Bentivolio and Urania in four bookes / by N.I. D.D.

THE FIFTH BOOK: OR, THE RIAGENE.

THe beautiful Irene conducting the Noble Travellers along the Grove, where the chearful Birds welcom'd their Arrival with pleasant Notes, in a short time they entered into a Walk more spatious then the rest, where fair Lyme-trees and flou∣rishing Sycamores stretching their long arms from one side to the other made a most hospitable shade, which with the help of thick branches covered with broad leaves kept out the offensive heat. This Walk brought them to a Garden which joyned to the House, which was beautified with many fair Plats incompass'd with little Myrtle-hedges, and being adorned with excel∣lent Flowers and fragrant Herbs did recreate the Senses and Minds of such as came near them with sweet odours and lovely colours. It was grac'd with variety of broad Allies bordered with Cypress-trees. At the four corners of the Garden were Sommer-Pavilions of structure sufficiently handsom. Upon the other side of the House was a fair Orchard planted with the best sorts of Fruit-trees and ma∣ny rare and useful Plants. The passage to it was through a little Wilderness, which by many windings representing a Labyrinth in a Wood of Laurel, Holly and Juniper, led to a delightsom Aviary peopl'd with the best-voic'd Birds. The middle of it was embellished with an artificial Rock,

out of which crystal streams continually ascended through little Pipes, and falling down the sides of the stone fill'd a small Sea in which the Rock stood with water. Here the Birds took an infinite delight to drink and bathe them∣selves: Neither did they think themselves Prisoners; for the Cage being large, handsomly turfed, and having ma∣ny Trees planted round about the sides of it, gave them so much room to build their Nests and fly up and down, that they seemed to enjoy a Wood in a Palace. When they came to the outermost Walks upon the North-side of the Orchard, they saw large Fish-ponds, some of which bred so plentifully that they stored all the rest; and those which were not Mothers prov'd good Nurses, and did so well feed the young Frie, that they supplied the house upon all occa∣sions with delicate and well-grown Fishes. They had no sooner entered into the Garden but they were in full view of the House, which though it was not so curiously fram'd as to make signification that he which built it hoped to live in it for ever, yet neither was it so meanly contriv'd or fur∣nish'd, but that it was fit to entertain most worthy per∣sons. At this time the Owners look'd upon it more plea∣singly then ever, judging it now the happy Receptacle of such Company as Angels would be glad to receive into their Celestial Mansions.

Here the Vertuous Theonoe receiv'd the Noble Travel∣lers, and accosted them with such a Grace, that it struck them into no small Admiration of her presence. She did fully answer and somewhat exceed those fair Proportions by which they had drawn her Image in their minds, not so much in regard of those fading Lustres which are visible in the Body, and do usually produce a slight Love in amo∣rous Hearts, (though she had Beauty enough to make her Body a lodging most agreeable to the Excellent Qualities of her Heavenly Soul, and it became her as properly as a handsome Cabinet doth a most rich Jewel) but she was chiefly wonder'd at for those better Vertues which raise and fix the greatest Estimations in the Breasts of the most knowing Persons. But that some which have heard of

her incomparable Perfections, would think them pro∣phan'd if any of no greater abilities then mine are should offer to picture them, I would venture at her Description: However I suppose I may lawfully doe it, or at least it is but a Sin that she her self would pardon, that upon so just an occasion I make bold to relate what I can remember of her singular Vertues. The shape of her Body was so full of Symmetry, that the most curious Limner could find no fault in it. Her Eyes were beautified with a sparkling Modesty. Her Countenance was a lively Pourtraiture of Grave sweetness. Her Dresse was such as shew'd that she neither wanted Art to put it on decently, nor was troubled with any phantastical delight in Apparel. Her Father neglected nothing which might signifie his affectionate care of her Happinesse, but being sensible that he had re∣ceiv'd from God a Daughter of an Excellent Nature, he was diligent to give her Education suitable 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Capacity and Birth. In this point Theonoe had the best assistance in the World, that is, the daily Example of her most prudent Mother Sosandra. Her great Knowledge testified that she had improv'd all advantages to the utmost, and was a clear proof that the Capacity of the Female Sex is not so inferi∣our to ours as some Men do ignorantly believe. Her Fancy was quick, her Memory faithful, her Judgment solid. She understood many Languages, and could speak some very exactly. Her Discourse was compos'd of dis∣creet Wit, and rais'd Admiration in all that convers'd with her: for she delivered well-fitted words and excel∣lent sense with such tunable Accents, that those which heard her thought she spoke like Memnon's Statue when it was struck with the Sun-beams. Her Conversation was Ingenious, and alwayes express'd such a modest Confi∣dence as accompanieth Innocence when it is lodg'd in a generous Soul. Her Temper was something reserv'd, but void of all Morosity. Her Deportment prudent, and wanted nothing which is requisite to make up a graceful Carriage. She us'd no Affectedness in her Speeches, Looks or Actions. Humility pleas'd it self to dwell in such a No∣ble

Spirit, which set off its worth with all possible Advan∣tage. She had so much Discretion and Fidelity, that the most Excellent Persons in the World desired her Friend∣ship. She did so truly love Charity, and express'd her re∣gard of those which needed it with such an universal care, that there were none of her poor Neighbours which pray'd more heartily for themselves then for her. She was known to be such a passionate Votary to Chastity, that none durst speak rudely in her presence. She was a true Lover of God, and devoted her best Affections to him and to his service, ever esteeming it as a great folly to pretend Love to ami∣able Persons or worthy Things, and to slight God, the greatest Good and First Fair, by whom all other things were made lovely. Her Religion was not made of Talk or fram'd of a few external addresses, by which many make their Devotionary part, like the rest of their Life, a Com∣plement; 〈◊〉〈◊〉 it consisted in a great Knowledge and much Love of the Divine Nature, and in a constant Resignation of her Will and Actions to all holy Commands as indispu∣table Laws. Having spent a good part of her Life accor∣ding to this infallible Method, at last she grew accom∣plish'd with all those Vertuous Habits, and was bless'd with those serene Tranquillities which fix themselves in those Ingenuous Souls where true Knowledge is sincerely obey'd.

