is a shame to be imperfect, and to follow that busines but coldly,* 1.890 it being the thing which our Lord in the Apocalyps so much complai∣neth of.

6. Finally, two things, wel considered, wil greatly encourage Religious peo∣ple in that which they haue in hand.* 1.891 First, that al the commodities and pleasures which I haue discoursed of in al this Treatise, are certainly in Religion, & much greater also, then was possible for me to describe; yet they are as gold-oare in the veynes of the earth, which by labour and industrie is to be digged out. For what peece of ground is there, be it neuer so fat & fruitful, which wil bring forth fruit, vnlesse a man tii it, and sow it, and bestow labour vpon it? So these treasures and commodities of a Religious life are great, yet they require a man that knowes them wel, and makes great account of them, and, which is consequent, makes the best vse of them he can,* 1.892 & labours dayly to encrease them. The other thing which is to be considered, is the easines of the busines, and the commoditie which a man hath of getting perfection, euerie thing being taken away, that may anie way hinder him, and on the other side, al helps concurring to further him plentie of inward grace, and so manie influences & assistances from heauen, that nothing can be sayd to be wanting but ourselues, if we be not holie and perfect. Where∣fore we must make account,* 1.893 that the Apostle speakes to vs when he sayth: The earth drinking-in the vaine often coming vpo•• it (for where doth the heauenlie deaw & raine fal oftener then in Religion?) & bringing forth gras••e, commedi••us for them that

〈◊〉〈◊〉, receaueth blessing of God; but bringing forth briars and thornes, it is reproba••••, and a verie curse, whose end is to be burnt. Where, both our happines if we doe wel, and our extreame miserie, if we doe not wel, is set before our eyes. But God forbid such a curse should fal vpon vs; rather he wil giue vs abundance of his holie grace,* 1.894 that, as the same Apostle exhorteth els-where, because we were sometimes darknes, but now light in our Lord, let vs walke like sonnes of light, and bring forth fruits of light in al goodnes, and iustice, and truth.

* 1.8957. The third effect, which we spake of, was care, and diligence, and earnest endeauour to preserue so great a good. And we need not stand prouing, that it is fitting for euerie bodie to haue this care; the knowledge of the greatnes of the benefit doth naturally put it into vs; for he that doth throughly know it, wil rather dye a thousand deaths, then let it goe out of his hands, or suffer anie bodie to take it from him. And certainly nothing is more terrible, more lamen∣table, more horrible,* 1.896 more detestable to Religious people, then to fal from such an estate, to be shut out from so great a happines, to be as Adam cast out of Paradise. For it were, as S. Bernard discourseth, to be drawen againe into the wrack at sea, from whence they crept out naked; to fal againe, where they had been half-burned, and hardly escaped; to light againe among the theeues, by whom they were left but half aliue,* 1.897 and by the mercie of God were now reco∣uered; and for the souldier of Christ almost in the sight of heauen triumphing, from the gates of that glorie, to returne as a dog to his vomit, & as a sow washed, to her wallowing in the mire.* 1.898 Wherefore the same S. Bernard doth fitly apply to this purpose that which is spoken in the Canticles to the Spouse in a threatning manner:* 1.899 Get you forth, and goe; and sayth, that God cannot speake to a Religious soule a harsher word then this, nor anie thing that can strike more terrour into it.* 1.900 Which thou also, sayth he, mayst perceaue, if thou consider wel, from whēce, and whither thou art bid to goe.

From whence, and whither dost thou think, but from spirit to flesh, from the goods of the mind to the desires of the world, from the inward quiet of the mind to the noyse of the world, and vnquietnes of outward cares? in al which there is nothing but labour and affliction of spirit. For a soule that hath once learned and receaued of our Lord to enter into itself, and within itself to sigh after the presence of God, such a soule, I say, I know not whether it would think it more paineful or more horrible, to suffer the verie, paines of hel for a time, then after hauing once tasted the sweetnes of this spiri∣tual studie & exercise, to goe out againe to the allurements or rather to the trou∣bles of the flesh, and seeke after the vnsatiable curiositie of sense.

Thus sayth S. Bernard, and al spiritual authours with one consent agree in the same.

8. For as he that falles headlong from anie place, the higher the place is from which he falles, the more he bruseth himself; so he that casts himself out of a Re∣ligious state, which doubtles is an eminent high estate, must needs breake him∣self al in peeces, and crush, and disioynt, and put out of order al the powers of his soule.* 1.901 For, this is that Salt which hauing lost the vertue and sauour which it hath receaued for the seasoning of itself and others, is now good for nothing anie more, and therefore nothing remaineth, but that it be cast forth, and trodden vnder foot by men A iust and worthie punishment, that whom the dignitie of this state before had placed aboue other men, and made him venerable vnto al, hauing lost this ornament, should first become as other men, and then baser then they,

by how much greater his offense is, and therefore be contemned by euerie bodie, and made a laughing-stock, and a verie foot-bal to mens tongues.

9. And what doe they, that enueigled with the loosse and fickle pleasures of this world,* 1.902 turne their backs to so great a benefit, which God had bestowed vpon them, but that which that wicked & reprobate Esau did, when he sold his birth-right, & moreouer went his wayes contemning that he had sold it? And for what did he sel it? for one dish of pulse. O blindnes of a reachlesse man! that could enter∣tayne such a thought in his mind, as for, & togeather with so base, & so ordinarie a dish of meate, to consume & deuoure in a moment so rich an inheritance, to cast away his father's blessing, & al the right of his primogeniture in an instant. But he that at that time made so slight of it, afterwards lamented his losse, roaring out with a great voice, but when it was too late, & in vaine to repent. In like manner, if we compare secular people with Religious, they are indeed both sonnes of God, but Religious are the first begotten, and haue receaued already greater spiritual blessings in the state itself, & if they liue according to their state, they shal receaue a larger portion of the heauenlie inheritance. What madnes therefore is it for a disordered desire of one vnfortunate and base bit of pleasure, to slight & vtterly to cast away such hopes, such present and future entertainements, such commo∣dities, such delights, so manie, & so rare blessings, as if another would goe about to take them from vs, they were worthie to be defended with the losse of our liues. What teares, what lamentations, euen in this life wil this short & momen∣tarie delight, bought with eternal torment, bring vpon vs?

10. And what shal we say of the wrong which we doe to God,* 1.903 when we breake couenants with him, when we forsake his seruice, runne away out of his Camp, when to his face we make more account of the friendship of the world, and the loue of earthlie things, then we doe of his familiaritie and acquaintance? This is the reason why, though God is wont to reserue the punishment of other offences to another world, most commonly he reuengeth himself of this basenes pre∣sently; & we see, that ordinarily they that fal from Religion, either liue afterwards in perpetual miserie, or dye suddenly a most miserable death. As one of whom we reade in the Historie of the Franciscans, about the yeare. 1260. who by the Diuel's instigation hauing forsaken his Order and Monasterie, two of the Friars of that Order moued with cōpassion,* 1.904 went after him to perswade him to returne againe, but he obstinately reiected their wholesome aduice; they saw an vglie black dog make at him, and affrighted with the sight of him, they cryed out to the misera∣ble wretch, to take heed of that infernal fiend; but he being with that more enra∣ged, pluckt off his Habit, and cast it from him, and ranne his wayes.

And behold, he had not runne farre, when that monster, which, as long as the man kept on his Habit, had not power to annoy him▪ leaped vpon him, pulled him to the ground, and throtled him so suddenly, that the two Friars, though thay made speed to rescue him, found him dead when they came.

And infinit such accidents haue hapned in al Orders, insomuch that Dionysius Car••husianus hath written almost a whole booke ful of such lamentable and admirable misfortunes; and if we would vndertake to set downe al that haue fallen out in our Order, they would make a Volume by themselues, which perhaps may be some bodies work.

11. And yet I wil not omit to mention some few, that haue hapned lately within those two yeares, or litle more. For first it is certain of two, that lo••t our Soc••e••ie, wherin they had spent some yeares, that one of them was not long after wounded to death, and the other, though he were a strong healthful man, in the prime of his youth, was suddenly taken away with a feauer; whervpon an other of ours, whom the Diuel at that instant was solli∣citing also to reuolt, meeting his corps, as they were carrying it to be buried, was so da••••ed with it, that shaking off the temptation which hung vpon him, he resolued to remaine in Religion. A third was a No••ice, who de∣boi••••d from that course by a kinsman of his, after a few dayes, which (blinded with the world) he spent in tauernes, in drinking, and al manner of licentious∣nes, he and his kinsman, that had deboi••••d him, with manie others in companie, met with the partie with whom they were at variance, and among so manie swords drawne, these two only were hurt; and the wounds at first seemed but slight; but rankled, and brought them both to their graue in one day, though not with like euent. For he that had forsaken his vocation, as that man that was more guiltie of the two, lost his speech and sense•• vpon a sudden, and so dyed, without either Confession (which doubtlesse he needed) or anie other Sacra∣ment. And almost at the same instant, the other wasted with a strong feauer, in the midst of his youth, though he had at the Sacraments, yet cryed out continually, that he was damned, and could not by anie meanes be drawne from that note. A fourth was as miserable, if not more miserable then he; for not a ful yeare after he had forsaken the Order, he was shot dead with a pistol. And that which hapned to a Priest was as lamentable, for hauing left the Order, he was kil∣led with a mattock by one of his Tenants, for certain iealousies. And an other fel mad and cast himself into a cesterne, from whence being two dayes after taken out and knowne, al the Cittie was in a maze, no bodie making doubt, but that hapned so vnto him, because he had left his vocation. Finally about the same time, another that had left the Societie while he was a Nouice, gaue himself ouer so farre to al kind of wickednes, that at last he came to be put to death for it; and when he was to goe to his execution, after he had made his Confession to one of our Fathers, he fel into a great passion of grief, exceedingly blaming himself for leauing this Paradise, as he called it, and protested, that when he put off the Habit of Religion, it was as if he had put off Christ, and set open the gates to al vice. And al this; as I sayd, hath hapned so lately, & to people that are so wel knowne, that of purpose I forbeare to name them, not to vpbraid the dead. It is to no pur∣pose therefore, to search ancienter records for the like lamentable accidents, seing we haue so manie feareful ones before our eyes. I omit diuers others, because I wil not be too long in so vnpleasing a subiect. These shal suffise, to shew, how neer this iniurie doth touch God, and how highly he is displeased with it, seing he doth reuenge it with so suddain and so grieuous punishments.

* 1.90512. Though we haue no great cause to wonder at it, if we con∣sider, how great a sinne it is to forsake God, when once we haue obli∣ged ourselues vnto him by Vow, and as it were sworne our allegeance, and yet turne to the vanities and seruices of the world. Of which sinne S. Basil hath this excellent discourse:* 1.906 He that hath once vowed himself to God, if afterwards he passe to another kind of life, committeth sacriledge, because he

stealeth himself from God, to whom he w•••• conse••r••••ed. And els-where more at large thus:* 1.907 This is most certain, that he that hath once obliged himself to liue in a spiritual Societie with his Brethren, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 separate and cut himself off from thē, without a great offence.

For if ••he••, when they haue once entred into a socie∣tie togeather in matters concerning this mortal life, cannot goe from it, by reason of the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 which are betwixt them; & he that 〈◊〉〈◊〉 tempt it, should be subiect to the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 with out doubt much 〈◊〉〈◊〉 he that hath 〈◊〉〈◊〉 couenant of a spiritual conuersation •• this vnion being inseparable & perpetualy cannot parte and breake off from them, with whom he was as it were one bodie; and if he doe, he is liable to most heauie punishments appointed by God. For if a woman taken into the companie of man by the lawes of marriage, and linked with him by 〈…〉〈…〉, be to dye for it, if she be found to haue broken her faith; how much more greeuous punishment shal be instricted vpon him, that diuideth himself from the spiritual cohabitation, to which he is tyed before the Holie-Ghost, as before a witnes and mediatour of it? As therefore the members of a man's bodie knit togeather by the bond of nature, cannot be pulled asunder from the bodie, or if they be pulled asunder, death must needs follow; so a Monk that is vni••ed to the bodie of his Religious brethren, and tyed vnto them by a stronger knot then the bond of nature, to wit, by the couenant which he hath entred with the Holie-Ghost, it cannot be thought, that he can anie way with∣draw himself from them, with whom he is thus linked: and if he doe, he leeseth the life of his soule, and togeather with his life, the grace of the Holie-Ghost, a•• one that hath broken the couenant,* 1.908 which vpon his aduise he made.

Thus sayth S. Basil, and much more to the like purpose, and concludeth with this obserua∣tion:

Wherefore, he that is such a one, is to be esteemed as condemned by the sen∣tence of Truth itself, as one that giueth great occasion of scandal to others, and by his euil example draweth others to imitate him. He becomes heire to that ter∣rible woe:* 1.909 It is expedient for him that a mil-stone be hanged at his neck, and that he be drowned in the deapth of the sea▪ For a soule that shal haue once cast itself headlong vpon this reuolt, soone filled with al kind of vice, intemperance, a••••a••••ee, glut∣tonie, falshood, and al loosse behauiour, and finally plunged in extreame wicked∣nes, sinck•• headlong into the deapth of malice.

Behold that which we sayd be∣fore; he that falleth from so eminent an estate, must needs bruse himself in al parts of his soule, and consequently 〈◊〉〈◊〉 into al manner of sinne, as S. Basil witnesseth in this place.

13. S. Augustin auoucheth the same in this heauie sentence:* 1.910

I plainly confesse before our Lord God, who is witnes ouer my soule, from the time that I began to serue God, as I haue hardly found better men then they that haue profited in Monasteries, so I haue not found worse then they are, that haue fallen out of Mo∣nasteries: so that I think it was for this cause written in the Apocalyps:* 1.911 Let the iust be more iust, and he that is 〈◊〉〈◊〉, become more filthie.

S. Ephrem also in one of his Sermons setteth forth very liuely this general 〈◊〉〈◊〉 both of spiritual and tem∣poral goods;* 1.912 which they incurre that fal from Religion, and thus he speaketh:

If after the renunciation, and the giuing ouer of our former course of life, a man beginne to halt in his endeauor to vertue, and by litle and litle depart from the right way, and looke back againe, he shal be an example to others in this life, and after this life shut out of the kingdome of heauen, vnworthie of the companie

of Saints, yea and to his parents thēselues his reachlessenes wil be a confusion, his friends wil fal away for greef, and his enemies reioyce at his slothfulnes and ruine. His kinsfolks and allyes wil wish him dead, because naked of earthlie things, he hath not layd hold of heauenlie things, but vnder pretence of Pietie stooped to the yoake of the Diuel; His parents, lament the losse of his soule; he himself, that is thus seduced in hart, and hath corrupted his wayes, shaking off vertue, becometh impudent, and is not ashamed to doe shameful things; for he neither feareth men, nor weigheth with himself the wrath of God. And as the im∣pious, when he shal come into the deapth of sinnes,* 1.913 contemneth, so falling into this great rashnes, he is afraid of nothing; but like him that sold al his substance, selling his garment of inestimable price, vpon a furie, filles it with patches of coorse and filthie cloth; which if he vse againe, he cannot vse it with honour and commen∣dation, but to his reproach and disgrace. For who wil not laugh him to scorne, seing him that yesterday in a Monasterie had gyrt himself to the seruice of his Brethren dwelling in one (after the example of our Lord Iesus Christ) to day walking with a company of seruants? or who wil not blame him, that yesterday of his owne accord, cast away al temporal things, embracing pouertie, and to day sits vpon the bench in iudgement, and earnestly recalles that which before he had condem∣ned, and transferres his mind againe from heauenlie things to earthlie?

Al this & much more is of S. Ephrem.

14. S. Gregorie also in his Epistle to Venantius, that was become an Apostate, and a vagabond, describeth at large the greeuousnes of this sinne, and among the rest sayth thus:* 1.914 Bethink thy self what habit thou wert in, and acknowledge to what thou art fallen, by neglecting the punishments which threaten thee from aboue. Consider therefore thy fault, while thou hast time.

Tremble at the rigour of the Iudge that is to come, least then thou feele it sharpe, when by no teares thou wilt be able to escape it. Ananias had vowed his money to God, which af∣terwards ouercome by perswasion of the Diuel, he withdrew againe; but thou knowest with what death he was punished.* 1.915 If therefore he was worthie of the punishment of death, that tooke away from God the money which he had giuen, consider what punishment in the iudgement of God thou shalt be worthie of, that hast withdrawne, not thy money, but thyself from Almightie God, to whom thou hadst vowed thyself in the habit of a Monk.

* 1.91615. And Caesarius in one of his Homilies to his Monks:

What can be more greeuous then suddenly to be rooted out of the place, to which thy Lord God had called thee, where he first enlightned thee, into which after the miseries of this world he brought thee as to the hauen, out of a terrible tempest? To forget vpon the sudden thy brotherhood, thy societie, thy comfort; to forget the place where thou hadst put off thy ancient habit, and thy secular behauiour? Birds loue their neasts; wild beasts loue the places, where they haue been bred, they loue their dennes and pastures. And thou that hast vnderstanding, that are endued with reason, wilt thou at anie time be so voyd of sense, as to preferre thy owne plea∣sures and intentions before the benefits of God, and follow thy owne phancies, which to whatsoeuer hard labour, to whatsoeuer wrack of saluation, and losses of thy soule, they draw thee, thou feelest not al this, by reason of the extreame basenes of thy hart.

16. S. Iohn Chrysostome also writ a long and eloquent Epistle of this subiect, to Theodore a Monk that was fallen, and beginneth it in this mourneful manner:

Who wil giue water to my head,* 1.917 and to mine eyes a fountaine of teares? and as followeth, expressing great greef; and againe speaketh thus vnto him:

Thou re∣iecting the commandment of our Lord, a Lord so meeke and humble, dost stoope to the cruel command of a Tyrant, that oppugneth our saluation, without anie feeling of compassion; Thou breaking the sweet yoak, and casting away the light burden, insteed of them, hast put thy neck in iron-chaines, and, which is more, hast of thy owne accord hung about thy owne neck a mil-stone. Where therefore dost thou think thou canst stay thyself, that hast drowned thy misera∣ble soule in so great a gulf, and brought thyself to an exigent, which driueth thee alwayes further and further into the deepe?* 1.918 The woman in the Ghospel when she had found her groa••e, called her neighbours togea••her to be a parta∣kers of her ioy, saying: Reioycce with me. But I calling friends togeather for a quite contrarie cause, wil say vnto them: Lament with me, mourne, and crye-out pittifully with teares; for a great losse is come vpon vs, not of gold, or siluer, or pretious stones, but of him that is more pretious to vs then al these; of him that sayling togeather with vs, this great and vast sea, being cast ouer board, I know not how, is fallen ••••••o the depth of perdition.

