LXXVII. Upon the discharging of a Peece.
GOod Lord, how witty men are to kill one another? What fine devices [ B] they have found out to murder afar off, to slay many at once, and so to fetch off lives, that whiles a whole Lane is made of Carkasses with one blow, no body knows who hurt him? And what honour do we place in slaughter? Those armes wherein we pride our selves are such, as which we or our Ancestors have purchased with blood: the monuments of our Glory are the spoils of a subdu'd and slain enemy. Where contrarily all the titles of God sound of Mercy and gracious respects to Man: God the Father is the Maker and Preserver of men; God the Son is the Saviour of Mankind; God the Holy Ghost styles himself the Comforter. Alas, whose image do we bear in this disposition, but his whose true title is the Destroier? It is easie to take [ C] away the life, it is not easie to give it. Give me the man that can devise how to save Troups of men from killing; his name shall have room in my Calender. There is more true Honour in a Civick Garland, for the preserving of one Sub∣ject, then in a Lawrell, for the victory of many Enemies.
O God, there are enough that bend their thoughts to undoe what thou hast made; enable thou me to bestow my endeavours in reprieving or re∣scuing that which might otherwise perish. O thou who art our common Sa∣viour, make thou me both ambitious and able to help to save some other be∣sides my self.