This is a rude draught of Theonoe's Perfections: and though I have not been able to paint her to the life, yet it doth so far resemble her, that by it you may know the Qualities of Irene; for they were not more Sisters in Na∣ture, then they were alike in all vertuous Accomplish∣ments. Indeed they were two lively Reflexions of one Divine Beauty parted between them, and shined with no more different. Rayes then the Sun would send down if it were cut into two pieces.

Some possibly which may chance to reade this Story will be apt to think that I have said too much in their Commendation: but there is none which ever saw them and was in their company, but will either be angry or

sorry for the imbecillity of my Wit, finding the Enco∣miums which I have bestow'd upon them to fall so ex∣ceedingly short of their transcendent Worth. I have the rather committed this short Delineation to writing, be∣cause I suppose that other sorts of Painting are onely able to express but one half of Beauty, and that the far worse part; and because I think the two Sisters in this representation are so far beyond ordinary Exemplars, that many Ladies would think themselves very handsom if they were like them; and of this I am sure, that in all places it is not easie to meet with such as are equally made up. I know it is no hard matter to find many which are grac'd with an elegant form of Body, pleasing features of the Face, an amiable sweetness of quick Eyes, Heads cover'd with fair Hair, smooth Hands parted into delicate Fingers ending in a round littleness; and in short, adorn'd with proportions of Bodily parts so exactly measur'd, and lively colours so well plac'd, that they might sit to Painters as Original Copies of rare Pieces of Humane Form: and yet many of these Beauties are so deform'd with evil Dispositions and disho∣nourable Actions, that the excellency of their bodily Com∣position is spoil'd by an ill-agreeing connexion with a vicious Soul: for which they have been not unfitly compar'd to the Ancient Temples of AEgypt, which are fair outwardly, being large Structures built with choice Stones; but if you look'd inward, instead of a God you should only see an Ape, a Crocodile, or a Serpent. And yet how fondly do some dote upon these empty showes, esteeming a well-colour'd Skin or handsome Gestures above Excellency of Manners, Modesty and Chastity, and those other Vertues which con∣stitute a great Soul? I call it Dotage, for the folly is no less ridiculous then if they should be enamour'd with their fine clothes, or prefer the fashion of their new Apparel be∣fore the comely shape of their Bodies. But I must return to my Story.

Amongst those many Diversions which the Travellers enjoy'd in the conversation of these Noble Sisters, I must not forget one which they esteem'd above all the rest: It

was a Summer-house which Theander had built near the Head of a pleasant Spring, which running under it made the lower Rooms cool Grotta's, and was adorn'd by a neighbouring Grove which grew hard by it. As soon as they were told that Theander made this the Receptacle of his retired Life; they were affected with a singular pleasure: for we are apt to be mov'd, I know not how, with the very places where we find particular remembrances of those brave Souls whose Vertues we have admired, and seem to see those great men, when the Houses where they dwelt, the Rooms in which they discours'd, and the Tables where they sate are before our eyes. Here Theander was constantly to be found, not sleeping away his Time, or wasting it idlely with vain pleasures, as the soft Gallants of Rome trifled away their Lives in the Gardens of Tarquin: no, Theander, and many Virtuoso's which daily frequented his House, convers'd in these Privacies, as the Great Tully did with Atticus, Cotta and Balbus, and the rest of his learn'd Companions, when they walk'd under the Marian Oak at Arpinum, or sate in cool shades upon the Banks of Fibrenus. Having here sequestred themselves from the Tumults of the lower World and the avocations of vulgar Conversati∣on, they enjoy'd a freedom from the troubles of imperti∣nent Company, rejoyc'd in a calm fruition of noble Stu∣dies, and recreated themselves with a most profitable Di∣version from such laborious employments as some men by reason of their condition of Life are necessitated to under∣goe. Hither they retir'd to modest Pleasures, and sweetned Labour with Ingenuous Recreation. Here Theander, when he was alone, improv'd his Mind in the Knowledge of things by deep Meditation; not only reading such Books as were worthy to have been written, but sometimes wri∣ting such as were not unworthy to be read; designing his endeavours not only to his own entertainment, but to ac∣complish his Soul with such abilities as might make him more serviceable to the common good of Mankind. When his Friends came to him, he made them contribute their Assistances, whilst they employ'd themselves joyntly,

sometimes in the Contemplation of the Heavens, to observe the several motions of the Planets, and by the help of Te∣lescopes to take notice of their various Appearances; and sometimes in the examination of Minerals, for which pur∣pose they had a Room well appointed with Furnaces and Distillatories; otherwhiles they enquir'd into the Myste∣ries of sensitive Nature, the Reasons of Growth, and the Engines of Automatous motion, which may be understood by Anatomy. Some select places of the Garden were fur∣nish'd with large Bee-hives made of Glass; and through those Windows they peep'd into the exquisite methods of those busie Artists, which contain such great Skill in a little Compass.

In the Grove Theander had built a Chappel, which in my mind was a Design full of prudence; He, without doubt, having found in himself upon his Arrival in this solemn place a great alteration of Temper, that is, a more raised disposition for devout thoughts, took the advantage of his Experience, and dedicated the place to holy Services, ho∣ping charitably that those good people which came to it through those shady Walks would be encountered with those heavenly affections which he had felt in himself. Who hath not observed that the soft murmurs of a Foun∣tain, the sight of that green Moss which naturally adorns the Banks, the gentle blasts of cool Air which are whisper∣ed through the Trees, and the native horrour of a thick Grove, do compose the Mind to more then ordinary thoughts, and raise great passions in the Soul? Upon our first entrance into an ancient Temple, arched with a lofty Roof, whose awful solemnity is heightened with an holy Silence; or when we descend into a spatious Cave, whose hollowness not wrought by Art seems to be a natural Vault overspread with the Canopy of an hanging Mountain; do we not feel our selves struck with a sacred dread, and made apt to entertain more soft affections; as if the Walls we see, or the Ground on which we tread, were animated with some particular Genius which bestowed upon us this change of Disposition, either as an assurance of Welcom,