17. But S. Bernard speaketh heauiest of al the rest,* 1.919 not to one that was fallen from Religion to the world, but gone only out of one Religion to another more loosely gouerned, & had for it leaue frō the Pope; & yet he sayth thus vnto him: O sense∣lesse child, who hath enueigled thee not to performe thy Vowes, which thy lips haue vttered? and what doth anie man flatter thee in vaine with the Absolution from the Pope, seing the sentence of God doth bind thy conscience? No man, sayth he, putting his hand to the plough and looking back, is fit for the Kingdome of heauen. Looke into thy hart, examine thy intention, aduise with truth.

Let thine owne conscience answer, wherefore thou wentst away, wherefore thou forsookest thy Order, thy Brethren, thy place? if to liue more austerely, more vprightly, more perfectly, thou art secure, because thou hast not looked back; if otherwise, doe not mind high things, but feare.

Thus writeth S. Bernard in that Epistle, which is famous for the notable miracle which hapned in the writing of it. And his words ought to make the greater impression in vs, because, as I say, the man whom he blameth so much, returned not to the world, but went only to an inferiour state of perfectiō, & yet so great a man as S. Bernard,* 1.920 and so ful of the light of heauen as he was, doth not stick to condēne him as one that had looked back. And being asked the que∣stion at another time, he answereth not in his owne, but in S. Gregorie's words: For so, sayth he, writeth the holie Pope Gregorie in his Pastoral: Whosoeuer hath resolued to vn∣dertake a greater good, hath made the lesser good which he might haue done, vnlawful vnto him. And to proue it, he bringeth the testimonie of the Ghospel saying: No bodie putting his hand to the plough & looking back,* 1.921 is fit for the Kindome of heauen; & therevpon concludeth: He therefore that purposed in stronger endeauor, is conuinced to looke back, if forgoing the greater, he bend himself to the lesser. And the same S. Gregorie in his third Homilie vpon Eze∣chiel: There be some that performe indeed the works which they know,* 1.922 and performing them, purpose better things; but vnsaying themselues againe, they alter from the better which they had purposed. They doe the good things which they had begunne, but faint frō the better which they had thought to doe. These men certainly seeme in the iudgment of men to stand, but before the ••yes of Almightie God they are fallen from their purpose. Al this S. Bernard brings out of S. Gregorie; & the authorities of two so great Saints meeting togeather, make that which they sayd, the stronger.

18. And we may euidently conclude vpon it, that if it be a wicked thing to goe from a Religion that is perfect, to one that is lesse perfect, and he that doth so, shal not escape the iudgement of God; how much more wicked is it, to fal from Religion into the dirt and mire of the world? Some labour to excuse their incon∣stancie, pretending that they returne not ••o the world, to returne to their sinnes, but are resolued to liue vprightly and leade a vertuous life, which by the grace of God (which forsaketh no bodie) they hope to doe, & that it importeth not where they liue, so they liue wel. Against which foolish and pernicious errour we might say manie things; but one word of S. Basil is sufficient to stop their mouthes: Whosoeuer,* 1.923 sayth he, forsaketh the Colours of Christ, because he thinketh he may notwithstanding practise vertue, and please God, is wonderfully deceaued.

For he that in a course of life, not cumbred with distractiue cares, and therefore lesse subiect to sinne, could not withstand his aduersarie, how can it be thought, that in a life, in which there be so manie gates open to sinne, and where it is in his owne power freely to vse his libertie, he wil doe anie thing that is vertuous? And yet though we grant he may, he can neuer escape the infamie of hauing reuol∣ted from Christ, as those Disciples whom the holie Euangelist openly reproueth when he sayth:* 1.924 And manie of the disciples went back, and now did not walke with Iesus, saying: This word is hard.

And then alleadgeth manie arguments, to shew how dam∣nable this inconstancie is, and particularly, that they that suffer themselues to be thus put by their place, and leese their footing, become a laughing-stock and mockerie to al, and togeather with the losse of their owne soules, scandalize al kind of people, giuing them occasion to think, that the seruice of Christ is intol∣lerable.

19. But enough of this hideous offence, and perhaps more then enough, con∣sidering the matter is so fowle and detestable. Wherefore let vs returne to our for∣mer discourse of the sweetnes & happines, which God hath so abundantly heaped vpon this estate; for there can not be a greater incitement and encouragement to perseuer in it, then if we know truly what it is, and how great a guift of God. Let euerie one make account, that those heauenlie words of the Apocalyps were spo∣ken to himself:* 1.925 Hold that which thou hast, that no man may take thy crowne. For the seruice of God may be truly called a Crowne, which signifyes honour and dignitie, and a Princelie state. This is the Crowne which we must hold, that no bodie take it from vs; that is, endure whatsoeuer payne, trouble, labour, austeritie, yea parte with our verie liues, rather then parte with it.

* 1.92620. But what can we alleadge more effectual to encourage al Religious people in that which they haue in hand, then that discourse, which (as S. Athanasius re∣cordeth) S. Anthonie was wont to hold to his followers? And because it is the dis∣course of so rare a man, and so vniuersally agreeth to al Religious people, and layeth liuely before vs the happines which we enioy in Religion, I haue made choice of it, as the fittest to conclude therewith this whole Treatise of a Religious State. And this it is: In this present life the prices are equal with the things which we exchange;* 1.927 and he that selleth, receaueth not things of greater value from him that buyeth. But the promise of euerlasting life is purchased at a low rate. For it is written:

The dayes of our life three-score and ten yeares. When therefore we shal haue liued foure-score,* 1.928 or a hundred yeares, labouring in the seruice of God, in the life to come we shal not raigne iust so much time, but for the yeares which I haue

sayd, the kingdome of al ages shal be giuen vs. We shal not inherit earth but heauen, and leauing this corruptible bodie, we shal receaue it with incorruption. Therefore, my Children, let not tediousnes wearie you, nor the ambition of vaine-glorie delight you.* 1.929 The sufferings of this time are not condigne to the future glorie, which shal be reuealed in vs. Let no man, when he lookes vpon the world, think he hath left great matters; for the whole earth compared with the im∣mensitie of the heauens, is litle. If therefore renouncing the whole world, we can∣not say, we giue a iust value for those heauenlie habitations, let euerie one reflect vpon himself, and he wil presently vnderstand, that hauing contemned a smal treasure, or a litle house, or a smal portion of gold, he hath neither cause to glorie, as if he had forsaken great things, nor to repent himself, as if he were to receaue but litle. For as a man sets litle by one peece of brasse to gaine a hun∣dred peeces of gold, so he that hath forsaken the Empire of the whole world, shal receaue a hundred-fold of better rewards in that sublime Throne. Finally we must consider also, that though we would keepe our wealth, we shal be taken from it, whether we wil or no, by the course of death. Why therefore do we not make a vertue of necessitie? why doe we not voluntarily forsake that, to gayne the kingdome of heauen, which we must leese when our life is at an end? Let vs consider that we are seruants of our Lord,* 1.930 and owe seruice to him that hath created vs; let no man by looking back imitate the wife of Loth, especially seing our Lord hath sayd, that no man that putteth his hand to the plough and looketh back, is worthie of the kingdome of heauen. To looke back, is nothing els, but to repent our∣selues of that which we haue begun, and to entangle ourselues againe in world∣lie desires. Be not, I beseech you, afrayd of the name of vertue, as if it were im∣possible; let not this exercise seeme strange vnto vs, or hard to come by; it depen∣deth (the grace of God preceding) of our free wil; Man hath a natural inclina∣tion to this work,* 1.931 and it is a thing which expecteth only our good wil; wher∣vpon our Lord in the Ghospel sayth: The kingdome of God is within you.

This we haue culled out of a long discourse of S. Anthonie's, which euerie one must take, and ponder, as spoken to himself, that seing by the grace and goodnes of God we are entred into this holie race of Religion, we may continue to runne so in it, as we may one day happily obtayne.

The Conclusion of the whole Work, to Secular people. CHAP. XXXVIII.

WE must now at last addresse ourselues also to Secular people; though not to al, but to whom God hath vouchsafed from hea∣uen some rayes of a Religious vocation. Others that haue recea∣ued no such light, it is neither lawful for me to moue them in it, nor am I willing to meddle with admonishing them; but for that which belongeth to their dutie, other discourses are more fitting for them.

* 1.9322. But they whom God hath vouchsafed so great a benefit, as to cast his eye vpon them, and behold them sitting, as it were, in the Custome-house, and shining in their harts,* 1.933 hath inuited them, from earthlie thoughts, & worldlie fashions, to this heauenlie manner of liuing, stand in need of some bodie to admonish▪ to exhort, to help t••em forward in this happie course.* 1.934 For manie encounters stand expecting them, partly from the Diuel their forrain Enemie, partly from their owne flesh, an Enemie more dangerous, because the warre is within the land. And though eue∣rie one, by that which he findeth by experience within himself, may easily vnder∣stand, what kind of assaults these are, yet it wil not be amisse to heare what S. Gre∣gorie sayth of them in these words:

In the first beginning of our cōuersion we haue great sorrow;* 1.935 for when a man considering his owne offences, desires to breake in sunder the fetters of worldlie cares, & walke the way of God by the path of a safe conuersation, & cast off the heauie burden of temporal desires, to carrie the sweet yoak of our Lord in a free māner of seruitude: while he hath this in his thoughts, the carnal delight, which was familiar with him, meeteth him in the way, & being frō a long time growne in custome, the longer he hath vsed it, the streighter it clo∣seth with him, and suffereth him to parte the slower from it. And what sorrow is there, what anxietie of hart, when on the one side the spirit calleth, and on the other side the flesh draweth back? on the one side the loue of a new conuersation inuiteth, on the other the custome of our ancient wickednes resisteth; on the one side, his hart burnes with desire of the heauenlie Countrey, on the other side he endures in himself the payne of carnal concupiscence; which also doth in some sort delight him against his wil. This is S. Gregorie's discourse of it; and yet that fresh souldiers especially may not be dishartned, let vs see further, what succours and supplyes God sends them,* 1.936 and how easily they may goe away with the victo∣rie. For this is that which followeth in him: But because the Diuine grace doth not suffer vs long to be molested with these difficulties, breaking the fetters of our sinnes, he quickly bringeth vs to the libertie of this new conuersation, by comfor∣ting vs; and the ensuing ioy solaceth our precedent sorrowes, insomuch that the soule of euerie one that is cōuerted, doth so much the more reioyce, when it obtai∣neth what it desired, by how much it remembreth the greef was greater in the la∣bour to obtaine it. His hart is excessiuely ioyful, because now through hope of securitie he approacheth to whom he desired, and rightly we may say of him:

He wil beseech God,* 1.937 who wil be pleased with him, and he shal see his face in inhilation; or: He hath deliuered his soule, that it should not goe to destruction, but liuing should see light.

3. If therefore the case be thus, as S. Gregorie telles vs, who can be afrayd of such skirmishes as are,* 1.938 as we see, both short, and seconded on our side with so manie helps towards the victorie? But first of al, for the better successe in it, we must weane ourselues from a conceipt, which is wont to be a great rub in this kind of deliberation, as if they that forsake the goods of this world, lost some great matter, wheras in truth there is no great thing in them, nothing that can be truly called good; & though there were, they that doe forsake them, doe not indeed loose them, but exchange them for that which is better, and of farre greater value. Which is that, of which S. Bernard putteth Sophia,* 1.939 a noble and rich Ladie, in mind, vpon a resolution which she had to forsake the world, and con∣secrate herself to God. The things, sayth he, which thou abandonest, are smal, earthlie, transitorie. That which thou desirest, is great, heauenlie, eternal. I wil say more, and yet say but the truth: Thou forsakest darknes, thou entrest into light; from the deapth of the seas, thou risest to the harbour; from a miserable slauerie, thou art rescued into a happie freedome; finally from death thou passest to life▪ For hitherto liuing after thine owne wil, not after the wil of God, liuing at thine owne direction, not according to the law of God, liuing thou wert dead.

4. S. Ambrose for this reason likeneth the voluntarie renunciation of al things to a thing deposited,* 1.940 because when we depositate anie thing with a friend, we receaue the self same thing againe at the time agreed on, and haue this commoditie, that in the meane time it is sure vnto vs in a safe hand. Thus he speaketh to vowed Vir∣gins: Let vs grant,* 1.941 that you must sit downe with losse of your patrimonie; doe not the kingdomes of heauē hereafter recōpēse the losse of such fickle goods?

Though, if we beleeue the words of Heauen, there is no bodie that shal haue left house, or parents, or brethren, for the name of Christ, that shal not receaue much more at these times, & in the world to come life euerlasting. Put thy trust in God; thou that trustest man with thy money, put it into God's hands. He like a good keeper of the hope, which we depositate in him, wil repay the talent of his trust, with multiplied vse. Truth doth not deceaue, Iustice doth not circumuēt, Vertue doth not beguile

5. The force of which reason of S. Ambrose was declared by a heauenlie vision which hapned to S. Laurence Iustinian. For it is recorded of him, that when he was about nineteen yeares of age, at which time youth is most slipperie and most in danger,* 1.942 as being then vpon the bending, our Sauiour appeared vnto him, in the shape of a Virgin, brighter then the Sunne, and with a louing contenance spake thus vnto him: Why dost thou, my yong man, thus waste thy hart, & seeking peace, powre out thy self vpon manie things? that which thou seekest, is in my power to giue thee. If thou resolue to haue me for thy spouse, I promise thou shalt most cer∣tainly haue this peace. The yong man taken with so admirable beautie, & so large a promise, craued her name, and her descent. She answered: I am the Wisedome of God, which tooke the shape of man vpon me to reforme man-kind. S. Laurence therupon replying, that he most willingly tooke her for his spouse, she kissed him, and with great expression of ioy, as he conceaued, went her way. And not long after, he betaking himself to a Monasterie to effect the marriage which was offe∣red him, found by experiēce, as we haue sayd, that he was not only no looser by it, but got much more then he had in the world, and things of incomparable price.

* 1.9436. This conceipt therefore of the greatnes of earthlie things being remoued, we must also banish a certain feare, which some people haue, least the difficulties of a Religious life be vnsupportable, and more then the forces of our frayle na∣ture are able to beare; or at least, that if a man haue so much hart as to abide them, he must needs liue a heauie vncouth life; which, to say the truth, is but an idle chil∣dish feare. For, as I haue shewed at large before, we must not so wholy fixe our eyes vpon that which we see outwardly of Religion (which I must confesse is some∣what seuere) but that withal we must looke into that which is inward, which a∣layes al the seueritie, and indeed takes it quite away, and giues a man such inward sweetnes, as nothing can be more pleasant then a Religious life, which is one of the arguments, which S. Hierome vseth to Heliodorus, writing thus vnto him: Dost thou feare pouertie?* 1.944 But Christ sayth, the poore are blessed. Doth labour dant thee?

But no Chāpion is crowned without sweating for it. Dost thou take thought for meate & drinke? but Fayth feeleth no hunger. Art thou afrayd to bruse against the bare ground thy hollow limmes with fasting? But God lyeth with thee. Doth the il-fauoured hayre of thy neglected head affright thee? but thy head is Christ.

7. But what need we stand vpon force of reason in a thing, which we may see with our eyes? For partly we reade, partly we dayly see before vs, so manie exam∣ples of them,* 1.945 that forsaking the world, haue liued, and doe this day liue in Reli∣gion with excessiue ioy and contentment, as it is wonderful Had they not bodies and soules such as we haue? If watching therefore and fasting, the yoak of Obe∣dience, the incommoditie of Pouertie, finally al kind of labour and paynes that can be taken by man, were to them light and delightful, what weaknes is it for vs alone, to imagine euerie thing so burdensome, and so intolerable? Had not they the same nature, the same God, no acceptour of persons, father to al, comforter of al? This is the consideration, which in the like exigent holp that great S. Augustin, and absolutly thrust him vpon the resolution,* 1.946 which he tooke of abandoning the world, and of al those that haue been reclaymed from the broad and spacious way to the narrow path of Christ, for ought we find written, none euer went so fear∣fully to work, and hung vpon so manie delayes, as he did, according to his owne relation, writing of these his difficulties and demurres, and of the horrour which he had of a new life, in regard of his old customes, which had taken so deep root in him: And yet he ouercame thē al, as I sayd, with this thought, how manie with∣out number, not only like to himself, but farre weaker then he, in regard of their age or sexe, went chearfully through with this kind of life. And these are his words:

On that side that I had bent my face to goe, and where I trembled to passe, ••here was layd open before me the chast worthines of Continencie, chearful, and not dissolutly merrie, honestly enticing me to come, & that I should not misdoubt, reaching forth, to receaue me & embrace me her pious hands ful of whole troupes of good examples. There I saw so manie boyes and gyrles; there a great deale of youth▪ & al ages, graue widowes, & ancient maydes; & amidst them al, Continen∣cie itself, not bar••en, but a fruitful mother of sonnes of ioyes of thee, ô Lord, her husb••nd.

And she laughed at me, with a kind of laughter that exhorted me, as who should say: shalt not thou be able to doe that which these & these? Or could these and these d••e it of themselues, and not rather in their Lord their God? Who∣s••euer therefore shal find himself in this kind of wandring mind, let him set be∣f••re him, as S. Augustin, this pour••raiture of Continencie and Religion, and

vnder the wings therof so manie thousands of men and women, some of yong••r, some of elder yeares, that in the world for the most part liued richly, commodi∣ously, deliciously; and yet afterwards embracing Religious pouertie, liued in that strict course of life with great feruour and contentment, and with no lesse feruour haue perseuered in it to the end. Whom would not such a sight encourage? yea, whom would it not prouoke to put himself also into companie to be one of so deare a flock of our Lord, and be glad of it?