or else as a notice of its own great Presence? For this rea∣son we must needs suppose that the knowing Poets fre∣quented the heads of Fountains, and meditated in silent Woods, not onely as Recesses from noise, but as those de∣lightful Mansions where they were sure to find the Muses alwayes at home, and never fail to receive their wonted Inspirations. The Heathenish Idolaters had so much pru∣dence in the course which they took for the supporting of Erroneous Worship, as to joyn a Grove to every Temple; for whilest the People, apt to admire whatsoever is strange, thought some invisible Power must needs inhabit such So∣lemn Places, their Devotion received a natural nourish∣ment from their Eyes: Of these effects their Idolatrous Guides could easily make application to what Object they pleased, the Worshippers being extremely ignorant. But Theander, who knew how to make use of every thing, had vertuously improv'd these natural advantages both for him∣self and his Neighbours, who were willing to be relieved from the oppressive load of Secular life; and knowing that they must needs lose God where they cannot find them∣selves, would earnestly long to retire frequently to this pi∣ous Solitude, where they were restored to the use of their own better Powers; and tasting there the fresh delights of the Divine Presence, would be unwilling to descend from this holy Mount into those lower Grounds where earthly Vapours alwayes rise, and usually stifle and choke the deli∣cate sense of the Soul. When I think of Theander, (and I often think of him) I cannot but wish to be in some such place.

The Noble Travellers visited this Chappel every day, and spent a great part of their time here, in the Grove and the Garden-house; which, beside the other Conveniences forementioned, was accommodated with a flat Roof, which being covered with Lead and incompass'd with Ballisters gave 'em leave to walk where they enjoy'd the Pleasure of two fair Prospects. Upon one side they had a view of the Higher Theoprepia, shewing at a good distance like a pleasant Landskip. In the way to it they beheld the

whole valley of Elpicale, and at the further end of the Dale the fair Haven Kallolimen, and the famous River Lampromela, which parts the two Theoprepia's. At Kallolimen an old Fer∣riman call'd Euthanatus, by order of the Prince of Theoprepia, gives constant attendance to transport all Passengers which come through Biocalon over the River Lampromela. I have not yet receiv'd a perfect notice of the particulars which make up this Excellent Landskip, and therefore I must crave your Pardon, good Reader, that I pass it by with such a short Narrative.

From the other side of this Roof they look'd into that part of Theriagene where stood the great City Plutocopia. This was removed from Theander's seat to such a distance, that it was not discernible without the help of a Prospe∣ctive-glass. Bentivolio perceiving it to be very large, desi∣red Theonoe to give them a Description of it, and to inform them concerning the Customs of the People. I shall the more willingly obey your Command, answer'd Theonoe, having received Intelligence concerning it from a kinsman of mine who came to visit us not long since, being just then return'd from Plutocopia, whither he had travell'd to ac∣quaint himself with their manner of Life. It was call'd Plutocopia by Taraxion, the Son of Mataeogenes, who built it. It is not far distant from the Proud City Hyperenor, whose in∣solent Example the Plutocopians do but too much imitate. It is 〈◊〉〈◊〉 upon an Isthmus or narrow Bridge of Earth lying between two vast Seas, which do continually beat upon it, and every day wash away some part of the Land with their impetuous waves. There is nothing very remarkable in this City but an unspeakable Industry which they bestow only to get Riches. Their Coin hath no Image upon it, but is only inscrib'd with two words, Chrysus being stamp'd upon one side of it, and Tapanta upon the other. The Device is not improper, because it doth significantly ex∣press the vast apprehensions which they have of Wealth. They understand no other Happiness but that which they can measure, as Hannibal did the Romans Rings, by the Bushel. They bestow upon themselves for Recreation

some of the most feculent sort of Pleasures, for they vouch∣safe to be drunk sometimes at a gluttonous Feast. A ver∣tuous Person is reckon'd among them by the number of Servants which he keeps, the Acres of Land which he pos∣sesseth, or the Ships which belong to him. Charity is e∣steem'd a capital Foolery, Humility and Modesty are con∣fined to the houses of the Poor. The Inhabitants are all either unjust themselves, or Oppressors Heirs. Ingenuous Arts have no place amongst them. They think themselves incomparably learned, if they understand the Tongues of Trade, and have some little skill in Courtship. They ne∣ver tasted any Liberty of Soul, and are at last so extremely in love with their habitual Slavery, that they will neither open their eyes to look upon Truth, nor hearken to those which offer to shew them their Errours. They take it as the greatest incivility in the world for any to attempt the change of their Opinions. The truth is, having bottom'd the Designes of their Life and their expectations of Felicity upon Erroneous thoughts, wise Counsel would but dis∣turb their Peace. Some which have calculated their La∣titude, report that they are situate in a Climate which lies many degrees without the Tropick of Vertue. The Youth being never acquainted with any other methods of Education, but to learn how to get and keep Money, do usually so improve themselves in that Art, that they are able to cheat their Fathers: and in a short time they do so exceed the bounds of Covetous desires which were set to them, that they will frequently complain that their over-grown Parents do not die soon enough. In point of Marriage they are contrary to the Genius of other Lovers, for in Plutocopia no young Virgin hath so many Suitors as a rich old Woman with three Teeth. Those which are beautified with a good Fortune, especially if they be not likely to live long, though they be really very ill-fa∣vour'd, are there esteem'd more handsome then an Exqui∣site piece done by Titian or Van-Dyke. They are very uncivil to Strangers, hoping by this means that they shall be freed from the chargeable trouble of entertaining such as come