8. We might heer lay togeather manie other incitements to this purpose, as the shortnes of the life of man, the vanitie of al temporal things, the feare of death, the danger of hel-fire, the hope of euerlasting rewards in Heauen, the beautie of a Religious course, appearing in the verie outward habit, and ga••e, and behauiour of Religious people, wherof sometimes one, sometimes more of them togeather, haue been forcible meanes to draw people, as in reason they may, from the loue of the world to Religion; but I passe to a few examples of them.

9. We reade in the historie of the Order of S. Dominick,* 1.947 of a rich noble man, whose name was Rowland, that hauing spent vpon some festiual occasion, the whole day in feasting, sporting, and dancing, and other vanities, himself glorious in new and costlie apparrel;* 1.948 at night reflecting vpon it, he began to think: Loe, what is become of al this feast we haue been at? where is al the iolitie of this day? whither is it gone? And weighing with himself, that as that day was gone and past, so al the rest of our life would passe togeather with al the happines and plea∣sures of it, and that nothing would remaine but sorrow and repentance, he be∣tooke himself the verie next day to Religion; and seruing God manie yeares in it, was famous for sanctitie & learning. And in the same Order about the same time one Peter Gonzales was renowned both for holines of life,* 1.949 and learning, who was conuerted vpon a smal occasion in shew, yet such an one as might plainly shew the vanitie of the world.* 1.950 For being nephew to the Bishop of Valentia, and holding manie sat Benefices by his meanes before he was of yeares for it, and spending the profits of them in vaine pleasures and pride; it hapned that as he was one day riding like a yong gallant with his conforts about the Cittie, he fel into a filthie slowe, and being taken-vp al wet and mirie, the boyes of the street laughed at him, and decided him bitterly; and the man was so ashamed, and so angrie with him∣self withal, that he presently fayd within himself: Seing I haue serued the world, and it hath dealt thus with me, I wil deale with it accordingly as it deserues. And at the instant resolued to put himself into the seruice of God, which not long after he did, to the astonishment of al the Cittie, in the Religious Familie which I sayd. Another was moued to the like course by the feare of hel-fire.* 1.951 For liuing loosely in al kind of pleasure, and suffering no man to open his mouth vnto him about the reforming of himself; a Religious man going once to see him vpon curtesie,* 1.952 at their parting spake this onlie sentence of the Prophet: Vnder thee the moath shal be strewed, and wormes shal be thy couering. Which saying struck so deepely into him, that he could think of nothing but wormes and moathes, and labouring to put so irksome a thought out of his head, by play and other pastimes among his companions, he was rather worse; and therupon reflecting, that if the bare thinking of that punishment was so vnsupportable, how much more vntolle∣rable would the punishment itself be? and yealding the field to God, he conse∣crated himself vnto him in Religion.

* 1.95310. At Bologna vpon the first beginning almost of the Order of S. Dominick, a great learned man was drawne vnto it by consideration of the immensitie of the ioyes of heauen. For Reginaldus a principal man of that Order preaching with great concourse and great applause; this man, whose name was Monetus, was wont alwayes to shunne his conuersation and Sermons, much fearing he should be catched by him. Yet vpon a S. Stephen's day being drawne by importunitie of some of his acquaintāce to a Sermon, he was taken instantly with the verie first words. For his text being: Behold, I see the heauens open, he began to discourse vpon it to this effect: That now the gates of heauen were open, and anie man might enter it that would, & be happie; But they that should neglect this occasion, & shut their harts to God, should find also the gates of heauen shut against them, and would neuer be able to get in. The man needed no more; for his hart being changed suddenly, though before he was much auerted from a Religious life, he purposed to enter into Religion; and when the Sermon was ended he went to Reginald, & opened his mind vnto him, and moreouer made a vow, that he would effect it.

11. No lesse admirable was that which hapned to one Andrew; who▪ as we reade, was famous in the Cistertian Order. For, being Archdeacon of Virdun,* 1.954 nobly borne and wealthie, he came to Clairenaux, that he might be an eye-witnes of the vertues of th•• house, of which he had heard so much, it being then but newly begun; not hauing the least thought himself to take vpon him anie such course. But entring into the Chapter-house (where al the Religious were met) to the end to commend himself to their prayers,* 1.955 and beholding the order, and silence, and as it were the Angelical, habit of that holie assemblie, he was very much moued at it; & the spirit of God seazing his heart, was wholy changed into another man, & inflamed with such a desire of embracing that course, that he resolued not so much as to delay time to goe home for a while, either to bid his acquaintance farewel, or to dispose of his meanes, but presently breaking with al the world, he forsooke al instantly to adhere to Christ.

* 1.95612. S. Nicolas Tolentin was in like manner changed vpon a different occasion. For an Augustin-Friar preaching in the open streets vpon those words of S. Iohn: Doe not loue this world,* 1.957 nor the things which are in the world: and discoursing at large, and with much vehemencie, of the vanitie and dangers of the world, this Nicolas being then a yong man,* 1.958 and standing there by chance, was so inflamed with this dis∣course, that resoluing to leaue the world, he went presently to the Monasterie with the Preacher, so soone as he had ended his Sermon.

13. Manie like effects hath our Lord and Sauiour wrought in our dayes, & doth dayly worke among men. One of our Societie was moued to forsake the world, to which he was much engaged in affection,* 1.959 by a thought of Eternitie. For thus he discoursed with himself: Betweene that which is limited, & that which is infinit, there is no proportion; & consequently not only one life which a man hath, but though he had manie liues, if it were possible, it were nothing in comparison of the eternal rewards.

14. Another, that while he liued in the world was a great Lawyer, & tooke much paynes in his Clients causes,* 1.960 at last resolued thus with himself: Seing a man must labour and take paines in this life, it is much better to take paynes for God, who rewardeth his seruants so bountifully, then for the world, where oftimes we haue no reward at al, or a very smal and short recompence. Vpon which consideration he presently entred into our Societie.

15. But that which hapned to Father Claudius Aquauiua,* 1.961 General of the Societie, was more notable. He was moued to forsake the world by those words of our Sa∣uiour: My sheep heare my voice;* 1.962 for withal he was seazed with a holie feare, least if he should not giue eare to the heauenlie counsel, he should not be one of Christ's sheep; and therefore came the same howre, and almost at the same instant, to our Fathers, and gaue himself wholy vnto them. No lesse remarkable was the motiue, vpon which Francis Borgia,* 1.963 another General of our Order, came to the Societie. For while he was Duke of Gandie, and in great credit with euerie bodie, it hapned, that he was appointed by the Emperour Charles the Fift, to accompanie the bodie of the Ladie Isabel lately deceased, wife to the said Emperour. In which iourney there falling out some occasion to haue the coffin opened to view the dead corps, he seing it now turned to corruption, and the wormes swarming about it, and gnawing it, presently began to reflect with himself, to what al the power and glorie of that woman was come, whose verie countenance, while she liued, kept the world in awe, and how little difference death makes betwixt a Prince and the poorest creature that is. And this consideration of the sicklenes of al flesh wrought so in his mind, that he left his Dukedome, & embraced an humble Religious life.

16. Al these and infinit more,* 1.964 whom it were long to rehearse, both of late yeares and ancienter times, some for one cause, and some for another, haue been moued to Religious courses: But al the motiues, which they haue had, may be reduced to two heads, which it is fit we should know, and haue alwayes before our eyes, to wit, the miserie of this world, and the happines of a Religious life. And what in∣finit miseries doth the miserie of this world inuolue? On the other side, this one happines of Religion, what number of happinesses without number doth it com∣prehend? The world & al the hopes & proffers of it passe away, & we from them. What greater madnes therefore can there be, then to resolue to perish with that which perisheth? What greater wisedome, then betimes to forsake that which sooner or later must be forsaken? specially seing, if we forsake it voluntarily of our owne accord, we shal haue the honour of hauing forsaken it, and inestimable rewards besides for doing so; wheras if we attend til it be taken from vs, we may wel looke oftimes for punishment,* 1.965 but certainly shal haue no rewards. Which blindnes of ours S. Gregorie taxeth in these words: Our proud mind wil not yet willingly parte with that, which daily it leeseth, whether it wil or no.

17. For the time wil come, and it wil not be long, when thou that art now a yong man, in the flower of thy yeares, strong and able of bodie, and, as thou con∣ceauest, happie, drunk (as I may say) notwitstanding with ambition, with desire of honour & preferments, with the fauo•••• & good wil of men, with the sweetnes of earthlie pleasures, shalt lye nayled to a couch, scorched with a burning feauer, consumed to the bone with greef & payne, in the midst of the teares of thy kindred, of the sorrowes & lamentations of thy wife & children, which now thou takest so much pleasure in thinking to get, euerie moment expecting the last howre, when bodie and soule shal be separated one from the other. Of what opinion dost thou imagin thou wilt then be? what greef, what anguish, what torment wil pessesse thee, when thou shalt see, that heauen is vtterly lost, because in this life thou didst neglect it; and now must leese this world, which thou didst so much affect? Think therefore betimes of that howre, set that day often before thine eyes, and doe 〈◊〉〈◊〉 that, which at that time, which possibly cannot be auoyded, thou wouldst wish thou had 〈…〉〈…〉

What wilt thou (sayth the Prophet) in the way of Aegypt,* 1.966 to drink muddie water? and what hast thou with the way of Assyrians,* 1.967 to drink the water of the riuer? What is this way of Aegypt, or of the Assyrians, but the way of the world? where pleasures slide away like the current of anie riuer, and are moreouer dirtie & muddie, choaked with earth, and grounded but in earthlie things. How vnworthie a thing is it for the soule of man, descended from heauen, and borne to heauenlie things, a soule bought and washed with the sacred bloud of the lining God, & made more white then snow in that heauenlie bath, to plunge itself in such muddie streames, hauing at hand such fountaines of liuing wa••er, springing to life euerlasting? the pleasures, & delights, I say, of a Religious life; pleasures that are chast, vnspotted, vndefiled; pleasures which heer delight and spring-vp to life euerlasting, because the delight which we haue in them, doth not diminish but encrease our reward in the life to come, in regard it makes vs more chearfully apply ourselues to the seruice of our God.* 1.968 It hath at hand the Hundred-fold promised vs by our Sauiour, as the proui∣sion for our charges, during this our pilgrimage, the solace of our present labour, the earnest-pennie and pledge of our future rewards. And what hath the world comparable to this Hundred-fold, seing certainly this is a hundred times beyond it, be it neuer so great? Wherefore, if to liue contentedly, to liue pleasantly, to liue happily, be our desire, why doe we seeke it elswhere, but where Christ our Sauiour, where Truth itself doth tel vs, it is to be had? If a man should promise vs of world∣lie gayne, twentie or somewhat more for one, it would not be long before we should put al the money we haue, into his hand, & moreouer sel al to make money of it, to the end to place it so profitably; and yet the man in whom we repose our trust, is a man, and may deceaue vs, he may alter his mind, he may leese al & become banck-rout; But whom did God euer deceaue, or how can he possibly deceaue anie man, or grow lesse then his word? sooner wil he leaue to be God, then one iot or one tittle of his promises shal be voyd.

* 1.96918. S. Bernard therefore had great reason to say:

In the meane time, from whence soeuer they are to receaue a hundred-fold, so it be a hundred-fold, so it be worth a hundred times as much, let it please, let it delight, let it comfort, and be loued a hundred times more then anie thing els. What madnes is it for men to be back∣ward in forsaking one for a hundred? where is the couetous? where is the am∣bitious? where is the disputer of this world? what? Is the couetousnes of men asleepe, and growne cold in matter of assured negotiation, and most gaineful marts? what lew wouldst thou refuse in this kind, ô man, that hast receaued the name of our Lord IESVS CHRIST in vayne? To what sacrilegious per∣son, wouldst thou refuse to giue al that thou hast, for a hundred times as much? Strange newes! but coming from him, that makes al things new; A man takes vp a yoak, and findes rest; leaueth al, and hath a hundred-fold.

* 1.97019. And doubtlesse, the true consideration of this hundred-fold, and of the immensitie of the rewards which we report, were able to make a man runne into the fire to purchase it, much more to Pouertie and Obedience. But if people, not∣withstanding such gaynes and such rewards as are offered them vpon the forsaking of their worldlie wealth and substance, wil choose rather to remayne with it, what followes? but that either we must say, they care not for gayne, which cannot be, seing naturally men loue themselues and their profit excessiuely, or cal this recompence of a hundred-fold in question, which is the onlie thing which can be

sayd, and which Aegidius (that famous man, one of the first disciples of S. Fran∣cis, and one whom he loued entirely for his great sanctitie) charged a secular Doctour with.* 1.971 For, putting this question vnto him:

Dost thou beleeue, that the rewards are great, which God hath prepared for them that loue him and serue him? And the Doctour answering, that he did beleeue it: But I wil shew thee, sayth Aegidius, that thou dost not beleeue it. How much art thou worth? A thousand crownes, sayd the man. If therefore (replyed Aegidius) thou couldst place these thousand crownes so as presently to haue a hundred thousand for them, wouldst not thou instantly employ thy money that way? seing therefore thou dost not employ it so, it is euident, that thou dost not beleeue Christ's promises.

Thus did Aegidius argue to the point.

19. And thus much of the losse and diminishing of our gaines;* 1.972 which, con∣sidering the busines concernes eternitie, is of great importance. But it is much more important, and more heauie, and miserable, that besides the losse they runne hazard of eternal damnation; first by reason of the general danger, which al men are in, that liue a secular life, as I haue shewed at large in the course of this Treatise; and secondly, by reason of the particular hazard, which this man or the other may be in, in regard that perhaps for his particu∣lar there is no way to be saued, but in Religion; and vnlesse he take that course, he shal vndoubtedly perish; which I doe not speake of my owne head, but it is a document of S. Gregorie's in his Epistle to the Emperour Mauritius,* 1.973 where reprehending him for a Proclamation which he had caused to be set forth, forbidding ceratin kind of people to become Monks, he telleth him, his law is vniust, because manie may be shut out of heauen by it; and giues this reason: for though manie may liue vprightly in the world, yet (sayth he) there be manie, who vnlesse they forsake al, cannot by anie meanes in the sight of God be saued. Which saying of so holie and so aduised a man, as S. Gregorie was, ought in reason to make great impression in vs; for euerie one may iustly feare himself, and hath no cause, why he should not feare, least he be of the number; and specially they that either admit not of the vocation of God, or hauing entertayned his holie inspirations, fly off agayne from them. For this ingratitude towards so good a God, is that great offence, which S. Bernard termeth a Scorching wind,* 1.974 drying vp the fountain of pietie, the deaw of mercie, the streames of grace. And if we consider the manner of pro∣ceeding, which God is wont to hold, as himself giueth vs to vnderstand, we shal thinke no lesse; for he doth not only with-hold his bountiful hand from them, that doe not encrease and multiplie that grace which they haue recea∣ued of him, but taketh from them that which he had giuen them before; and maketh good his owne saying in the Ghospel:* 1.975 To him that hath, it shal be giuen, and he shal abound; and from him that hath not, euen that which he had, shal be taken from him.

20. But the beautie and dignitie and comelines of a Religious life,* 1.976 is of farre greater consideration, and ought much more to moue vs to embrace it: specially if we compare it with the crookednes, or (as we may wel say, considering most mens behauiours) the fowlenes and il-fauourdnes of the world, as light with darknes. For Religion, as it professeth and maketh a

shew, is indeed a state of perfection: And what is better, and more sought after in the world, then perfection? We make so great account of a compleat house, of a horse that is perfectly wel made, of a tree that is finely growne, that we are neuer wearie of looking vpon it, neuer think we can sufficiently commend it. How much ought we in reason admire the soule of man, which of itself is so perfect a thing? But adding more∣ouer the perfection of vertue and sanctitie, which it hath in Religion, it is doubtlesse so perfectly beautiful, and so comelie, that nothing vpon earth can be compared with it, nothing deserue more loue and esteeme. In which respect S. Hierome had reason to say,* 1.977 as he did, to a noble man, whom he laboured to perswade to forsake the world, and pressed him in these words:

But thou wilt say, this is an Apostolical dignitie, and belon∣geth to him that wil be perfect. And why wilt not thou also be perfect? why shouldst not thou be the first in the familie of Christ, that art first in the world?

And indeed it is a wonder, how men that so much desire to haue al things, which are without them, of the perfectest and compleatest that can be gotten, should notwithstanding not only not desire the perfection of their owne mind, which doth so farre excel the other both in worth, and profit, and importance, but neglect it, and oftimes not so much as looke after it, when they may easily purchase it. When thou art to buy a farme, sayth, S. Augustin, thou seekest a good one; to marrie a wife, thou choo∣sest a good one;* 1.978 when thou wouldst haue children, thou wouldst haue them good;

If thou be to buy hose and shoes, thou wilt haue no il ones: and dost thou loue an euil life? What hath thy life offended thee, which alone thou wilt haue to be il, that among al thy goods, thy self be only euil?

21. By which also we may see, how litle ground they haue, that willing to decline a Religious vocation,* 1.979 excuse themselues by saying:

God hath commanded no such thing, but left it free euerie bodie's choice; if he embrace it, it is wel; if he do not, there is no offence com∣mitted. Which foolish and inconsiderate kind of Argument, a father of our Societie, wel experienced in spiritual things, once answered home, and to the purpose. For assisting a Doctour of Diuinitie in the Spiritual Exercises, and the Doctour feeling himself called by God to Religion, and labouring notwithstanding to auoyd it by this kind of fallacie, the Father put him this case: Tel me, sayth he, if you were of force to sayle into the Indies, and among manie ships that were readie to goe the voyage, some better, some worse, the Admiral of the Fleete should inuite you into his owne ship, new, strongly built, wel prouided of al things, sayles, ca∣bles, Pilot, marriners of the best, would you refuse his curtesie, and cast yourself into a weather-beaten vessel, rotten, and vnprouided of tack∣ling and al other furniture? or would you not rather with manie thanks accept of it, or perhaps yourself entreate him, and presse him to admit of you? Much more therefore, to auoyd the ship-wrack of your soule, which is a losse eternal, ought you to choose that state, which may carrie you safe, and in the more assurance, through the dangerous and rockie

seas of this world.

Nothing more cleare and euident; and accordingly the Doctour conceauing of it, and conuinced with the truth, without further demurre, put himself into our Societie.

22. But let vs suppose for a while, that theve is no such danger in the world, as we speake of; suppose a man be certain to goe to heauen, is it not better notwithstanding to labour not only to come to heauen, but to haue as much glorie in it as possibly we can? For if, for example, a man should offer thee pewter or siluer,* 1.980 or siluer and gold, to choose what thou thinkst good, wouldst thou make anie question what to choose? or wouldst thou content thy self with a reuennue of two or three hundred yearely, if a hundred thousand were presented thee? Seing therefore there is no gayne so smal, which men doe not make great account of in the world, and gree∣dily lay hold of it when it is offered; what blindnes is it, when thou mayst be rich in that heauenlie glorie, that is, purchase manie degrees of it, great measure of ioy, plentie of eternal felicitie, to choose, as I may say, rather eternal pouertie? and sowing heer sparingly, order thy busines so, as when thou comest to heauen,* 1.981 if euer thou come thither, thou reape also sparingly?

23. Let vs giue eare to what the Apostle, or rather our Lord by the Apostle speaketh to al:* 1.982 The time is short; it remayneth that they also, who haue wi••es, be as though they had not; and they that reioyce, as though they reioyced not; and they that buy, as though they possessed not; and they that vse this world, as though they vsed it not:* 1.983 for the figure of this world passeth away. What doth al this meane, but that, though it be free for euerie bodie to keepe what he hath, it is not free for euerie bodie to vse it as he lift? He must vse it so, as his hart be not set vpon it; he must vse it, as a meanes only to passe this life; so as to be content to parte with it, if God be pleased to take it from him; and also readie of himself to cast it away, when the glorie of Almightie God shal so require; to be short, he must vse it as if he did not vse it. This is the manner set downe by the Apostle, and extendeth itself to al things, to wife, children, lands, goods, money, honour, and al things. If therefore the case be thus, if these be the conditions, vpon which we may possesse the goods of this world, how much better is it not to haue them, then to haue the vse of them with so manie restraints? For first, it is much easier not to set our affection vpon them when we haue them not, then to haue them and not to affect them. Secondly, there is also more contentment in it; for to be alwayes curbing our affections in that which we haue alwayes before our eyes, is extreme violent, and consequently cannot last long; and for the time that it doth last, it must needs bring vs into a continual warre and debate with ourselues, wonderful difficult & laborious to goe through with; which difficultie they doe not find, who free themselues from the matter that feeds this contentment.

24. And al this belongs to the losse which they that refuse to yeald to God, when he calleth them to Religiō,* 1.984 & offereth thē so manie treasures as a Religious vocation containeth, draw vpon themselues, meerly because they wil follow the vanities & libertie of this world. Let vs consider now, what wrong, what offence it is to God. First, they draw back from God, whose they are wholy, al that they are; He created & made them for himself; he bought them, as the Apostle sayth, a•• a great

price; finally, not to repeate al titles, they stand engaged vnto him by the promise which they made in Baptisme, when they were deliuered ouer into his seruice, and, as it were, sworne his souldiers. To withdraw themsel∣ues therefore from him, and resolue to be at their owne dispose, is as it were to take away a slaue, or anie thing els from another man; which at least is theft.

24. And though the case were not thus, yet doubtlesse it is an affront. when inuited so often and so earnestly to his friendship and familiaritie, we refuse it, and neglect his proffers and promises, as if they were not worth the taking vp, or were vncertain. Great men of this world think themselues much wronged, if vpon their entreatie they should be refused. But there is no danger in it, they seldome presse a curtesie so farre vpon any man; people must rather seeke to them for fauour, and entreate hard to be admitted in their seruice, and vse al the meanes they can to insinuate themselues into their good wils. God only is left alone, and neglected, with al his promises and inuitations, though he be farre greater then anie Prince, and make larger offers. A thing to be lamented in the highest degree! And what then shal we think of the offence which is in it? As before I shewed, that it is a haynons sinne, to goe back from Religion, when we haue once vndertaken to follow Christ in it: so they come not farre short of it, that contemne the voyce and counsel of God, when he calleth them to Religion. For, setting aside the obligation which Religious people haue aboue others by the vow and promise which they make, the iniurie (which is that which we now speak of) and the affront, is in a manner alike, to breake friendship, and to refuse to be friends, when friendship is offered: as there is not much difference in the disobe∣dience, when a man leaues to doe his Prince's wil after he hath begunne to doe it, and when he resolues neuer to begin. And consequently, as there we shewed. how God doth in a manner alwayes manifest his high displeasure against the first, that forsake him, the like we may expect and make account of in this. And that which we read in the Psalme, doth iustly and in verie truth fal vpon them, that because they would not blessing, it shal be set farre from them; and because they loued maledi∣ction, it shal befal them, and shal be put vpon them like a garment, and enter like water into their inner parts,* 1.985 and as oyle into their bones.

That also which the Iustice of God threatneth in the booke of Wisedome, is ful∣filled in them: I called, and you refused; I held out my hand, and there was not he that would looke; you despised al my counsel, and neglected al my rebukes. What punishment therefore belongeth to such a fault? It followeth:* 1.986 I also wil laugh in your dectruction, and scorne, when that shal happen, which you feared.

* 1.98725. The effect of which rigorous denunciation appeareth in that which S. An∣tonine recordeth of one that had made a vow to be a Franciscan-Friar; but after∣wards changing his mind, became a Prebend; and not manie moneths passed, but he fel deadly sick; and being put in mind by them that belonged vnto him, to think of setting his soule in order by a good Confession, he answered: There

was no need, because shewed vnto him that he was damned; & therefore they should trouble him no more, because he could not Confesse. For our Lord, sayth he,* 1.988 appeared vnto me very angrie, saying: I called thee, and thou refu∣sedst; therefore get the gone to the torments of Hel; and with that he gaue vp the ghost. A woeful and most lamentable end.

26. With another in like danger, it fel out better. For hauing had a purpose, while he was a yong man,* 1.989 to enter among the Monks of the Cistertian Order (and yet he had made no vow) differing it from day to day, he grew cold in it; and returning home from a pilgrimage which he had made to Compostella, that verie night our Sauior appeared vnto him with his two Apostles, S. Peter and S. Iames. S. Peter held in hand before our Sauiour a daintie booke open, in which the name of the yong man, which was Iohn, was written; our Sauiour there∣fore sayd to S. Peter: Blot this man out of my booke. S. Iame•• began earnestly to beg for him, as for a Pilgrim of his, and tooke vpon him, that the youth should re∣forme himself. The youth seing that the matter concerned himself, was in a great agonie; and trembling with feare, made great promises, that he would begin a new life. But our Sauiou seeming not to trust him by reason of his former inconstancie, asked, who would giue his word for him? and S. Iames offered himself. With which the youth awaking, and being much astonished at it, yet fel asleepe againe, and the same vision appeared the second time vnto him, and moreouer he spyed in the booke this instruction out of the Canti∣cles: We wil make thee chames of gold enameled with siluer. Hartned therefore on the one side with this ioyful promise, and frighted on the other with those threats,* 1.990 he presently went to Cisteau••x, where profiting exceedingly in vertue, he was created Abbot of Bonavalle, and afterwards Bishop of Valence.

27. In the Chronicles of the Franciscans we reade, that about the yeare 1350. a Schollar of Paris hauing purposed to enter into that Order, and gone so farre as to cause his Habit to be made readie, altered his mind. Not long after in the night, he saw as if our Sauiour were sitting on a Throne of great maiestie to iudge;* 1.991 whervpon with remorse of con∣science he began to crye out: Haue mercie vpon me, ô Lord; and our Sa¦uiour answered: I wil haue mercie, so as thou performe what thou didst intend. And he most willingly promising that he would, he was notwithstanding by the Diuel cast into a Copper ful of boyling oyle and pitch, and felt himself in such grieuous torment with it, as if his flesh had been torne from his bones; and awaking with the anguish, he instantly with great zeale betooke himself to a Religious life. What shal I say of Gerard brother to S. Bernard, whose fact was in two respects very memorable? For obstinately reiecting the good admonitions, which S. Bernard gaue him about forsaking the world, as being in the flower of his youth, and hot vpon the warres where he had new be∣gun to serue,* 1.992 S. Bernard pointing at his side, sayd vnto him with a Pro∣phetical spirit: The day wil come, and that quickly, when a speare thrust into this side,* 1.993 wil open thy breast to the wholsome counsels, to which now it is shut. And it hapned so. For within few dayes after, wounded in that verie place of his bodie, and taken by the enemie in a skirmish, remembring what his bro∣ther had foretold him, he cryed out, that he was a Monk of Cisteaux. They

carrie him notwithstanding away, and put him in prison; where tormented with greef, that he could not goe to Ci••••••au•• with the rest of his Brethren, one day he saw his irons were fallen off, and the prison-gates were open: and euerie bodie fled, that might either haue stayed him or discouered him; wherevpon he fled to the next Church, and from thence to the Monasterie, desirous of th•••• holie course, and confirmed withal in his desire by so la••e and so strange a mira∣cle. By which example, as I sayd, we see, both how deere it costs them, that resist the Holie-Ghost, and how easie al things are to them, that resolue to fol∣low his Diuine instinct.

* 1.99428. I cannot omit that which was shewed to the some S. Bernard, concerning two of his Companions about the same time. For hauing by his exhortations encouraged manie of his brethren, and friends, and kindred, to forsake the world; before that holie troope met togeather at Cisleaux, he thought one day he saw them al sitting in one roome, and euerie one in their turne eating of one kind of dish of meate, which was white and wonderful sauourie; and while the rest fed vpon it with great contentment, two only of the whole companie fasted; one of them did not eate at al of it, the other eate a litle, but presently cast it vp againe. The euent shewed the meaning of the vision; for one of the number withdrew himself from among them, before they brought their purpose to effect; the other began with the rest, but continued not long: and it was particularly obserued, that though the man was wel borne, and had good friends, al forsooke him, and he came to great miserie, wandring about the world, like another Cain, cast forth from the face of God.

* 1.99529. The same S. Bernard relateth another terrible example in this kind, in an Epistle which he wrote vnto one Thomas of S. Omers, who was delaying his entrance into Religion, because he would make an end of his studies. To put him off therefore from this delay, he telles him, how another was punished for the like fault.* 1.996

Alas, alas, sayth he, thou seemest to walk with the like spirit, as thy name is like to another Thomas, anciently Prouost of Be••erlee, who hauing vowed himself with al his hart to our Order and to our House, began to take time, and so by litle to grow cold, til suddenly taken away with a fearful death, he dyed a secular man, and a transgressour, and doubly the sonne of Hel-fire. Which, if it be possible, God, who is merciful and ful of compassion, preserue him from.

30. Examples of this nature are frequent in al ages, and in these our dayes; and we ourselues haue seen diuers with our owne eyes, and doe at this houre see manie, that reiecting the good purposes which God put into their mind of entring into Religion, haue themselues been reiected by God, and fallen into extremitie of miserie, and a world of misfortunes. Wherefore though we cannot propose a more forcible consideration to them that are inclining this way, or taking aduise in i••,* 1.997 then that which we haue hitherto discoursed, of the dangers which they see they may fal into; yet to draw to a Conclusion, we wil set downe a few passages of the holie Fathers, exhorting such people to their duetie; for not only the so∣lidnes of their discourse, but the bare signe of their iudgement and inclination in this kind, ought greatly to sway with euerie bodie.

31. Let vs therefore see, how S. Fulgen••ius did animate himself to renounce

the world.* 1.998 He was descended of a worshipful familie, and being in his time hold one of the fortunatest men that were for wea••ch, lea••ning, dignitie in the Common-wealth, multitudes of C••ieres, flou••ishing yeares and the like, amidst al these prosperous windes, he began first, as it is re••••••ed of him, to think the burden of those secular bus••nesses ext••••••••ely heauie, to distaste the vani••ie of that kind of happines, to repay••e oftene•• to Religious houses, to take pleasure in conuersing with the seruants of God, to frame himself to their behauiour and exercises. He saw they had no worldlie mi•••••• among them, and yet were free from the troubles and tediousnesses, which are so frequent in the world. They ••ued louingly like brethren toge••ther, no debate, no mis-report, no contention was stirring among them; and so m••nie yong men in the flower of their age liuing chast and pu••e. Which when he had often reflected vpon, and duly weighed, he brake forth into these wo••ds worthie of eternal memorie:

Why, I beseech you, doe we labour in this world without hope of the goods to come? what can the world finally doe for vs? If we des••re mir••h (though good tea••es be better then euil ioyes) yet how much better doe they reioyce, that haue a quiet conscience in God, that feare nothing but sinne, that doe nothing but what God comman∣deth? They are not ioyled with common businesses, nor haue cause either wo••ully to bewayle, or basely to feare losse of temporal goods; and hauing forsaken their owne, they practise not for that which is another's; among themselues they liue peaceably, sober, meeke, humble, louing; there is no thought of lust, but care and continual custodie of chastitie. Let vs imitate therefore men that are so worthie, and take vpon vs this constant kind of good life; let vs make vse of that, which by the instinct of grace we haue deserued to acknowledge to be the better; let vs shake off our wonted behauiou••, and make an exchange of our paynes and labours. We striued before among noble friends to be thought more noble; let vs now endeauour among the poore seruants of God to be the poorest. So he sayd, and so he did, al Carthage admiring and ex••olling his fact, manie also imitating him and ••••lling Monasteries with the abundance of them that were conuerted.

32. Thus S. Fulgentius animated himself.* 1.999 S. Augustin held the like discourse to Licen••ius, a wittie yong man, i••••icing him to the sweet yoak of CHRIST, and among manie other things he speaketh thus:

I see, what a disposition and what a wit, it is not in my power, to apprehend and sacrifice to my God. If thou hadst found a golden cup vpon the ground, thou wouldst giue it to the Church of God;* 1.1000 thou hast 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of God a wil spiritually golden, & dost thou serue thy lusts with it, and drink thyself to Sathan out of it? Giue eare to this, you that bestow your wi••s and learning, and other natural parts in secular vani∣ties, in hunting after the honours and vaine-glorie of the world, and know, that it is to employ the guifts of God in the seruice of the enemie of God.* 1.1001

Giue care to this eloquent discourse of S. Basil vpon the same subiect: O man! we inuite thee to life; why dost thou shun••e this inuitation? to the participation of good things, why dost thou neglect the offer?

The kingdome of heauen is open; he that calleth thee, is no lyer; the way is easie; there needs no time, no cost, no labour to passe it. Why dost thou stand? why dost thou hold back? why dost thou feare the yoak, as a yong steer that h••th no•• been broken? It is good, it is light, it doth not gal the neck, but honour it; put thy wild head vnder i••

become a beast of Christ, least leauing this yoak, and liuing a loose life, thou expose thyself to be torne by wild beasts. Taste, and see, that our Lord is sweet. How shal I be able to expresse the sweetnes of honie to them, that know it not?

Taste of it, and see.

* 1.100233. S. Gregorie also hath a fine exhortation to one Andrew, a noble man, to draw him to the seruice of Christ, from the seruice of the Emperour, to which he was pretending:

Why dost thou not consider, may noble sonne, that the world is at an end? Euerie thing dayly hastneth away: we are going to giue-in our accounts to the eternal and terrible Iudge; what therefore should we think of els, but of his coming? For our life is like to one that is at sea; he that is at sea, stands, and sits, and lyes, and goes, because he is carryed with the motion of the ship: So are we, whether we wake, or sleepe, or speak, or hold our peace, or walke, wil we nil we, by moments dayly we go to our end. When therefore the day of our end shal come, where shal we find that, which now we seeke for with so much care, that which we gather with so much sollicitude? We must not seeke after honours and wealth, which must be once forsaken; but if we seeke good things, let vs loue them, which we shal haue without end; and if we feare euil things, let vs feare them, which the reprobate suffer without end. The verie being in a Prince his seruice, what busines doth it draw the mind into, for the desire which we haue of earthlie fauour? and into what feares, least we leese this fauour when once we haue got it? Consider therefore, what tor∣ment it is, to be moyled now with desires of prosperitie, and then to be appa∣led with the feare of aduersitie. Wherefore I would rather aduise, that your Ex∣cellencie would endeauour to liue in your ancient purpose, for this smal time, in some delightsome retirement of this peregrination, and leade a quiet & peace∣able life, attend to the reading of holie bookes, meditate vpon the heauenlie words, inflame yourself with the loue of Eternitie. To liue thus, is euen now to be partaker of the eternal life. This I say vnto you, my noble sonne, because I loue you much. And because you are putting yourself into that, which wil be like waues and tempests to your hart, I labour to draw you back to the shore by the cables of my words: and if you vouchsafe to follow him that draweth you, you wil see when you be on the shore of the quiet, what dangers you haue esca∣ped, what ioyes you haue met with.

* 1.100334. Let vs adde an excellent saying of S. Bernard. For speaking of the dignitie of Pouertie, which maketh vs Kings, which receaueth others into the eternal tabernacles, and doth not only not seeke that others should patronize and defend it, but defendeth others, speaketh as followeth of the vani∣tie of this world:* 1.1004 But would to God thou wouldst attend without dissembling, with what manner of things thou dost hinder thyself! Woe, woe.

That which shutteth vp the passage to eternal felicitie, that which hideth the boundlesse claritie of euerlasting light, that which deceaueth thee of the knowledge of al things, that which depriueth thee of the honour of highest preferment, is a vapour appearing for a while. How long wilt thou proferre before such a glorie the hay, that to day is, & to morrow is cast into the ouen? flesh (I say) and the glorie therof. For al flesh is hay, and al the glorie therof as the flower of hay. If thou be wise, if thou haue a hart, if thy eyes be in thy head, leaue to

follow that, which to ouertake, is miserable. Were it not better to contemne it with honour, then leese it with greef? Is it not more wisedome to yeald to the loue of Christ, then to death? A theef lyes in ambush, from whose hands thou canst not steale thy self, nor thine. He cannot be fore-seene, because like a theef in the night, so he shal come. Thou brough••st nothing into the world; doubtlesse neither shalt thou carrie anie thing away. Thou shalt sleepe thy sleep, and find no∣thing in thy hands.