from other places. They are infinitely suspicious of their Neighbours, and upon small occasions, magnified by Jealousie and false Reports, will fall upon one another, after such a cruel manner, that one would think a Civil War had happen'd amongst a swarm of Wasps. They are per∣petually Litigious, and drag those to the Law whom they have injur'd. It is no wonder, for it is their Principle to believe that they ought to hate another for ever, after they have once done him a Discourtesie. They are so exceed∣ingly ingrateful, that those few (and they are but few) which doe good to others, are so far from hoping for a thankful requital, that they fear a mischief from none more then those whom they have reliev'd. They are al∣wayes gnaw'd with Envy, repining at that which they call the Happiness of others; which is Great Houses, Be∣neficial Offices, Much Plate, Brave Furniture, Rich Coaches, High Diet, Gallant Clothes and Large Gardens. They commonly make so much haste to be Rich, that by a too∣eager Prosecution of their cross Designs they hinder not only others, but themselves; like people in a Throng, who thrusting each other forward with an indiscreet haste to get out at some Door, do wedge up the passage. They count it a great Ability to cheat one another; and this Art is practis'd among them so generally, that some have resem∣bled Plutocopia to a field in the time of a great Plague, where you can see nothing but Crows and Carkases. They have so corrupted the Offices of Friendship, that the Stagyrite would be forc'd to burn out two or three of Diogenes his Candles before he should find any there which would fit his Definition. They love their Friends as they do their Lands, and despise all Friendship but that which they can put to use. They are so far from practising any generous notions of Love, that they account them ridiculous per∣sons which speak of 'em. Yet they are so vex'd with the effects of Unworthiness and Falshood when they feel them, that in a great discontent they will wish there were some infallible Mark set upon Hypocrites, or that a Window were made into mens Bosoms; not minding what sport

they themselves would make if their wishes were ac∣complish'd.

If it were not too tedious to relate the Story, I would acquaint you with a Trick which was lately put upon them by one Alopex. He and two of his Companions arriving in an Inne, stay'd there two or three dayes, where they made an agreement that they should salute Alopex as their Lord in all companies, and having put him into Mour∣ning Apparel, pretend that the cause of his coming to Plu∣tocopia was the Death of a most hopeful Son, his only Child, whom he had lately buried in Polistherion, which was the chief City of Theriagene, which was far distant, being part∣ed by a great Sea from Plutocopia; and that therefore the most disconsolate Gentleman had left his City, left the company of his Son's Friends or the sight of his Grave should keep his sorrows alive; and that as an addition to his Grief he had suffered shipwreck, by which he lost Ten thousand pounds, which he brought with him to buy some convenient seat, and to discharge the Expences of his abode, till he could dispose of his Estate, which was very great both in Lands and Goods, in his own Country; and that he had resolv'd to spend the rest of his Life in Plutocopia, where his Losse did not so much trouble him, as that being destitute of his Attendants he should not be acknowledged according to his Dignity. He Cough'd frequently as be∣ing in a Consumption, and drank often of a little Glasse, which he call'd for with such a low voice as if he were rea∣dy to faint for want of Spirits; he talk'd alwayes of his Lands, Houses and Money; made his Will every day, in which he employ'd the most noted Scrivener in the City, upon whom he bestow'd great Legacies. His name was Klerotheron, a man famous for great skill in his Profession. He us'd to lend money to young Heirs, and having got a Mortgage for the Principal, did not long after purchase the Fee with the Interest. It was his manner when he was entertain'd in a Suit, to promise his Client lustily; but be∣ing compell'd sometimes to take a Bribe from the adverse party, he frequently found himself so equally pois'd, that

he stood like Buridan's Asse, hungry between two sorts of meat which pleas'd him alike, and knew not which cause to prosecute first. This man Alopex thought a very fit in∣strument to promote his design. The first use which he made of him was to hire him a brave House near the River, which he did; and in a short time by his means he inveigled many covetous Citizens into his Acquaintance, who, in hopes to be made his Heirs, feasted him magnificently, furnish'd him with Monies, sent him rich Presents, and so carefully perform'd whatsoever they thought acceptable to him, that Alopex began to think his lies true, and was willing to forget the reality of his Condition; till one of his mock-servants having bethought himself of the inse∣curity of Falshood, and knowing what they should be forc'd to suffer if they were discover'd, ask'd Alopex after he had return'd half drunk from a Feast, What would become of us, if Klerotheron, who pretends so much kindness to us, should send a spie to Polistherion to know the certainty of our Reports? Then, replied Alopex, like a man awaken'd out of a pleasant Dream with a loud Thunder-clap, we should be forc'd to pay for our good chear. I think it is high time, said his other Companion, to free our selves from the danger of Dissimulation by a real Escape; for having sinn'd so egregiously, we shall alwayes expect the Punishment which we have deserv'd. But what course shall we take? I think I can resolve you, replied his Fellow∣servant. I understood yesterday that there is a Bark in the Port, which though it bears other colours, belongs to Amphibius, which is an Island not belonging to the Juris∣diction of Theriagene: The Master's name is Pirates. I will engage him with a good summe of Money to take us in. The Wind being fair, they will be ready to set sail, for they have dispos'd of their Praight. Tomorrow, said he, turn∣ing to his Master, you shall feign your self to be very sick, and send for Klerotheron, and let him know that you desire to remove your self to his Country-House, which lies near the Sea about three Leagues from the City, being willing to die there privately, that you may not be troubled with

Sollicitors: withall give Klerotheron your last Will, which you may make to night, and appoint him the sole Heir of your Estate; entreat him to go along with you without giving any notice of your Design, and when we have him aboard, leave the rest to me. They approv'd this Plot, and put it in Execution the next Morning whilst it was dark. When they were gone off a little from Land, Alo∣pex would needs be very sick, and desired Klerotheron to keep him company in his Cabbin, pretending that he doubted very much that he should never live to see his House. Klerotheron comforted him, and endeavour'd to make him believe otherwise. Alopex entertaining Klerotheron some∣times with pretences of inclination to Vomit, sometimes inveighing against the unmercifulness of the Sea, some∣times feigning a sleep, and when he awaked giving order concerning the manner of his Burial, amus'd him with va∣rious diversions till they were above four Leagues at Sea. Klerotheron, supposing that they might very well have come to his house in less time, call'd to the Pilot, for Alopex would not let him stir out of his Cabbin, and told him he was afraid that they steer'd a wrong course. The Pilot pre∣tending to be very angry, replied, that he was too old to be directed by him. Klerotheron being so snib'd, was com∣pell'd to a little more Patience: but at last suspecting some misfortune, rush'd out and went upon the Decks; and perceiving that they were almost arriv'd at the Island Mo∣ronesus, cryed out very discontentedly, Sirs, what do you mean? To land you at your house there, answer'd Alopex his servants. That is not my house, said Klerotheron; you have over-slipt it a League. They replied, Whether this be your house or no, we know not, but we are sure that you must land here. Whilst they were talking, Alopex appear'd, not making any great show of sickness now: at which Kle∣rotheron wonder'd; but much more when Alopex began to advise him with a grave voice not to disobey the young men, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 they should throw him over-board. Klerotheron not knowing whether that was any great mischief, consi∣dering his present condition, stood musing what to say,

till Alopex having assured him that all his Lands and Estate (except what he had borrow'd in Plutocopia) were in Moro∣nesus, his men, to prevent all further Disputation, let down Klerotheron by a rope into a boat which they had call'd from the Shore, making what sail they could, as Alopex thought, for Amphibius: but Pirates being the more cunning Fox of the two, and loath to lose his Prey after he had got it into pos∣session, having devested Alopex and his servants of all the spoils which they had gotten in Plutocopia, and following the example which he had but just then seen, bestow'd upon them a little old Bisket and moldy Cheese, and left them upon a Desert Island call'd Lestocharis.