35. Thus saith S. Bernard in that Epistle;* 1.1005 but he layeth yet more load in a ser∣mon vpon the Canticles, shewing that al delay in this kind, is a kind of Infideli¦tie:

I say, that al they know not God, that wil not be conue••ted to God; for doubtlesse they haue no other reason to refuse, but because ••hey ima¦gine he is sterne and seuere, who indeed is gentle: they imagine him ha••e and implacable, that is merciful; fierce and terrible, who is amiable; and iniquitie lyeth to it self, framing an Idol to it self, for that which is not he. What is that which you feare, you of little faith? that he wil not forgiue sinnes? But he hath nayled them to the Crosse with his owne hands.* 1.1006 That you are yet yong and tender? But he knowes our mold. That you are il-bred, and bound in customes of sinnes? But our Lord looseth them that are in fetters. Perhaps least prouoked with the enormitie and multitude of sinnes, he be slow in reaching out his hel∣ping hand?* 1.1007 But where sinne aboundeth, Grace also is wont to more abound. Are you sollicitous for appartel, or foode, or other necessaries for your bodie, and therefore loath to forsake that which you haue?* 1.1008 But he knowes that you stand in need of al these. What wil you more? what doth now hinder you from salua¦tion?

Thus farre S. Bernard.

Finally let vs heare how S. Laurence Iustinian doth labour to draw al men from the vanitie of this world,* 1.1009 to the quiet of Religion; these are his words: O pre∣uaricatours, returne to your hart; reclaime yourselues from your wayes, least after a while you perish for euer.

Restrayne your harts that they go not after their concupiscences, least at some time or other death seaze vpon you, and there be no bodie to rescue you; sel that which you possesse, that with this happie ex∣change you may purchase heauenlie glorie. Giue Christ that which you must leaue to the world; send your goods before you, that in time of necessitie they may be restored vnto you multiplyed. Renounce the world voluntarily, least you be constrayned to go out of it with sorrow. Make a vertue of necessitie, and af∣ter this life you shal receaue an eternal kingdome. Consider their end, that haue gone before you, and would needs liue as you do▪ They flourished in the world, they abounded in wealth, they gaue themselues to al kind of pleasure, they led their dayes in good things,* 1.1010 and in a moment they descended to ••el: They reioy∣ced for a short time, and are condemned to eternal death. It hapneth not so to them that serue God, that haue giuen their soules for Christ, and vnder the com∣mand of their teacher, haue crucified their wils without respit. Rich men, sayth the Prophet,* 1.1011 haue wanted and been hungrie; but they that seeke God, shal not faile of al good.

But if there be anie whom so manie reasons,* 1.1012 so manie authorities of holie Fa∣thers, so manie examples are not forcible enough to conuince; let them giue ••a••e to the sweet exhortation which our Sauiour himself makes vnto thē, that if they stoope not to men, they may yeald at least to God. What therefore doth he say?

Come vnto me al you that labour and are loaden, and I wil refresh you.

These words sayth S. Basil,* 1.1013 are the wordes of God, which whether they signifie the refreshing in this life in which now we are, or in the life to come, it is euident, they exhort vs, that casting off the burden of riches, and distributing it among the poore, to the end to blot out by almes-deeds and Confession, the innumerable multitude of sinnes, which lie heauie vpon vs by the desire of riches, we betake ourselues to the life of Monks, to carrie our Crosse. Wherefore he that hath resolued to obey Christ, & maketh hast to a life naked of the possession of al things, and not distracted with the cares of this world, he is truly admirable and to be accounted happie.

Thus sayth S. Basil vpon those words of our Sauiour.

It behoueth vs therefore diligently to ponder this heauenlie Oracle, as spo∣ken to ourselues, and of ourselues; and that we may do it to the greater comfort of our soules, let vs take it, not as out of a dumb paper, but as it fel from his Sa∣cred mouth that was Truth and Loue itself; and represent to our Consideration his most sacred person, infinitly worthie of al loue and veneration, as anciently he was seen vpon earth, and conuersed with men, poore, and humble in outward shew, contemptible, and the sonne of a Carpenter: yet truly the sonne of God, and himself true God, supporting al things with the word of his power, in whom are al treasures.* 1.1014 It is he, that like a louing father burning with true loue of our soules, in••lamed with desire of our eternal welfare and saluation, crieth out alowd to al, and as it were mounted vpon a high chaire, preacheth vnto vs in these words: Come vnto me al you that labour,* 1.1015 and are burdned, and I wil refresh you: Take vpon you my yoak, and you shal find rest to your soules: for my yoak is sweet, and my bur∣den light; as if he should say in larger termes; sonnes of men, how long wil you be heauie-harted? how long wil you haue your eyes vpon vanities and false madnes? Wherefore consume yee yourselues with foolish labour, seeking ioy and content of mind in false riches and vaine honours of this world? Al this is but a burden and affliction of spirit, not rest and refreshing. The effect of al, is anguish while you desire them, labour while you seeke them, care and infinit sollicitude, while you possesse them. You that labour vnder this heauie charge, and are loaded with this dangerous burden, cast it off and come to me. For when was it il with you, while you were with me, or wel without me? Behold the diuel and the world cal vpon you; I on the other side do inuite you. The world calles to infect you, the diuel to kil you, and as a Wolf to worrie and destroy you. Where do I cal you, but to refresh you? I wil refresh you with that inward food that shal fil your desires, quench your thirst, and giue your hart that ease, that you wil desire no more. For with me are the pastures of life, in me true pleasure, and the delight∣ful ref••••ction of the mind. Come the••fore to me, and take my yoak yourselues vpon you, I say, t••ke ••t yourselues; I command no man, I force it vpon no man; It must be taken voluntarily: and Humilitie and Obedience are the vertues which make men stoope vnto it.

* 1.1016The world also hath a yoak, and not one only, but fiue yoakes, rugged and heauie, and voyd of the rewards of eternitie. Wherefore do you rather make choice of this seruitude, so hard, so vnsufferable, so manifold, then in my ser∣ui••e which is true freedome, to swimme in al plentie of delights and comforts? My yo••k, I conf••••s••, is a yoak, but sweet; a burden, but light. Without a yoak, without a burden, you cannot come to the ioyes which are euerlasting; The way is

narrow which leadeth to life,* 1.1017 and it behoued the king of glorie to suffer, and so to enter into his glorie. But what soeuer this tribulation be, it is momentarie, and the plentifulnes of my house makes it light and sweet.* 1.1018 These are the works which I dayly work▪ I bring water out of the rock, and oyle out of the hardest stone; I ma∣ke this yoak rot from the face of oyle, the oyle of that gladnes, with which my self was annointed before al my Consorts. This oyle, I powre forth largely vpon them that are partakers with me. Heer therefore you shal find rest to your soules, and assu∣red comfort. Heere I wil lead you into that heauenlie win••-ellar, where you shal exult, and drink the wine that reioyceth the hart of man. And yet this is not an end, but the beginning of your ioyes. For after this life, there attendeth you a life and reward,* 1.1019 which eye hath not seen, nor eare heard, nor hath it ascended into the hart of man. Because if anie man minister to me, my Father wil honour him; and the honour is,* 1.1020 that where I am, there my minister be. Then he wil giue you a Cro∣wne, for ashes: the oyle of ioy, for mourning a cloake of prayse, for the spirit of sor∣row; and your hart shal reioyce, and no man shal take your ioy from you.

FINIS.

Notes

• * 1.1

  S. Bernard ser. 39. in Can••.
• * 1.2

  To serue the world, is a cruel slauerie.
• * 1.3

  The Ene∣mie's en∣deauour against good re∣solutions
• * 1.4

  God sighteth for them, that desire to betake themselues vnto him.
• * 1.5

  S. Hierome Ep. 22.
• * 1.6

  S. Bernard serm. 3. in Cant.
• * 1.7

  S. Greg. 18. 〈◊〉〈◊〉. 2.
• * 1.8

  Religion a Desert.
• * 1.9

  Iob 3.14.
• * 1.10

  S. Greg. 4. Mor. 28.
• * 1.11

  Exod 17 6. Exod. 15.25.
• * 1.12

  Philip 4 13.
• * 1.13

  The spi∣ritual dainties, which are in Reli∣gion.
• * 1.14

  Num. 11.31.
• * 1.15

  Exod. 16.
• * 1.16

  Sap. 16.20.
• * 1.17

  Psal. 102 5.
• * 1.18

  The proui∣dence of God ouer Religious people.
• * 1.19

  The be∣nefit of Su∣periours.
• * 1.20

  Enemies in Religion.
• * 1.21

  Deut 32.30.
• * 1.22

  Ios. ••.
• * 1.23

  Exod. 17.11.
• * 1.24

  S. Greg 27. 〈◊〉〈◊〉 c. 13.
• * 1.25

  Religion the Land of Promise.
• * 1.26

  S. Iohn Chrys••stome Homil 69. in Matth.
• * 1.27

  It is a ••eas••l••e perswasion, to esteeme most of the pleasures of the bodie.
• * 1.28

  Aristot. 7. E••h c. 1••.
• * 1.29

  I••em lib 10. c 3.4 5.6
• * 1.30

  S. Tho 1.2. q 1••. art. 4. Three things con∣cu••••e in pleasure.
• * 1.31

  〈1 paragraph〉〈1 paragraph〉
• * 1.32

  S. Augustin 〈◊〉〈◊〉 25. de v Ap.
• * 1.33

  and base.
• * 1.34

  S. Bernard serm 4. in Vig. Nat.
• * 1.35

  S. Augustin serm. de Verb. Dom.
• * 1.36

  They are but salues for our griefes.
• * 1.37

  Aristot. 10. Eth c. 6. & 7.
• * 1.38

  S. Bernard ser. de prim. med. & nouisi••.
• * 1.39

  Mingled with sorrowes.
• * 1.40

  S Basilin Psal. 3••.
• * 1.41

  Iob. 30.7. S. Greg. 20. Mor. c. 16.
• * 1.42

  S. Bernard serm.
• * 1.43

  E••ce nos.
• * 1.44

  Spiritual delights proper to man.
• * 1.45

  The diffe∣rence betwixt corporall and spiri∣tual de∣lights.
• * 1.46

  S. Gregori•• Hom. 30. in Euang▪
• * 1.47

  Plato in Dial. de Rep.
• * 1.48

  God is the true life and delight of a Soule.
• * 1.49

  Arist 10. 〈◊〉〈◊〉. c 7. & 8.
• * 1.50

  S. August. in Psa. 102.
• * 1.51

  Luc. 18.1••.
• * 1.52

  God as the s••ueraigne Happines, is the End of Man.
• * 1.53

  S. Thom 1.2. q. 2. a. 8.
• * 1.54

  S. August. de Mori••. 〈…〉〈…〉 1.
• * 1.55

  God and Ve••••••e, on∣lie Happi∣nes of Man.
• * 1.56

  In 〈◊〉〈◊〉 E••d 〈…〉〈…〉 re••t.
• * 1.57

  A compa∣rison be∣twixt plea∣sures.
• * 1.58

  S. Bernard Ep. 114.
• * 1.59

  Al that is good in creatures, is insta••tly more in God.
• * 1.60

  S Bernard Ser •• 〈◊〉〈◊〉 san••••.
• * 1.61

  S. Francis
• * 1.62

  S. Aug. 10. Conf. 6.
• * 1.63

  How hap∣pie it is, to be free frō paine.
• * 1.64

  The world is another Aegypt for 〈◊〉〈◊〉. Exod 12.
• * 1.65

  S. ••o Chry. de Virg. c. 17.
• * 1.66

  The mise∣ries of mar∣ried peo∣ple.
• * 1.67

  S. Greg. N••yss. lib de Virg. c. 3.
• * 1.68

  S. Basil.
• * 1.69

  S. Hierome.
• * 1.70

  S. Io Chrys. de Virg. c. ••7.
• * 1.71

  The trou∣bles of the world.
• * 1.72

  Marchants.
• * 1.73

  Ambitious people.
• * 1.74

  S. August. Ep. 121.
• * 1.75

  S. Paulin. Ep ad Li∣cent. vid. Ep Aug. 36.
• * 1.76

  People that choo∣se to be miserable.
• * 1.77

  A Reli∣gious life free from miserie.
• * 1.78

  Luc. 8.43.
• * 1.79

  S. Io. Chrys. lib. 2. 〈…〉〈…〉 Mon••st.
• * 1.80

  Id Hom 6. •••• Pop.
• * 1.81

  The testi∣monie of worldlie people for Religion
• * 1.82

  Two bene∣fits in one.
• * 1.83

  Iob 19.8.
• * 1.84

  S. Greg. 10 moral. c. 12.
• * 1.85

  Cant. 1.17. S Bernard ser. 4••. in Cant.
• * 1.86

  Vertue agreable to Nature.
• * 1.87

  The infe∣riour part naturally subiect to Reason. Arist. 1. 〈◊〉〈◊〉 c. vlt 1. Pol. c. 2.
• * 1.88