Here Theonoe made a pause, and begging pardon for the length of her jocular story, they granted it, with laughing at the just Fate of Klerotheron, and the retaliation of his suffe∣rings upon Alopex. After they had pleas'd themselves awhile and were now silent, Irene told them that, if their pa∣tience would bear it, she would acquaint them with ano∣ther Accident which happen'd after the former, in the same place, as she understood from the same Gentleman, who for a diversion related it to them one night after supper, and at her Request gave it to her in writing. It began thus:

The Plutocopians worship a God call'd Holochrysus, whom they have honoured with the solemn Celebration of a pub∣lick Feast twice every year, and with a Golden Statue set in a most conspicuous place in the midst of their City. It was made by Eudaemon, esteem'd by them as the best Artist in the World. At the desire of the Plutocopians he had shown his utmost Skill in the contriving of a Noble Design to doe honour to their God. It was fram'd, as far as I can remember, after this manner. Eudaemon erected a Magni∣ficent Arch; in the middle of the South-Front towards the top he put the Image of Holochrysus sitting in a Throne made of Silver, which stood upon a high Rock, and seem'd to be divided from the lower ground by Precipices, naturally abrupt, but made of more difficult Ascent with stupendious extuberancies of Ice and Snow, insomuch that it was almost inaccessible, especially toward the top.

Notwithstanding that one Ponus did encourage such as climb'd, and help'd them with his hand over some difficult places; yet the Passages were so dangerously slippery, that those which ascended with the most bold Confidence, did usually fall down and break their Necks. Those which escaped the danger of this rough way, came to a small Plot of plainer ground, where they seem'd to stand astonish'd, their eyes being dazled with the Glory of the Illustrious Image. A beautiful Virgin in a glistring Habit call'd Pseu∣delpis was plac'd on the right side of Holochrysus, and becken'd to them to come nearer the God, where several Worshippers upon their knees before the Throne received from the Hands of Holochrysus chains of Gold and Jewels. They say that Eudaemon upon the North-part of the Arch had drawn the Figure of Apateon, who taking the Advantage of a Precipice as they return'd upon the back-side of the Rock, (for they were not permitted to goe down the same way which they came, because of the Multitudes which were still climbing up,) robb'd most of the Votaries of those rich Gifts which they had received, and afterwards threw them head-long from the Rock: and if any chanc'd to escape this Death, they were met and jeer'd by a scornful Virgin call'd Hybris. Most of them were so vext at their disappoint∣ment, that when they came at the bottom of the Hill, they were represented as entreating an old Woman call'd Ange∣rona to strangle them. But these Figures are not now to be seen, because Chrematophilus, a Citizen of great Note in Plu∣tocopia, had procur'd them to be obliterated, as being a dis∣honourable Appendage to that Divine Image. Before this Arch upon a rising ground stood an Altar at which Pleonectes the High Priest gave attendance; and, according to their Custom, after some Sacrifices, he recited a Panegy∣rick made in the praise of Holochrysus, whom he extoll'd as the Patron of their City, the Protectour of their Happiness, the Founder of their Dignities, the Fountain of their Joyes, and in short, acknowledg'd him to be the Beginning and End of all their Designs. The Plutocopians applauded his Oration with an Universal Hum, some having heard what

he said, and others imitating their Neighbours. After this they entertain'd themselves with Musick, Dances, and o∣ther sports correspondent to their Festival solemnity.

Whilst they were in the midst of their Jollity, Skeletion, a grave Philosopher, his Habit resembling those which of old were called Cynicks, of a slow pace and looks somewhat cast down, being newly arrived in the City, went to see the manner of this great Assembly. He took the first con∣venient place which he could find, sate down, and fell a∣weeping. The more inconsiderate of those which were next him took his impertinent Teares as an affront to their common Joyes. Others, which pretended to a little skill in History, thought that Heraclitus having taken up∣on him the Form of Diogenes was risen from the Dead. Whilst he continued weeping they began to leave off their Mirth, the Multitude flocking about him, as boyes use to do about a Stranger. Their Curiosity was the greater, because they saw a great Glasse in his hand which had such a strange Power, that it made most of those which look'd upon it to shed teares. He call'd his Glasse Iconecron. It was made in a round Figure by one Cranion, his Brother, who had form'd a Deaths-head so artificially upon it, that those which saw it, discerning nothing but a rotten Skull with∣out Hair or Skin, a few Teeth all uncover'd, instead of Eyes empty holes, and no Nose, were amaz'd, being ready to think that since their Image was thus transform'd, they had been dead a great while; or if they were at present alive, yet they fell a crying to perceive what within a little space of time they must of necessity be. Skeletion said nothing, only wept with them; and being unwilling to be too trouble∣some at this time, he retired to his Inne. This Accident was 〈◊〉〈◊〉 a showr of Rain to Country-people at a Fair, and forc'd so many of the Company to withdraw, that it both put an unacceptable Period to the pleasure of their Feast, and made 'em forget what they had enjoy'd; for when they were gone home, they talk'd of nothing now but Ske∣letion and his Glasse.

A few dayes after this the Plutocopians had a Great Mart,

which they kept every Moneth upon a large Key adjoyn∣ing to a muddy River call'd Glycypicron, which ran through their City; where whilst they were infinitely busie in sell∣ing and buying of Trifles, Euphranor the Son of Morogelon, a Jolly Fellow, never out of Humour, moderately fat and of a lively complexion, famous for his merry Temper, for he us'd to laugh at all the World, having heard of the incom∣parable Vanity of the Plutocopians, came to the Town in hope to make himself some sport. He was not deceiv'd of his Expectation, for he had no sooner got upon a high place whence he observ'd the People and their Actions, but he had like to have kill'd himself with laughing. The Plu∣tocopians staring upon him, not without some Indignation, ask'd him what he laugh'd at. At you, replied Euphranor, who make such a silly Question: when every thing which I see is ridiculous, do you demand what I laugh at? He continued his Mirth so long, and laugh'd so heartily and loud, that they began to be afraid of him, and suspected that he was Mad. For several dayes he made it his Re∣creation to walk up and down the streets, and to deride the Follies of the Plutocopians, which he saw express'd in a thou∣sand ridiculous Varieties; whilst the pensive Skeletion, whose eyes were Fountains of pity, deplor'd, as he thought it his charitable duty, their Unhappiness. The Plutocopi∣ans sufficiently disturb'd before by Skeletion, were yet more vext upon the Arrival of Euphranor, upon whom they could look no more pleasingly, then as upon a second Messenger which comes to confirm bad News. They thought Plu∣tocopia stood before these men of such contrary Tempers, like those Pictures which being look'd upon divers wayes represent different Figures; shewing a Baboon to one Spectatour, and at the same time a Beggar to another. After a little time the Plutocopians began to be extreme an∣gry, seeing themselves both pitied by one as miserable Wretches, and laugh'd at by another as Fools; and com∣plain'd of the injuries which they suffered to their chief Ma∣gistrate, by name Bathypogon. He having consulted with some of the graver Senatours, determin'd that they were

both out of their Wits, and made an Order that Archibius and Thurepanoecta, the two principal Physicians of the City, should visit 'em and endeavour their Cure. Not that Ba∣thypogon was much moved with any charitable resentment of their condition, but to free the Citizens from trouble. The two Strangers lay both in one Inne, where when the Physicians were come, they desired the Master of the House to acquaint Skeletion and Euphranor who they were, and to let them know, they having heard those two Gentlemen to be strangers in Plutocopia, had presum'd so far as to give them the trouble of a Visit. By good chance they were both together, for Euphranor had gone that morning to Ske∣letion's chamber on purpose to laugh at the Weeper; for among other things which made him sport, he thought Skeletion very worthy to be laugh'd at, who seeing the world miserable by reason of their affected Folly, would needs cry for that which could not be altered, and afflict himself be∣cause many were in misery, whenas by that means he ad∣ded one unhappy Fool to their wretched number. Eu∣phranor went forth, and seeing the Physicians in the next Room, accosted them chearfully, thank'd them for their Civility, desired them to come into Skeletion's Chamber and sit down. Skeletion took no notice of them, but signified much grief of Mind by Silence and a dejected Countenance. Archibius and his companion having saluted their Patients; after a little discourse Archibius desired to know the reason of Skeletion's sorrow. I weep, said Skeletion, to think how ma∣ny Men and Women you have kill'd. At this Euphranor was taken with a new fit of Laughter. Thurepanoecta ask∣ing him the Reason of his Mirth, Euphranor told him, he could not chuse but laugh to consider how willingly people paid great Fees for that Death which was bestow'd upon them, and to think how little you car'd for what Skeletion said, it being all one to you whether you kill or cure, so you be pai'd for it. Thurepanoecta being of a proud temper, was very much troubled to be so abus'd where he went without expectation of a Reward. Archibius was not mo∣ved, knowing it is an Indecorum for a Physician to be an∣gry

at his Patients, especially when their disease is in their Brains; and continuing his Discourse with Skeletion, attempted by divers Questions to find out the cause of Ske∣letion's Malady. But Skeletion took him off, saying, that though the World were not in other respects barren of oc∣casions of Sorrow, yet he should not cease Weeping whilst he saw it abus'd by so many bold Medicuccio's, who being strangers to the Principles of true Philosophy, utterly ig∣norant of the Mysterious constitution of Humane Bodies, unskilful in Anatomy except what they had seen practis'd at some great Dinner, careless of Study and unfurnish'd with Experience, yet pretend to be Restorers of Health and Saviours to Mankind, though they are more afflictive to the sick then their Diseases themselves if they would let them alone. He accus'd them of Disingenuity, because they did not acquaint their Patients with the shortest way to Health, and both neglected to exhort them to Tempe∣rance, and to reach them to measure it according to the Nature of their various Constitutions. He esteem'd it cruelty, that such as by the Mis-government of themselves had fallen into sickness, must also be tormented with the tedious courses of Physick, and be forc'd to continue sick till their Physician was content to gain no more by their want of Health, and the possibility of their Recovery made very doubtful, being expos'd to the uncertain Operation of di∣vers Medicines jumbled together in a long Composition, the pompous number of costly Ingredients only serving to make a greater shew of a learn'd Prescription, to keep sick men poor too, and to inrich covetous Apothecaries. In short, he told them that he was sorry so many of them had not read their great Master's Oath, and that fewer observ'd it; advising them never to pretend to the honourable Name of Hippocrates his Disciples, or attempt to cure others, whilst they found themselves sick of the Diseases which he had forementioned. These words put Thurepanoecta into such a sharp Paroxysm of his angry Distemper, that he was not able to bear the Abuse any longer, but flung out of the Room. This sight did so tickle Euphranor's Spleen, that

〈◊〉〈◊〉 fell a laughing. Archibius himself could not chuse but smile. Skeletion reproving Euphranor; How can I forbear laughing at you, replied he, when I hear you talk so sillily to one that is resolv'd never to mind what you say; and at him for being angry at that which he knows to be true?