  Cassian Coll. 9. c. 4.
• * 1.89

  It belonged to the Pro¦uidence of God to or∣daine it so Sap 8.1.
• * 1.90

  S. Basil Reg. ••usi••r in••••s.
• * 1.91

  Grace farre 〈◊〉〈◊〉 effec∣tual.
• * 1.92

  1 Cor 15.47 Psal 50 Ma••arius Hom. 44.
• * 1.93

  〈◊〉〈◊〉 6. Num 22. Dan. 3 & 7.
• * 1.94

  The Grace of vocation
• * 1.95

  Custome of doing wel.
• * 1.96

  S. Leo ser. 5. de 〈◊〉〈◊〉 7. means.
• * 1.97

  Cassian. Coll. 11. c. 9.
• * 1.98

  Reginaldus.
• * 1.99

  Passions are giuen vs for good.
• * 1.100

  Inconue∣nient, that Passion should rule.
• * 1.101

  Aristot. Eth. 9. c. 14.
• * 1.102

  Passionate men are most mise∣rable people.
• * 1.103

  Cicero. 8. Tus••••l.
• * 1.104

  S. Aug. Ep. 121.
• * 1.105

  Tit. 1.12.
• * 1.106

  Plutarch de Vitt. & Vit.
• * 1.107

  The tem∣per of our mind, is the ground of pleasure.
• * 1.108

  Reli•••••• composeth the hu∣mours of our mind.
• * 1.109

  S. Greg. Hom 27. in Euang.
• * 1.110

  S. Ma••ar. Hom. 5.
• * 1.111

  S. Iohn Chrysost. Hom. 69. in Matth.
• * 1.112

  Two things set our pas∣sions on fire.
• * 1.113

  Religion preuents al trouble.
• * 1.114

  The diffe∣rence be∣twixt tem∣poral and spiritual things.
• * 1.115

  S. Basil. de abdicat. ••••.
• * 1.116

  Es 327.1.
• * 1.117

  E••s. 56.6.
• * 1.118

  S. Augustin 18. de Ciuit. c. 28.
• * 1.119

  Religious people strangers in thi•• world.
• * 1.120

  Religion the House of prayer.
• * 1.121

  〈…〉〈…〉 9. c. 3.
• * 1.122

  Other helps of Prayer: as, Chastitie.
• * 1.123

  1. Cor. 7.35.
• * 1.124

  Humilitie & Pouertie.
• * 1.125

  Matth. 19.141
• * 1.126

  The de∣light which comes of Prayer.
• * 1.127

  S Bernard s••r 18 in Cant.
• * 1.128

  S. Augustin in Ps. 12••.
• * 1.129

  S. Francis.
• * 1.130

  The de∣light, which is in thinking of God.
• * 1.131

  Ex. 34.15.
• * 1.132

  S. Antonie.
• * 1.133

  Arsenius.
• * 1.134

  Sy••uanus.
• * 1.135

  S Francis.
• * 1.136

  Ps. 1••.11.
• * 1.137

  The com∣forts of a Religious life con∣cealed; and shy?
• * 1.138

  S Laurence Iustinian.
• * 1.139

  Palla••••••s in Lausinum 32 Apollo.
• * 1.140

  S. Anton. 2. p 5.15. c. 10.
• * 1.141

  Religious people must be alwayes chearful.
• * 1.142

  S. Iohn Chrysostome hom. 63. ad Pop.
• * 1.143

  S. Macarius hom. de gau•••••• Spiritus.
• * 1.144

  Ps. ••0.20.
• * 1.145

  The iour∣ney of spirit de∣lightful.
• * 1.146

  Ps 96.11. Ps. 118.103. Ps. 117.15. Ps 67.4. Ps. 34.9. Ps. 35.9.
• * 1.147

  Ps ••••.3.
• * 1.148

  Other 〈…〉〈…〉 pleasant.
• * 1.149

  S. Bernard serm. Ecce nos.
• * 1.150

  Sap. 10.17.
• * 1.151

  Ps. 118.14.
• * 1.152

  Examples of these delights.
• * 1.153

  Cass. Coll. 19. c. 4.
• * 1.154

  Ephrem.
• * 1.155

  S. Bernard.
• * 1.156

  S. Ignatius Riba••. l. 5. c. 1.
• * 1.157

  S Xantrius. 〈◊〉〈◊〉. 4. c. 7.
• * 1.158

  Ordinarie comforts.
• * 1.159

  Ioan 6.
• * 1.160

  Religious people haue plea∣sure in temporal things also.
• * 1.161

  S Aug 10 〈◊〉〈◊〉 c. 17.
• * 1.162

  S. 〈…〉〈…〉.
• * 1.163

  S. Cypr. Ser. de Sp••ct••••.
• * 1.164

  Io. 10.1••
• * 1.165

  Psal. 143.
• * 1.166

  Who are truly hap∣pie.
• * 1.167

  Ps 18.16.
• * 1.168

  It is a hap∣pines to haue no∣thing.
• * 1.169

  Io•• 20.22.
• * 1.170

  S Greg. 〈…〉〈…〉
• * 1.171

  The end and vse of mercy.
• * 1.172

  Arist 1. 〈◊〉〈◊〉 c. ••.
• * 1.173

  Nature 〈…〉〈…〉
• * 1.174

  Seneca Ep. 120.
• * 1.175

  S. Hierome.
• * 1.176

  S. Iohn Chrysost de 〈…〉〈…〉.
• * 1.177

  〈1 paragraph〉〈1 paragraph〉
• * 1.178

  Pr. 27.7.
• * 1.179

  Ps. 80.17.
• * 1.180

  Eccl. 6. iux. 70. S Basil. Const. Mon. 27.
• * 1.181

  Content∣ment easier to be had without riches.
• * 1.182

  Esay 48.••0 S. Io. Chrys••. H••m. 4. 〈…〉〈…〉.
• * 1.183

  Two kinds of Pouer∣tie, very different.
• * 1.184

  Sen. Ep 110.
• * 1.185

  The com∣fort of the Prouidēce of God.
• * 1.186

  S. Fran••is.
• * 1.187

  A contract betweene God, and Religious people.
• * 1.188

  The trea∣sure of Pouertie.
• * 1.189

  Cass. Coll. 12 c. 1••.
• * 1.190

  The plea∣sures of Chastitie inexplica∣ble.
• * 1.191

  S Hier•• 1. cont. Iouin.
• * 1.192

  Cato.
• * 1.193

  The easines of liuing chast.
• * 1.194

  Esay. 35.7.
• * 1.195

  Matth. 19.
• * 1.196

  S. Io. Chrys. Hom. 63. in Matth.
• * 1.197

  Plato Dial. 8. de Legib.
• * 1.198

  S. Macar. Hom. 4.
• * 1.199

  S. Hier. lib. 1 cont. Iou••n.
• * 1.200

  Ps. 36.4.
• * 1.201

  S Bern. ser. 5. in Qua∣••rag.
• * 1.202

  Ephrem. ser. de Cast.
• * 1.203

  Can. 6.2.
• * 1.204

  Obedience delightful.
• * 1.205

  2▪ Cor. 1.3.
• * 1.206

  Loue is na∣turally de∣lightful.
• * 1.207

  Aristot 8. Eth. c. 1.
• * 1.208

  Socrates▪ Nothing compara∣ble to a true friend.
• * 1.209

  True friēd∣ship rare in the world.
• * 1.210

  Vertue the ground of Friendship. Arist. 3. Eth. c 3. & 4.
• * 1.211

  Likenes a second ground of pleasure.
• * 1.212

  Vertue on forceth loue.
• * 1.213

  Plato in Phaed. Cic. 1. Offi••.
• * 1.214

  Religious people eminent for their natural parts. 1. Cor. 12.10.
• * 1.215

  〈…〉〈…〉 Reli∣gious peo∣ple.
• * 1.216

  〈1 paragraph〉〈1 paragraph〉
• * 1.217

  Religious friendship assured.
• * 1.218

  Cass. Coll. 16. c. 3.
• * 1.219

  The plea∣sure of liuing in such a communi∣tie. Gen. 32.2.
• * 1.220

  S. Leo ser. de sua As∣sump••.
• * 1.221

  The 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of kn••••∣ledge is natural. Arist 1 Metaph. c 1.
• * 1.222

  A••ist 2. 〈◊〉〈◊〉 c. 5.
• * 1.223

  Commen∣dation of Philoso∣phie.
• * 1.224

  The vulgar 〈◊〉〈◊〉 in the ou••••ide.
• * 1.225

  The studie of Diuini∣tie.
• * 1.226

  The studie of Scrip∣ture. S. Aug. in Ps. 145.
• * 1.227

  Id. l••b. 9. Conf. c. 4.
• * 1.228

  S. Hier. Ep. ad Rust.
• * 1.229

  S Bern. ser. 67 in Cant.
• * 1.230

  Cass. Coll. 8. c. 8.
• * 1.231

  Iob 22.26.
• * 1.232

  S. Greg. 16. Mor. c. 9.
• * 1.233

  S Io. Chrys. Hom. 69. in Matth.
• * 1.234

  The studie of the Fathers.
• * 1.235

  The Greek Fathers compared among themselues
• * 1.236

  The Latin Fathers.
• * 1.237

  S. Hierom. Ep. 1••.
• * 1.238

  Es. 9.3.
• * 1.239

  Gal. 4.54.
• * 1.240

  Io. 26.21.
• * 1.241

  S••n. Ep. 34.
• * 1.242

  1. Cor. 3.6.
• * 1.243

  2. Cor. 1.14.
• * 1.244

  1. Tess. 2 19.
• * 1.245

  Matth. 19.19.
• * 1.246

  Marc 10.30.
• * 1.247

  S. Bernard. s••r. E••ce nos.
• * 1.248

  Cass. Coll. vl••m. c. vltimo.
• * 1.249

  A hundred-fold re∣payed in 〈◊〉〈◊〉
• * 1.250

  B••d. de Natali S. Benedicti.
• * 1.251

  S. Hierome 3 in Matt.
• * 1.252

  Spiritual thing a hund••••d times better then temporal.
• * 1.253

  S Gregorie 〈◊〉〈◊〉 in Eze••h.
• * 1.254

  P••••fection a l••••ge hundred-fold.
• * 1.255

  He that desireth nothing, is not poore.
• * 1.256

  Cass. Coll. vltim. c. vltim.
• * 1.257

  Incom∣parably more s••eetnes in Spiritual things.
• * 1.258

  Iohn 16 15.
• * 1.259

  1. Cor. 3.22.
• * 1.260

  S Augustin Ep. 89. q. 4.
• * 1.261

  2. Cor. 6.10••.
• * 1.262

  S. Augustin 〈…〉〈…〉 103.
• * 1.263

  They that had ••••thing ••••leaue, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 also a hun∣dred fold.
• * 1.264

  God alone hundred fold 〈…〉〈…〉
• * 1.265

  S. 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Ps. 1••••.
• * 1.266

  Deut. 10. & 18.
• * 1.267

  Arn••l••••us
• * 1.268

  God plan∣ted this Paradise o•• Reli∣g••••••.
• * 1.269

  Fruits of this Para∣dise.
• * 1.270

  The Grace of God the Tree of life.
• * 1.271

  S. 〈◊〉〈◊〉 〈◊〉〈◊〉 In Marc. c. 27.
• * 1.272

  The bene∣fit of Com∣panie.
• * 1.273

  The in∣ward dis¦position of mind bet¦ter in Re∣ligion.
• * 1.274

  S. Iohn Chrysost. Hom 69.
• * 1.275

  S. Ber l. 1. de Conuers. Cleri. c. ••••.
• * 1.276

  Religion a heauen ••pō••••••th.
• * 1.277

  S Lau Iust. 〈◊〉〈◊〉 pers. Mon. c. 6.
• * 1.278

  S. Basil 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Const Mon c. 16.
• * 1.279

  Matt. 22.30.
• * 1.280

  Incorrup∣t••••n and Charitie, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the properties.
• * 1.281

  1. Cor. 13 8.
• * 1.282

  S. Io Chry 〈…〉〈…〉
• * 1.283

  Obedience
• * 1.284

  Pouertie;
• * 1.285

  And Vni∣〈…〉〈…〉
• * 1.286

  〈1 paragraph〉〈1 paragraph〉
• * 1.287

  S Aug. in Ps. 148.
• * 1.288

  S. Aug. in Ps. 146.
• * 1.289

  Heauenlie conuer∣sation.
• * 1.290

  S. Bernard serm. 7. in Cant.
• * 1.291

  S. Bernard. Ibid. Apoc. 21.2.
• * 1.292

  S Bernard. Ibid.
• * 1.293

  Heauenlie ioy & feli∣citie in Religion.
• * 1.294

  1. Cor. 1••.12.
• * 1.295

  Religious people dwel in the gates of heauen.
• * 1.296

  Ps. 13••.
• * 1.297

  The State i•• happie, though men be la••ie.
• * 1.298

  Prouerb. 19 14.
• * 1.299

  Few that find not comfort.
• * 1.300

  Miracles & Extasies happen not to al.
• * 1.301

  Yet al may haue com∣fort.
• * 1.302

  4. R••g 4.
• * 1.303

  God is not a niggard in his spi∣ritual 〈◊〉〈◊〉.
• * 1.304

  In•• 14.••1.
• * 1.305

  Aduan∣tages of Religious life.
• * 1.306

  S. Bernard 〈…〉〈…〉
• * 1.307

  Beginnings most f•••• of comfort.
• * 1.308

  1. Cor 3.27
• * 1.309

  Esa. vlt. 12.
• * 1.310

  Luc. 15.
• * 1.311

  S. Greg. 24.
• * 1.312

  Mar. c. 7.
• * 1.313

  God•• owne goodnes is the sole ground of his libe∣ralitie.
• * 1.314

  Mat. 9 12.
• * 1.315

  Phil. 3.
• * 1.316

  Difficul∣ties are 〈…〉〈…〉 vertue.
• * 1.317

  Difficul∣ties not felt in Re∣ligion.
• * 1.318

  Matt. 11.••••.
• * 1.319

  The ser∣uice of God con∣formable to nature and reason Rom. 7.12.
• * 1.320

  Seneca. l 1. d••ira c. 12.
• * 1.321

  Plutar••h. de prof. Vers.
• * 1.322

  〈…〉〈…〉 of the Grace of God.
• * 1.323

  Ezech. 11.
• * 1.324

  P•• 6••.••6. ••s 141. Es. 40.31.
• * 1.325

  Heb. 3.19.
• * 1.326

  Andrew Spinola.
• * 1.327

  Io. 5.5
• * 1.328

  The consi∣deration of heauen, a special ••••eetner of difficulties.
• * 1.329

  S. Aug. s 9 〈…〉〈…〉. 19.
• * 1.330

  S. Francis.
• * 1.331

  Night-feares.
• * 1.332

  S Bernard s. 33. in Cā••.
• * 1.333

  Rom. 8.18.
• * 1.334

  Ab••n••••ce of ••••r••••ual comfort.
• * 1.335

  S. Bern. de conuers. Cler. c. 30.
• * 1.336

  Difficul∣ties in Re∣ligion are t••ifles.
• * 1.337

  Dan. 14.
• * 1.338

  Ps. 93.19.
• * 1.339

  A general rule 〈◊〉〈◊〉 God to meas•••••• 〈…〉〈…〉
• * 1.340

  Raband.
• * 1.341

  An••r••w 〈…〉〈…〉.
• * 1.342

  S. Bernard's Monaste∣rie.
• * 1.343

  The diffi∣culties of a Secular life intol∣lerable.
• * 1.344

  S Bernard ser. 1 de Ded. Eccl.
• * 1.345

  Crosses and Vnction goe togea∣ther.
• * 1.346

  Exod. 26.
• * 1.347

  G••n. 22.
• * 1.348

  2. Cor 6.10
• * 1.349

  Cass. C••l. vlt. c. 25.
• * 1.350

  The yoak of Christ sweet.
• * 1.351

  The grace of God car∣ries this yoak for vs.
• * 1.352

  1. Cor. 15.10.
• * 1.353

  S. Ber. Ser. Q••ha••it.
• * 1.354

  A cruel kind of compas∣sion.
• * 1.355

  Heb. 1.3.
• * 1.356

  Custome makes hard things easie
• * 1.357

  S August. Ep. 37.
• * 1.358

  This temp¦tation figu∣red in the murmuring Iewes.
• * 1.359

  Num. 21.5.
• * 1.360

  A man wants not that which he desires not.
• * 1.361

  It is more delightful to desire a thing then to haue it.
• * 1.362

  S. Io Chry. l. 2. contra vitup. vit. m••n.
• * 1.363

  S. August. 6. Conf. c. 6.
• * 1.364

  That whi••h al desire, is content∣ment.
• * 1.365

  Nothing in earthlie things worth the taking vp.
• * 1.366

  Sobrietie ful of con∣tentment.
• * 1.367

  Prou. 15.17.
• * 1.368

  Prou. 17.1.
• * 1.369

  Religious people change for better com∣forts.
• * 1.370

  Ps. 83 3. Pro. 17.22.
• * 1.371

  Religion the plea∣santer place for the bodie.
• * 1.372

  Eccl. 2 1.
• * 1.373

  The Scrip∣ture doth 〈◊〉〈◊〉 vs d••cline the ••••••uice of God for temptatiōs
• * 1.374

  Spiritual encounters cannot be auoyded.
• * 1.375

  Why Reli∣gious peo∣ple seeme to haue harder en∣counters.
• * 1.376

  S Greg 24. ••ar ••.7.
• * 1.377

  1. Cor. 10.13
• * 1.378

  Tempta∣tion 〈…〉〈…〉 God.
• * 1.379

  S. Ephrem. s••le pa••••••∣tia.
• * 1.380

  Tempta∣tions 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Cas•• ••••l 4. c. 6.
• * 1.381

  More for vs, then against vs. Ps. 26.3.
• * 1.382

  Moyses.
• * 1.383

  G••d in 〈…〉〈…〉
• * 1.384

  P••. 33.8.
• * 1.385

  Ps. 34.2.
• * 1.386

  1. Reg 17.37. Ps. 141.1. Ps. 17.35.37.
• * 1.387

  Aduantage of the place of combat.
• * 1.388

  Direction of Supe∣riours, and laying open of temptations.
• * 1.389

  Cass. Col. 4. c. 9.
• * 1.390

  ••o 3.20.
• * 1.391

  Three heads of temptatiōs to which Secular people are more subiect.
• * 1.392

  Custodie of Senses in Religion.
• * 1.393

  Hier. 9.21.
• * 1.394

  The Diuel•• like dogs in the shambles.
• * 1.395

  What li∣bertie is.
• * 1.396

  S. Aug. 1 p••st. 131.
• * 1.397

  Cic in Hor▪
• * 1.398

  Arist. 5. pol. c. 9.
• * 1.399

  Plut l. de audi••.
• * 1.400

  Man neuer without a Tutour.
• * 1.401

  We are na∣turally vnder God.
• * 1.402

  S. Aug 14. de Ciuit. c. 12.
• * 1.403

  Volunta∣rily to be subiect to God, is true freedome.
• * 1.404

  It is much one, when God go∣uernes im∣mediatly o•• by others.
• * 1.405

  Difference between seruile and 〈…〉〈…〉
• * 1.406

  Arist. 5. pol. c. 4.
• * 1.407

  Plato de repub.
• * 1.408

  The power of the Church & of Reli∣gion is Oe∣conomical.
• * 1.409

  Luc. 22.25.
• * 1.410

  S. Bern. l. 2. de Con. c. 6.
• * 1.411

  Id. l. 3. de Cons. c. 1.
• * 1.412

  Superiours are Physi∣cians and M••thers.
• * 1.413

  S. Ber s••r. 25. in Cant. & s••r. 23.
• * 1.414

  This ••ind of subiec∣tion is na∣tural and delightful.
• * 1.415

  Ci••. lib. 1. Offic.
• * 1.416

  It should haue been in the state of Inno∣cencie.
• * 1.417

  S. Th. p ••.96. a. vl••.
• * 1.418

  Worldlie ser••ants serue with pleasure.
• * 1.419

  Religious people serue vpon better condi∣tions.
• * 1.420

  Religious people 〈…〉〈…〉 God.
• * 1.421

  Lu••. 10.
• * 1.422

  〈1 paragraph〉〈1 paragraph〉
• * 1.423

  〈1 paragraph〉〈1 paragraph〉
• * 1.424

  〈1 paragraph〉〈1 paragraph〉
• * 1.425

  Cic. 〈…〉〈…〉.
• * 1.426

  1. Tim. 1.9. S. Ber. l. de prae ep. & ••sp ••.9. Arist 4. ••••h. c. 8.
• * 1.427

  S. Ambros. l. 2. ••p. 1.
• * 1.428

  S. ••mbr••••••. ••p 83.
• * 1.429

  S. Ber in ps. qui habi••. s••r. 9.
• * 1.430

  S. Aug. in Ps. 99.
• * 1.431

  Men must doe the wil of God whether they wil or no.
• * 1.432

  Matth. ••5.3••.
• * 1.433

  〈…〉〈…〉 1. E••h. c. 10.
• * 1.434

  Manie in∣conue∣ni•••••••••• in admi••••••••••••∣ting an estate.
• * 1.435

  S Greg 2. mor 26.
• * 1.436

  To ••i••e al at once, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 a greater 〈◊〉〈◊〉.
• * 1.437

  2. Cor. 9.7.
• * 1.438

  S Hier. con. Vigilan.
• * 1.439

  The He∣resie of v••g••lant••us.
• * 1.440

  Matth. 19.21.
• * 1.441

  Testimo∣n••es of a••cie••t Fathers.
• * 1.442

  S. Augustin de ••••no Con••••g ••. 8.
• * 1.443

  Idem de 〈…〉〈…〉.
• * 1.444

  S. Ambrose 〈…〉〈…〉 36.
• * 1.445

  3. Reg. 19.21.
• * 1.446

  〈…〉〈…〉 65. and 66.
• * 1.447

  God h••••h 〈◊〉〈◊〉 o•• 〈…〉〈…〉.
• * 1.448

  Cass 〈◊〉〈◊〉 21 ••. 35.
• * 1.449

  The 〈…〉〈…〉.
• * 1.450

  S Greg. 12. 〈…〉〈…〉.
• * 1.451

  〈…〉〈…〉
• * 1.452

  S Hierome Epist. 34.
• * 1.453

  Religious people haue the higher place.
• * 1.454

  Hierome Ep••st. 10.
• * 1.455

  S Hierome Epist. ••1.
• * 1.456

  〈…〉〈…〉
• * 1.457

  〈…〉〈…〉
• * 1.458

  〈…〉〈…〉
• * 1.459

  〈◊〉〈◊〉. Ep. 28.
• * 1.460

  Luc 16.9.
• * 1.461

  Prou. 13.8.
• * 1.462

  Riches a help for the Actiue life, and a hindrance for the Contemplatiue.
• * 1.463