Archibius perceived that these men were not mad, and judg'd that Thurepanoecta had not just cause to be so highly offended, knowing that many counterfeit Physicians de∣serve those Reproofs which Skeletion had given them, and that what he had said was so far from bringing any pre∣judice upon those Gallant Persons that are really accom∣plish'd with that useful Skill which they professe, that the detection of false pretenders would only remove a few blocks out of their way, restore due Honour to that Di∣vine faculty, and advance the Health and Happiness of Mankind. He would willingly have stay'd longer to en∣joy converse with Euphranor, for Skeletion was not pleasant Company; but considering what effects the wrath of Thu∣repanoecta, which was inccns'd, might possibly produce, he took his leave, and went to Bathypogon's House, where he found Thurepanoecta engag'd in deep invectives against Ske∣letion and Euphranor, saying that they were not only mad men but Villains, and that Bathypogon ought to take the same or more severe notice of them, then if they had brought the Plague to the Town; they being sick of two sorts of Madness, and both so infective, that they would endanger the putting of many people out of their Wits. Archibius was sorry that Thurepanoecta had proceeded so far in his Defamation; but when he had made an end, Bathypo∣gon asking his opinion also, he spoke in their Defence, and told him and his Assistants that the two Strangers were troubled with some Distempers, but those easily curable; that he did not apprehend them to be mad, much lesse that they were guilty of any unworthy Intentions, or design'd any mischief against the City. As a more plausible way to perswade them to believe what he said, (for he knew it was a hard Task to speak to any purpose in the behalf of persons against whom those which heard him were already preju∣dic'd;)

he was going to have told them the story of Democri∣tus and the Citizens of Abdera: But Thurepanoecta interrup∣ted him, saying, Bathypogon, and you Gentlemen which sit by him, may well suspect that to be true which I have re∣ported concerning the contagious nature of these mens Madness, for you see it hath infected a Physician. Archi∣bius being so much in his wits as not to trouble himself with making a vain shew of Wisdom among Fools, went a∣way: when he was gone, Bathypogon and his Companions ask'd Thurepanoecta what they should doe with Skeletion and Euphranor. He advis'd them to call a Court, and having there accus'd them of Sedition, to condemn them to be sold for slaves, and transported to gather Hellebore in the Island An∣ticyra; adding, that they needed not to make any doubt of finding Merchants to buy them: but if it should happen so, he told them as a Reserve, that they might banish them, and command them upon pain of Death never to come within the Gates of the City again. They took his advice, and resolved the day following to put it in Exe∣cution. They perform'd it accordingly; for about ten of the clock the next Morning their Serjeants seiz'd upon Ske∣letion and Euphranor, and brought them to the Town-house. The forementioned Bathypogon, famous for Wealth and a great Beard, was appointed to be their Judge: they desi∣red Chrysalides and Pluterastus to plead against them, having agreed upon the Sentence which Thurepanoecta had dictated.

The Court sitting, and a multitude of Spectatours being assembled to see the event of this Great Action, Bathypogon nodded to Pluterastus to accuse Skeletion, who with no small zele began thus: We have great Reason, most Grave Bathy∣pogon, to bring this man before the Judgment-seat, he be∣ing a Blasphemer of our God, and a despiser of that Felicity which we have receiv'd from him. That he is guilty of these Crimes is too manifest in this, that some dayes since he openly prophan'd our Religious Rites, and put a pub∣lick affront upon our Festival Joyes. I accuse him as a hater of Mankind, whom he doth perpetually torment with his direful Lamentations. I lay to his charge also,

that he being a Factour for Achthedon, and a Correspondent of our utter enemy Anelpistus, is come into the City to spie out our weakness, that he may the more easily betray us to our Adversaries. He hath seditiously sown the seeds of Discontent in the peoples Minds, and hath endeavour'd to undermine the bottom of our Hopes, that so he may ruine the Pleasures which are built upon them. In short, I de∣mand Justice against him in the name of all the Plutocopians, because he maintains Intelligence with the forlorn people of Hades, which are our mortal enemies; and hath receiv'd from them a Magical Glasse, which doth so bewitch the Eyes of all that look into it, that afterward they can doe nothing but weep.

When Pluterastus had done, Chrysalides was commanded to charge Euphranor; which he did after this manner: I ac∣cuse thee, O Euphranor, as a Reviler of our Ancient Customs, and a Reprocher of our most Excellent Constitutions, and as one that hath traitorously endeavoured to expose our Government to scorn, by perswading the people to believe that our most serious Affairs are but ridiculous Trifles. Thou art worthy to be punish'd, because thou dost conti∣nually upbraid men with the Imperfections of their Na∣ture, and insult over the Necessities of their Condition with a disdainful Laughter. Is it not most meet that he should feel the severity of our Laws, who hath disparaged the values of our richest Commodities before those Fo∣reiners which converse with us; and by this means hath put a great stop to our Trade, which is the life of Plutocopia? The truth of these accusations being manifest, I make no doubt, most just Judge, but you will appoint him such a Punishment as shall both free us from his dangerous prac∣tices at present, and put such an Awe upon others of his Ludicrous Temper for the future, that they will not ven∣ture to imploy their abusive wits to the disturbance of the Plutocopians.

Now Skeletion left weeping, lest the foolish Plutocopians should think that he bemoan'd his own estate; and Euphra∣nor laugh'd twice as loud as he us'd to do, to let them see

how much he slighted their Menaces. Hereupon Bathypo∣gon stood up, and having strok'd his long Beard once or twice, would have pronounc'd the sentence against them, but that a great noise which he heard among the People gave him an Interruption. It was occasioned by their thrusting one another to make way for Orthocrinon, a Gen∣tleman that lived in a Village call'd Euesto, not far distant from the City, and who was of a Venerable esteem among the Plutocopians for his extraordinary Wisdom, and especi∣ally for many singular Courtesies which they had received from him. Orthocrinon, as I am inform'd, is an Excellent Philosopher, though he arrogates no such Title, nor makes any pompous ostentation of his Knowledge in great words, but approves his real worth by prudent Actions, which do so completely adorn all the parts of his exact Life, that the best Philosophers may take him for an Example. He is descended from a good Family, and owner of fair Posses∣sions; but he despiseth worldly Dignity in comparison of Vertue, and makes no reckoning of Wealth in regard of Philosophy. He hath given away a great part of his E∣state to promote such in the course of Study as having great aptitudes for noble Undertakings, are hindered only by the want of such things as are necessary to support our com∣mon Life; and hath now only left a reasonable Competen∣cy for himself and his Family. He seem'd not to be so much incited to Philosophy by former Examples, or per∣swaded to it by the Exhortations of his Parents and Tutors; but was rather inflam'd by an innate Love of Wisdom, which with a mighty force deriv'd from the inclinations of his own soul thrust him forward, when he was young, to all excellent endeavours. He doth not professe himself a sworn Disciple to any one Sect of Philosophers, but em∣braceth Truth wheresoever he finds it. His manner of Conversation doth something resemble that of Socrates. If Anacharsis had found him at Chaenae, he would have taken him for Myson, and been no less pleas'd with him. He did so imitate both in the prudence of a frugal Temperance, that no disease durst meddle with him, left it should be