  Arist. 10 ••th c. 8.
• * 1.464

  A memo∣rable saying of S. Hilarion.
• * 1.465

  S. Hierome in vitae H••lar,
• * 1.466

  Charitie 〈◊〉〈◊〉 orde∣red is not Charitie.
• * 1.467

  S Th••m 1.2. q 3 •• ar 3.
• * 1.468

  Cha••••tie first 〈◊〉〈◊〉 vs to our owne perfection.
• * 1.469

  Matth. 16.26.
• * 1.470

  S. Bern. 1. de Cons. c. 5.
• * 1.471

  Id••m lib 2. c. 3.
• * 1.472

  Inconue∣niences of remayning in the world.
• * 1.473

  Eccl. 29.27.
• * 1.474

  Matt. 25.9.
• * 1.475

  S. Bern. In Cant. ••.18.
• * 1.476

  Eccl. 30.
• * 1.477

  Religion incompa∣rarbly more proper for the helping of others.
• * 1.478

  Ps. 83 12.
• * 1.479

  Iob. 6.44.
• * 1.480

  Coniun∣••tion with God the authour of conuer∣sation of soules.
• * 1.481

  O••her helps.
• * 1.482

  Experience 〈…〉〈…〉 Rel••∣gi••••s people doe more good.
• * 1.483

  A deceipt about hel∣ping our Countrey and kin∣dred.
• * 1.484

  Marc. 6.4.
• * 1.485

  Cant. 2.15.
• * 1.486

  S. Ber in Cant. 5 ••4.
• * 1.487

  Ez••••k. 1 11.
• * 1.488

  〈1 paragraph〉〈1 paragraph〉
• * 1.489

  〈1 paragraph〉〈1 paragraph〉
• * 1.490

  Ancient 〈…〉〈…〉
• * 1.491

  Cap. C. •••• c. 24.
• * 1.492

  S. ••••sil. reg sus. c. 8.
• * 1.493

  Iu••. 14 33.
• * 1.494

  Mat. 19.11.
• * 1.495

  S Mat. 13.45.
• * 1.496

  S. Ma••. ••••.
• * 1.497

  Practise sheweth the contra∣rie.
• * 1.498

  Al things m••st be for forsaken in affection.
• * 1.499

  Ps. 61.11. Ps. ••5.6. Mat 19 27.
• * 1.500

  It is wise∣dome to be on the su∣rer side.
• * 1.501

  To possesse things with 〈…〉〈…〉, is in a manner impossible.
• * 1.502

  S Basil reg su•••• 8.
• * 1.503

  To leaue al is an easier cure. S. Io. Chrys hom. 43. in Matt. Sen. Ep. 110 Cass. l. 5. de 8. princip. 〈◊〉〈◊〉. c. 7.
• * 1.504

  S. Leo. •• 12. in qua••••.
• * 1.505

  〈◊〉〈◊〉 things worke vpon the interi•••• S. Basi hom. 〈◊〉〈◊〉 mil.
• * 1.506

  The diffe∣rence be∣twixt them that for¦sake 〈◊〉〈◊〉 affection, & in effect
• * 1.507

  〈…〉〈…〉 c. 14
• * 1.508

  〈◊〉〈◊〉 8.14.
• * 1.509

  Affection to earthlie things growes si∣lently vpon vs.
• * 1.510

  S Greg Ep. ante moral.
• * 1.511

  Manie things in Religion, of them∣selues to be desired.
• * 1.512

  Abnega∣tion of our wil.
• * 1.513

  Clim. c. 25.
• * 1.514

  S. Greg ••1. mor. c. ••••
• * 1.515

  The 〈…〉〈…〉.
• * 1.516

  It is 〈…〉〈…〉.
• * 1.517

  〈1 paragraph〉〈1 paragraph〉
• * 1.518

  The exam∣ple of our Sauiour, a pregnant a••gument for Reli∣gion.
• * 1.519

  S Bern ser. Ecce nos.
• * 1.520

  Gen. 32.
• * 1.521

  The anciēt Patriarcks not to be fol••o••ed 〈◊〉〈◊〉 in this
• * 1.522

  S. Io Chry∣sost. de Virg. c. 83.
• * 1.523

  God requi∣reth grea∣ter vertue of vs.
• * 1.524

  Presump∣tion to think, be∣cause others haue escaped in the world, that there∣fore we may.
• * 1.525

  S. Tho. 21. q 186. a 4. Ep. 5.
• * 1.526

  Psal. 119.7. Iob 1. S. Greg. 1. Mor. c. 1.
• * 1.527

  They that make this obiection, are most commonly not of the best.
• * 1.528

  It is hard to stand al∣wayes.
• * 1.529

  A Reli∣gious life excelleth for other things. Threo kinds of difficultie in good works.
• * 1.530

  S Bon. in Apol panp. a 2.1. resp. 3 p
• * 1.531

  And which of them en∣creaseth merit.
• * 1.532

  S. Hierome. Ep. 4.
• * 1.533

  Difficulties rising from corruption of nature doe not en∣crease me∣rit.
• * 1.534

  S Hier. Ep. 22.
• * 1.535

  Outward occasions of difficul∣tie are to be auoy∣ded.
• * 1.536

  S. Aug. ••. 250. de Temp. S. August. ibidem.
• * 1.537

  It is not cowardli∣nes to flie the world.
• * 1.538

  S. Hierome cont. Vigi∣lant.
• * 1.539

  He that seemeth to stand•••• out, is ouer∣come.
• * 1.540

  E••••l. 3.27.
• * 1.541

  Luc. 12.48.
• * 1.542

  Much shal be deman∣ded of al Christians.
• * 1.543

  The ouer∣plus in Religion helps to discharge the debt.
• * 1.544

  To be rich, is a dispo∣sition for more riches.
• * 1.545

  Matth. 13.12 & 25.29.
• * 1.546

  Religious are only bound to aspire to perfection.
• * 1.547

  〈1 paragraph〉〈1 paragraph〉
• * 1.548

  Matth 25.
• * 1.549

  They think vn∣worthily of God.
• * 1.550

  Whether the sinnes of Reli∣gious peo∣ple be greater.
• * 1.551

  S. Iohn Chry••. lib •• con. v••••up. vi mor.
• * 1.552

  〈1 paragraph〉〈1 paragraph〉
• * 1.553

  〈1 paragraph〉〈1 paragraph〉
• * 1.554

  2. Paral. 19.2.
• * 1.555

  Ps. 36 24.
• * 1.556

  S. Basil reg. br. c. 81.
• * 1.557

  Ps. 13.2.
• * 1.558

  2. Para••. 3•• 19.
• * 1.559

  Hard dea∣ling.
• * 1.560

  S. Augustin Epist. 136.
• * 1.561

  In a coorse cloath, greater spots are not seen.
• * 1.562

  S. Basil Const. Ma. c. 7.
• * 1.563

  Religious m••n are men.
• * 1.564

  False Chri∣stians and false Clerks as wel as Monks.
• * 1.565

  S Hier. con. 〈◊〉〈◊〉.
• * 1.566

  The Church is holie, though some be not holie.
• * 1.567

  Eph. 5.27.
• * 1.568

  Cant. 4.
• * 1.569

  The ver∣tues of most, re∣compense the faults of a few.
• * 1.570

  S. Hier. ep. 34.
• * 1.571

  S. Greg. Nyss l. de Virg. c. vlt.
• * 1.572

  M••rc••ants le••ue not tra••ling, b••c••••se some suffer ship••rack.
• * 1.573

  Matt. 18.7.
• * 1.574

  He that wondereth at 〈…〉〈…〉
• * 1.575

  C••ss Co••l 14. c. 16
• * 1.576

  The rare charitie of Paphnu¦tius.
• * 1.577

  〈1 paragraph〉〈1 paragraph〉
• * 1.578

  S Aug Ep ••••.
• * 1.579

  Gen. 9.
• * 1.580

  Gen. 2••.10.
• * 1.581

  Mal. 1.3. Gen 28 2 R••g 15.
• * 1.582

  They are not Angels that make this obiec∣tion.
• * 1.583

  S. Ansel. Ep. 3.
• * 1.584

  This is an ancient obiection.
• * 1.585

  S. August, de ••ono ••on∣ing. c. 10.
• * 1.586

  S. Iohn Chry de vir. ••. 15
• * 1.587

  A happie thing if al would liue single.
• * 1.588

  1. Cor. 15.28.
• * 1.589

  But it is 〈…〉〈…〉.
• * 1.590

  Mat 19.••••:
• * 1.591

  Matth ••••.13.
• * 1.592

  God also prouideth otherwise.
• * 1.593

  S. Io. Chry. de Virg c. 15. They should ra∣ther care for their soules.
• * 1.594

  Marria••e 〈…〉〈…〉 n••w▪
• * 1.595

  Distinctiō of Sexes is not mad•• voyd by •• single 〈◊〉〈◊〉.
• * 1.596

  The 〈…〉〈…〉 posteritie
• * 1.597

  S H••er. 〈◊〉〈◊〉. 10.
• * 1.598

  The happi∣ness of a Re∣〈…〉〈…〉 life, 〈…〉〈…〉.
• * 1.599

  Too much desire of posteritie is not Christian-like.
• * 1.600

  Arist. 1. Pol. c. 1.
• * 1.601

  Two causes of thi•• feare.
• * 1.602

  Ps 77.21. S. Bonan. in Apol. p••uy. 4. ris•• 3. par. a. 2.
• * 1.603

  S. Aug de Orat 〈…〉〈…〉.
• * 1.604

  Dan 14.
• * 1.605

  3. Reg. 17.
• * 1.606

  S. Hier•••• c. 5. 〈…〉〈…〉.
• * 1.607

  S. 〈◊〉〈◊〉 l. 6. 〈◊〉〈◊〉.
• * 1.608

  S Aug. de 〈◊〉〈◊〉.
• * 1.609

  Men are 〈…〉〈…〉 for Religious people. 〈…〉〈…〉 their P••uertie.
• * 1.610

  1. Cor. 9.11. 2. Tim. 2.6.
• * 1.611

  And of the paynes they take for their soule.
• * 1.612

  And of their ver∣tue.
• * 1.613

  Luc. 16.9. S. Hier. contra Vigi.
• * 1.614

  Mat. 5.3. Ps. 40.1.
• * 1.615

  S Aug in Ps. 101. ••on••. 3••
• * 1.616

  God obli∣ged to haue care of Religious people.
• * 1.617

  Ps. 36.25.
• * 1.618

  Our for••∣cast very short.
• * 1.619

  S Io. Chrys. h••m. 50. ad pop.
• * 1.620

  I••. ho. 57.
• * 1.621

  The pro∣uidence of God to∣wards Ab∣bot Hellen.
• * 1.622

  And two Domini∣can Friars.
• * 1.623

  And two of S. Francis his Order Ps. 54.••3.
• * 1.624

  〈◊〉〈◊〉 Lord∣ships be∣longing to Religious people.
• * 1.625

  Es. 60.16.
• * 1.626

  Ps. 104 44.
• * 1.627

  Luc. 22.35.
• * 1.628

  It is meri∣torious to shorten out dayes.
• * 1.629

  Worldlie people doe the like for other ends.
• * 1.630

  Religion a kind of Martyr∣dome.
• * 1.631

  A happines t••l 〈◊〉〈◊〉 our life short∣ned.
• * 1.632

  Men liue long in Religion.
• * 1.633

  Secular people more subiect to suddain death.
• * 1.634

  S. Iohn Chrysost. l. 3. con. vit••∣vit. more.
• * 1.635

  S. Hier. ••. con••. Iouin▪
• * 1.636

  Content∣ment of mind is a cause of health.
• * 1.637

  Our owne flesh a deadlie enemie of Religion.
• * 1.638

  S. 〈◊〉〈◊〉 de torp.
• * 1.639

  Pythagoras.
• * 1.640

  Plato.
• * 1.641

  It is a soule fault to yeald to flesh and bloud.
• * 1.642

  The cou∣rage of S. Hilarion
• * 1.643

  S. Hierome in 〈◊〉〈◊〉 vi••a••.
• * 1.644

  Eph. 5.29.
• * 1.645

  To cha∣sti••e our flesh is to loue it.
• * 1.646

  •• Aug. 1. 〈◊〉〈◊〉. c. 24.
• * 1.647

  Philip. 3.2.
• * 1.648

  S Leo ••••rm vlt de Pas••.
• * 1.649

  Ioh. 12.23.
• * 1.650

  Diuers considera∣tions to strengthen 〈…〉〈…〉.
• * 1.651

  S. Bernard of qui ha•••• 〈…〉〈…〉
• * 1.652

  〈1 paragraph〉〈1 paragraph〉.
• * 1.653

  An 〈…〉〈…〉 out flesh.
• * 1.654

  S. Bern. ser. 6. in Alu. D••m.
• * 1.655

  Six euils raigne in the world.
• * 1.656

  Deceipt.
• * 1.657

  Gen. 15.
• * 1.658

  S. Iohn 〈…〉〈…〉.
• * 1.659

  〈1 paragraph〉〈1 paragraph〉
• * 1.660

  I. 〈◊〉〈◊〉. 11.8.
• * 1.661

  〈◊〉〈◊〉. 29.8.
• * 1.662

  〈1 paragraph〉〈1 paragraph〉.
• * 1.663

  S. Greg ••. Dial. c. 〈◊〉〈◊〉.
• * 1.664

  Danger of offending God.
• * 1.665

  Ps. 1••.6.
• * 1.666

  The blindness 〈◊〉〈◊〉 world 〈◊〉〈◊〉 people.
• * 1.667

  Infinite offences in the world.
• * 1.668

  Hier. 9.2.
• * 1.669

  Some saued in the world.
• * 1.670

  That which hapneth to most, is to be regar∣ded most.
• * 1.671

  Iac. 4.4.
• * 1.672

  A feare without ground.
• * 1.673

  Eph 5 1••.
• * 1.674

  Al habits perish by ces••ation from the act.
• * 1.675

  And by contrarie practise.
• * 1.676

  Sight and conuersa∣tion with good peo∣ple, alter a man.
• * 1.677

  The force of the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of God.
• * 1.678

  〈◊〉〈◊〉 11 23.
• * 1.679

  Es. 41 10.
• * 1.680

  2 Cor. 12.7.
• * 1.681

  Proued by experiēce.
• * 1.682

  Ps. 138.14.
• * 1.683

  Cass. Coll. 12 c. 2.
• * 1.684

  Psa. 135.5.
• * 1.685

  Psa. 45.9.
• * 1.686

  Ioh 5.17.
• * 1.687

  A soule omnipo∣tent by the grace of God. Cant. 8.5. S. Ber. ser. 8 5. in Can••.
• * 1.688

  Ps 4 13.
• * 1.689

  S. Ber ser. 20. in Cant.
• * 1.690

  S. Aug. 8. Conf. ••a. 11.
• * 1.691

  Id. lib. 9. c. 1.
• * 1.692

  S. Cypr. lib. 2. Ep. 2.
• * 1.693

  The causes of this feare.
• * 1.694

  S. 〈…〉〈…〉 Mor. ••.12.
• * 1.695

  Pro. 15.1••.
• * 1.696

  Iob. 6.1••.
• * 1.697

  God wi•• not ••••••∣sake vs.
• * 1.698

  Rom. 11.29. Mat. 3.6. S. Aug. 4. Conf. c. 9. Io. 6.37. Iac. 1.17.
• * 1.699

  His friend∣ship cannot be preiu∣dicial or tedious. Sap. 8.16.
• * 1.700

  Eccl. 14.19.
• * 1.701

  A••st••ritie 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to be feared.
• * 1.702

  Nor the temptat••ōs of the 〈◊〉〈◊〉
• * 1.703

  The grace of God is giuen free∣ly.
• * 1.704

  His good∣nes towards vs while we liued in the world.
• * 1.705

  S. Ber p. 109.
• * 1.706

  The diffe∣rence be∣twixt a seruant & a sonne.
• * 1.707

  Io. 8.35.
• * 1.708

  Psal. 22.4.
• * 1.709

  Lu•• 5.25.
• * 1.710

  God 〈◊〉〈◊〉 a louing dis••position.
• * 1.711

  Sap 11.24.
• * 1.712

  〈1 paragraph〉〈1 paragraph〉
• * 1.713

  We must follow the example of S. Au∣gustin.
• * 1.714

  S Aug. l. 8. Cons. ••. 11.
• * 1.715

  God is constant in the works of nature.
• * 1.716

  The fal of someoughe not to dis∣may vs. S Io. Chry. con. vit. vitae 〈◊〉〈◊〉 c. ••.
• * 1.717

  Worldlie chances do not d••nt vs.
• * 1.718

  S. Greg. hom. 3.•••• Ezech.
• * 1.719

  S. Peter vpon the 〈…〉〈…〉
• * 1.720

  Mat••••. ••.
• * 1.721

  Ph. •• 2.1••. 1. Cor. 1. b.
• * 1.722

  Diuers pret••••ces of delay.
• * 1.723

  A man's youth the first time to begin to serue God. Thron 3.27. S Thomas opus. contr. r••••r. a r••g. c. 3.
• * 1.724

  S. Anselme.
• * 1.725

  Diuer•• commo∣d••••••s by entring into Re∣ligion in our youth. Youth ap••••r to learne.
• * 1.726

  〈1 paragraph〉〈1 paragraph〉
• * 1.727

  〈1 paragraph〉〈1 paragraph〉
• * 1.728

  Sene••a Epi••••. 110 V••r•• in 3. G••••••g.
• * 1.729

  A vision of 〈◊〉〈◊〉 point.
• * 1.730

  〈1 paragraph〉〈1 paragraph〉
• * 1.731

  Ioan 20.6.
• * 1.732

  Matth. 20.10.
• * 1.733

  Al delay is 〈◊〉〈◊〉.
• * 1.734

  S. Hier••m•• Fpist 105. S. Chryso••. hom. 57. ad pop. An••••h.
• * 1.735

  Matt. 8.12
• * 1.736

  S. Aug ••. Conf. c. 5.
• * 1.737

  Idem ca 6.
• * 1.738

  Idem 〈◊〉〈◊〉 59. •••• verb. D••m.
• * 1.739

  Prou. ••.••••.
• * 1.740

  S. Ans••lme Epis••. ••••
• * 1.741

  S 〈…〉〈…〉 & 10.2••2 〈…〉〈…〉 del••••beration in thi••, not t•• be c••••∣mended.
• * 1.742

  Mat. 4 26.
• * 1.743

  Matth 8.22.
• * 1.744

  S. ••o. Chrys. ho. 27 in Matth.
• * 1.745

  S. Tho. 1.2. q 68 art. 1. Arist 7. Mor. a•• Eudem. c. ••••.
• * 1.746

  S. Ber. s••r. Ecce•••• When 〈◊〉〈◊〉 calleth 〈◊〉〈◊〉 needs to delib••••••••tion.
• * 1.747

  Mat. 10.••••
• * 1.748

  Matt 8.22.
• * 1.749

  Diuers in∣conuenien∣ces of delay.
• * 1.750

  Delayes in other things are hateful.
• * 1.751

  Death may preuent vs. S. Aug. ser. 16 de verb. Dom.
• * 1.752

  S Ber. Ep. 9.
• * 1.753

  Delay is but a cloak for our vnwilling∣nes.
• * 1.754

  S. Bernard Ep. 105.
• * 1.755

  Id. Ep 108.
• * 1.756

  S. Hierome ••p 1.
• * 1.757

  Whatso¦eu•••• holds •••• from fol∣lowing God, must needs be temptation
• * 1.758

  H••••b. 1.16.
• * 1.759

  S August. ep. 38.
• * 1.760

  Clim. grad ••. It is better to contris¦tate parents then Christ
• * 1.761

  Exod. 20. Parents not to be obeyed i•• this case. S Th 2••. q. 104. a. vl••.
• * 1.762

  Arist 9. Eth. c. 2.
• * 1.763

  This is not contrarie to the command∣ment.
• * 1.764

  S. Aug. cont. Ada∣mant. c. 8.
• * 1.765

  The power of Parents is as of a deputie.
• * 1.766

  Eph. 3.1••.
• * 1.767

  S. Bernard Ep 111.
• * 1.768

  Mat 10.37.
• * 1.769

  Mat. 10.36
• * 1.770

  In compa∣rison of God, it is litle which we haue from pa∣rents.
• * 1.771

  S. Aug. in Ps. 70. con. 2.
• * 1.772

  That which they giue, is much more the guift of God.
• * 1.773

  Iob 10.8.
• * 1.774

  Es. 6••.16.
• * 1.775

  Mat. 23.9.
• * 1.776

  And but for this life, borne in sinne. Ps. 50.
• * 1.777

  S. Hier. Ep. 10.
• * 1.778

  S. Bernard Ep 111.
• * 1.779

  Mat. 10.37.
• * 1.780

  S B••rn•• s••r. 20 in Cant.
• * 1.781

  Christ and our parēts calling vs seueral wayes, who is to be obeyed?
• * 1.782

  S. Gregorie's iudgmēt in this case.
• * 1.783

  S. Greg. 7. mor. c. 14.
• * 1.784

  Iob. 18 8.
• * 1.785

  ••uc. 14.16
• * 1.786

  D••ut 3••.••.
• * 1.787

  1. Reg. 6.12.
• * 1.788

  An 〈◊〉〈◊〉 or∣t••tion of S. Hie••ome S Hier ••p. 1
• * 1.789

  Mat. 16.25.
• * 1.790

  Act. ••1.13.
• * 1.791

  Mat. 12 50.
• * 1.792

  S. Aug. ep. 38.
• * 1.793

  S. Augu∣stin's discourse.
• * 1.794

  Io, 12.25.
• * 1.795

  S. Bernard's admonitiō S Bernard epist. 104.
• * 1.796

  The exam∣ple of our Sauiour.
• * 1.797

  Matt. 12. Iohn. 20.
• * 1.798

  S. Anto. p. 3. hist. Tit. 24 c. 9. §. 7.
• * 1.799

  An other e••ample.
• * 1.800

  The fight against God.
• * 1.801

  And are se∣uerely pu∣nished. Greg. T••r. de vita Pont. c. 5.
• * 1.802

  S. Thom 2.2. q. vlt. art. 6.
• * 1.803

  S. Ambr. l. 1. de V••••gin.
• * 1.804

  S. Hier. epist. ad La••a.
• * 1.805

  ••. Cor. 3.17.
• * 1.806

  How gree∣uous an of¦fenc•• 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to h••nder people frō Rel••gion. S. Ansel ep. ad God••f. Luc. 11 23. S. Iohn Chrys••st l 3. cōtra v••t••p. vita Mon E••••d. 11. Deut. 22.
• * 1.807

  S. Bernard epist. 111.
• * 1.808

  The exā∣ple of the mother of the Mac∣cabees.
• * 1.809

  2. Matth 7.
• * 1.810

  S. Felicitas. S. Greg. hom 〈…〉〈…〉 T••••n o∣ther of S. 〈…〉〈…〉 S Basil 〈…〉〈…〉 40. Mar.
• * 1.811

  Abraham G••••••s. ••2.
• * 1.812

  Anna Samuels mother. 1. Reg. 1.
• * 1.813

  Paula. S. Hierome. ep. 27.
• * 1.814

  The mo∣ther of S. Bonauenture
• * 1.815

  S. Andrew Bishop.
• * 1.816

  S. Bernards mother. Gu•••• in vitae 〈…〉〈…〉. l. 1.c. 3.
• * 1.817

  Parents must con∣sider that their chil∣dren are mo•••• God's thē theirs.
• * 1.818

  S Greg. 4. regist ••p••st. 44.
• * 1.819

  2. Math. 7.
• * 1.820

  VVhat vvould they do••,if their child should die.
• * 1.821

  Absence of children cannot in reason trouble them.
• * 1.822

  They can∣not pro¦uide better for their children. S Iohn Chry. 〈…〉〈…〉 vit. 〈◊〉〈◊〉
• * 1.823

  The grea∣test prefer∣ment that can be, to serue God.
• * 1.824

  S. Basil pre∣fat. in As∣••••••.
• * 1.825

  Ps 115.15 Deut. ••••. secund 70.
• * 1.826

  Psal. 4.6.
• * 1.827

  The voca∣tiō of God is playne. Bern de Con∣uers. ad cler. and 2.
• * 1.828

  Rashly to runne vpō a setled course of life, is a great abuse.
• * 1.829

  The groū¦de•• vpon which we should settle out resolutiōs.
• * 1.830

  Indifferen∣cie neces∣sarie be∣fore we choose.
• * 1.831

  Clim grad. 26.
• * 1.832

  VVe must not expect Miracles or Reuela∣tio••s.
• * 1.833

  Reuelatiōs rather to be desired for to re∣mayne in the world.
• * 1.834

  Two kinds of voca∣tions.
• * 1.835

  A man may be truly cal∣led, though he find no violent motion.
• * 1.836

  Particulars about our ••••oyce.
• * 1.837

  Retiremēt necessarie.
• * 1.838

  And a ge¦n••••••l con∣fession.
• * 1.839

  And prayer.
• * 1.840

  S Bernard. epist. 107.
• * 1.841

  And a re∣soluti••n to doe that vvhich God shal tel vs.
• * 1.842

  Psal 110.10
• * 1.843

  S Greg hom. 23 in E••ag.
• * 1.844

  A motion to Religiō cannot but be of God. S. Tho. op. 17 c. 10.2.2. q. vlt. ar. vlt.
• * 1.845

  Psa. 142.10
• * 1.846

  1. Io. 4.1••
• * 1.847

  Those vvhom it doth belōg to, to try spirits.
• * 1.848

  Cass. coll. 1. c. 19. Three spi∣rits that may moue ••••.
• * 1.849

  It can be no s••••••ght of the Diuel, to 〈…〉〈…〉 Religion. ••ac. 11.15.
• * 1.850

  〈1 paragraph〉〈1 paragraph〉
• * 1.851

  〈◊〉〈◊〉 ••••.11. S Thom. ••.2.q. vlt. art. 〈◊〉〈◊〉.
• * 1.852

  〈…〉〈…〉 to be called to counsel.
• * 1.853

  Matt 19.11.
• * 1.854

  Al voca∣tions of God are not alike.
• * 1.855

  Cass Coll. 13. c. 15. & 17.
• * 1.856

  Examples of seueral vocations.
• * 1.857

  S. Hierome in vit•• Pauli.
• * 1.858

  Paul the first Here∣mit.
• * 1.859

  Arsenius.
• * 1.860

  Paul the Simple.
• * 1.861

  Nu••••us.
• * 1.862

  M••yses
• * 1.863

  S. Romual∣dus.
• * 1.864

  Ayong the••f.
• * 1.865

  It is not despaire but God that cals people by 〈◊〉〈◊〉.
• * 1.866

  S. Hierom•• Epist. 34.
• * 1.867

  S. Macar••u•• ••••m. 32.
• * 1.868

  C••s••. Coll. 3. c. 4.
• * 1.869

  Ps. 77.34.
• * 1.870

  God some time, catcheth m•••• by a holie craft.
• * 1.871

  Cl••m. gra. 1.
• * 1.872

  Which 〈…〉〈…〉.
• * 1.873

  What par∣••icula•• 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to be ••••••∣sidered.
• * 1.874

  S. Th. opus. con. imp. re••••g. c. 1.
• * 1.875

  The 〈…〉〈…〉 chiefly ••o be co••si∣dered.
• * 1.876

  S. Greg. lib. 6 ••n lib. reg. c. 6.
• * 1.877

  S. Th••. 2.2. q 188. ar 6.
• * 1.878

  Three tāks of Reli¦gious Or∣ders.
• * 1.879

  Another errour.
• * 1.880

  S Anselme.
• * 1.881

  S. An••o••. 2. part h••st in. 16 c. ••••.
• * 1.882

  The bene∣fit R••l••••gion to be highly esteemed.
• * 1.883

  Three things required of al Reli∣gious peo∣ple.
• * 1.884

  Grati•••• •••• & Thanks∣giuing.
• * 1.885

  〈◊〉〈◊〉 the 〈…〉〈…〉 that God 〈…〉〈…〉 life.
• * 1.886

  S. Bernard 〈…〉〈…〉.
• * 1.887

  God 〈…〉〈…〉
• * 1.888

  1 Reg 1.
• * 1.889

  Desire of perfection.
• * 1.890

  Apoc. 3.1••.
• * 1.891

  The riches of 〈◊〉〈◊〉 not to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 got with∣out labour.
• * 1.892

  The 〈◊〉〈◊〉 not gr••••••
• * 1.893

  Hil•• 6
• * 1.894

  Ephes. 5.8.
• * 1.895

  Care of keeping ourselues in Religiō
• * 1.896

  From whence, & whither they fal, that ne∣glect it.
• * 1.897

  S Bernard Ep. 111.
• * 1.898

  2. Pet 2.22.
• * 1.899

  Cant. ••.8.
• * 1.900

  S. Bern ser. 38. in Can..
• * 1.901

  Matt. 5.13.
• * 1.902

  A misera∣ble ex∣change.
• * 1.903

  Wrong done to God.
• * 1.904

  Seuerely punished.
• * 1.905

  The enor∣mousnes of the offēce.
• * 1.906

  S Basil. in rig fus. c. 14
• * 1.907

  Id••m. Cons••. ••on. c. 12.
• * 1.908

  The scan∣dal of it▪
• * 1.909

  Mat. 18.7.
• * 1.910

  S. August. Conf. 37.
• * 1.911

  Apo. 22.11▪
• * 1.912

  S. Ephrem. 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Non 〈…〉〈…〉.
• * 1.913

  Prou. 18. Marc. 2. Mat. 9.
• * 1.914

  S. Gregorie Ep. 33. lib. 1. Reg.
• * 1.915

  Acts. 5.
• * 1.916

  Caesarius hom 3. ad Monaches.
• * 1.917

  S. Io. Chrys. Ep. 6.
• * 1.918

  ••uc. 15.
• * 1.919

  S. Bernards opinion about going from one Order of Religion to another lesse strict. S. Bernard Ep. 1.
• * 1.920

  S. Bernard Ep 94. S. Greg 3. p. past. c. 28▪
• * 1.921

  Luc. 9.
• * 1.922

  S. Greg ••••. 3. in Ezech.
• * 1.923

  S. Basil de abdic. s••s.
• * 1.924

  Iob. 6.66.
• * 1.925

  Apo. 3.11.
• * 1.926

  The exhor∣tation of S. Anthonie
• * 1.927

  S. Atha••••in ••••ta An••o.
• * 1.928

  Ps. 89 10.
• * 1.929

  Rom 8.1••.
• * 1.930

  Gen. 19.26.
• * 1.931

  1. Cor. 9.24.
• * 1.932

  Matt 9 9.
• * 1.933

  2. Cor. 4.6.
• * 1.934

  They that think of entring into Reli∣gion, must expect en∣counters.
• * 1.935

  S Greg. 24.24. Mor. ca. 7.
• * 1.936

  〈◊〉〈◊〉 is 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to be one come.
• * 1.937

  Iob. 33.
• * 1.938

  The goods of this world are nothing.
• * 1.939

  S Ber. Epi. ad Sophiam.
• * 1.940

  That which we re∣nounce, is but de∣posited.
• * 1.941

  S. Ambr ••. 1. de vi••g.
• * 1.942

  The Wis∣dome of God to 5. Laurence Iustinian.
• * 1.943

  The diffi∣culties of Religion 〈…〉〈…〉 susterable.
• * 1.944

  S. Hierom. ep. 1.
• * 1.945

  Experiēce 〈…〉〈…〉 it is easie, to liue in Religion.
• * 1.946

  S. August. 8. Conf. ca. 11.
• * 1.947

  Rowland of the Order of S Domi∣nick.
• * 1.948

  The vani∣ties of the world.
• * 1.949

  Peter Gon∣zales.
• * 1.950

  The de∣ceitfulnes of it.
• * 1.951

  Hel-fire.
• * 1.952

  Esa. 14 11.
• * 1.953

  The i••yes of Heauen.
• * 1.954

  Andrew Archdea∣con of Virdun.
• * 1.955

  Beautie of Religion.
• * 1.956

  S. Nicolas Tolentin.
• * 1.957

  Dangers of the world.
• * 1.958

  1. Iohn. 2 15.
• * 1.959

  Eternitie.
• * 1.960

  Difference of rewards.
• * 1.961

  Claudius Aquauiua.
• * 1.962

  Io. 10.16.
• * 1.963

  B. Fa. Borgia.
• * 1.964

  Two gene∣ral mo∣tiues.
• * 1.965

  S Gregorie hom. ••an Euang.
• * 1.966

  Hier. 2.18.
• * 1.967

  Difference of the plea∣sures of the world, and of Reli∣gion.
• * 1.968

  The greatnes of the Hun∣dred fold.
• * 1.969

  S. Ber. hom. Ecce nos.
• * 1.970

  People doe not bel••e••e 〈…〉〈…〉 our Sauiour.
• * 1.971

  Aegidius.
• * 1.972

  Manie can∣not be sa∣ued, vn∣lesse they enter into Religion.
• * 1.973

  S. Greg lib. 2. r••gist. Ep. 6.
• * 1.974

  S. Bern s••r. 51. in Cant.
• * 1.975

  ••uc. 19 16.
• * 1.976

  Al men de∣sire perfe∣ction.
• * 1.977

  S Hierome ••p. 34.
• * 1.978

  S. Aug. de verb Dom. ser. 16.
• * 1.979

  Another fallacie answered.
• * 1.980

  They that sowe spa∣ringly shal reape spa∣ringly.
• * 1.981

  2. Cor. 9.6.
• * 1.982

  1. Cor. 7.19.
• * 1.983

  It is better to be with∣out the things of this world, seing we cannot vse them as we wil.
• * 1.984

  The offen∣ce and affront which 〈◊〉〈◊〉 in refusing God when he cal••eth.
• * 1.985

  Ps. 108.17.
• * 1.986

  Pro. 1.24.
• * 1.987

  Exāples of them that haue been punished for refusing to answer their voca∣tion.
• * 1.988

  S. Anton 3. part. ut. 14. l. 9. §. 7.
• * 1.989

  A youth repreeued by the in∣tercession of S. Iames. Anton. 2. part. tit. 17. c. 1. §. 2.
• * 1.990

  Cant. 1.11.
• * 1.991

  Another taken to mercie, and yet chastiz••d. S Anton. 3. part. ut. 24. c. ••. §. 7.
• * 1.992

  A bro••er of S. Ber∣nard.
• * 1.993

  Vu. S Bern. l. 1. c. 3.
• * 1.994

  A vision of his concer∣ning two of his com∣panie. In vi••. S. Bernard.
• * 1.995

  Another that de∣la••ed his entrance.
• * 1.996

  S. Bernard Ep. 108.
• * 1.997

  Exhorta∣tions of holie Fa∣thers to Religion
• * 1.998

  The con∣uersion of S Fulgētius; and how he encour••∣ged 〈…〉〈…〉. Vid Sur in 〈◊〉〈◊〉 vita. To. 1.
• * 1.999

  The exhor∣tation of S. Augustin to Lic••••••ius.
• * 1.1000

  Epist. 41.
• * 1.1001

  S. Basi•••• ••••hortation. ••im 52.
• * 1.1002

  S. Greg. 6. R••g. Ep. 109
• * 1.1003

  S. Bernard's admonitiō.
• * 1.1004

  S. Bernard Ep. 103.
• * 1.1005

  Idom ser. 38. in Cant.
• * 1.1006

  Coloss. 2.••4. Psa ••0••.••4. Psa 145 8.
• * 1.1007

  Rom. 5.20.
• * 1.1008

  Mat. 6.32.
• * 1.1009

  S. Laur. Iustin do perfect. Mon. Can. 2.
• * 1.1010

  Iob. 21.13.
• * 1.1011

  Psal. 33.1••.
• * 1.1012

  The inui∣tation which our Sauiour ma•• 〈◊〉〈◊〉
• * 1.1013

  Mat. 11.••8. S. Basil▪ de abdi▪ sacul••.
• * 1.1014

  Heb. 1.3.
• * 1.1015

  Mat. 11.••
• * 1.1016

  Luc. 14.19.
• * 1.1017

  Mat. 7.14. Luc. 24.26.
• * 1.1018

  Deut. 37.33. Esa. 10.27.
• * 1.1019

  Es. 64 4. Io. 12 26.
• * 1.1020

  Esa. 61.3. Io. 16.22.