starv'd with Hunger and Cold. His Life was an impartial Correction of all Vicious Manners; yet though he was a most rigid observer of Vertuous Rules, he did not allow himself to imitate the severity of the Cynicks, because he thought that they did many times rather bite then reprove. He was not apt to take notice of those Faults which he saw in others; only he did constantly despise those whom he observ'd to be very curious of words, and as negligent of their Actions. These he usually call'd Chelidones, because their Custom is to make a great noise with select words, to boast of round Periods, soft Compositions, rare Inventions, and brave Sentences, to seek the glory of voluble Speech, and desirous to be cried up as great Oratours; or else jing∣ling with Syllogisms, producing large Inventories of Que∣stions, and clattering wheresoever they come with loud Dis∣putations, and affrighting their Auditors with endless con∣tradictions, claim it as their due to be admired for deep Philosophers: whenas God knows, under these fine shows made more plausible with a contracted Brow, a severe Countenance, an affected Gate, and a distinct Habit, they do often hide Unspeakable Ignorance, Foolish Opinions, Contentious Pride, Vain-glory, and an innumerable com∣pany of Trifles. He did not despise these great Pretenders because he himself was ignorant of the Art of Speaking; for by reading the best Authors, and exercising himself to speak and write, he had attain'd to the top of that excellency: or that he did undervalue Philosophy; but he was griev'd to see it expos'd to scorn in the world; that small matter which these great Boasters profess being no more like true Philosophy, then an old Woman in a Tragedy looking sadly is Hecuba. He thinks no method of teaching compa∣rable to Example; and though he says nothing of himself, yet it is manifest to all that understand Vertue, that he is a most lively Representation of it. In summe, he is that bright Mirrour in which all may see incomparable Wis∣dom, sincere love of Truth, perfect Humility, exact Justice, the true measures of Temperance, Tranquillity of Spirit, Freedom of Soul, and such a Sweetness of Deportment;

that all who have had the happiness to converse with him, become Lovers of his divine Perfections, and think that they have found that happy Guide, who not only under∣stands Truth himself, but restores Liberty and Joy to all such as know him. Though it is impossible but such Per∣fections must needs gain him Estimation, yet he hath one particular Excellency which commands an Universal Love: For he hath such a rare dexterity in performing all Offices of Friendship, that he hath no Acquaintance which hath not found the benefit of it in such respects as are suitable to his condition. He had much obliged the Plutocopians, not only by composing private quarrels which usually happen amongst Neighbours, whom he restor'd to Amity; but 〈◊〉〈◊〉 in appeasing of more publick Commotions, in which he shew'd no lesse Prudence then Charity; for he perswaded the Seditious to lay down their destructive Idiopathies, and yield quiet obedience to the common Laws. The effects of his powerful presence were so generally Beneficial, that there was no ordinary person which did not obey him as a Father, and those which were in Power honour'd him as a Friend. It happen'd that not long since Orthocrinon having observ'd some which managed the publick Affaires of the City, to abuse their Trust to their own undue Advantages, he reprov'd them so smartly, that his freedom of Speech and impartial Honesty procur'd him so much hatred, that for a good while he had not been in Plutocopia. But hearing that two Philosophers lately come to the City were appre∣hended and brought to a publick Trial for Misdemeanours by them committed, well knowing what Sentence would be pass'd upon them where they were to be judg'd, he went hastily to understand the matter, and meant if they were in∣nocent to intercede for them; but perceiving in part by those which stood near the Door, that things were managed unhandsomly, for he heard some say, Aha! these are new Sins; I never knew any body that was hang'd for weeping: we must cry no more. I care not for that, said another, but it vexeth me to think that we shall not be allow'd to laugh. Our Court is very severe to day, but will it be so

alwayes? and shall we be condemn'd too before we have spoke for our selves? By this talk Orthocrinon understanding both the faults for which they were accus'd, and that the Judge intended to condemn them without giving them leave to make their Defence; hereupon he made haste towards the Tribunal. Whilst Bathypogon and his Assessours wondred at his Appearance in such a time, Orthocrinon re∣solv'd their doubt by speaking to them after this manner: It is now a good while, Bathypogon, and you the rest of my Friends of Plutocopia, since I gave you a Visit; and I am sor∣ry that I come now so unhappily, for I see you are ready to doe that which, if I be not misinformed by the By-standers, is extremely to your dishonour. You are going to con∣demn two Strangers before you have heard them speak for themselves. Your Presence would be acceptable, said Ba∣thypogon, if you did not hinder our proceedings; but we cannot bid you welcome if you endeavour to represent us as unjust. We did not intend to condemn them till two Lawyers had accus'd them of great Crimes; and we can not want Evidence for the truth of their Charge, for they are such notorious Offenders, and have so generally dis∣turb'd the peace of our City, that there is scarce any pre∣sent who hath not been molested by them. However, wor∣thy Judge, replied Orthocrinon, you must observe your Laws, and then especially when you are about to pro∣nounce Sentence upon others for the Breach of them: and since your Law doth not permit any man to be condemn'd unheard, I pray you let these Strangers have leave to make their Apology, and then you may doe as you see cause. Bathypogon grumblod a little at the Interruption, but being perswaded by Chrysalides and Pluterastus, who whispering in his Ear, told him that he might permit them to speak, but withall bade him be sure to condemn them as soon as they had done, gave his consent; and desiring Orthocrinon to sit up∣on the Bench by him, he 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to Skeletion to speak, if he had any thing to say for himself.

Skeletion forbearing his sighs for a while, that they might not hinder his Speech, began thus: I should wonder at it,

O most unhappy Plutocopians, but that I have often seen the same unreasonableness in other places, that you should think a man accusable for expressing a Sympathy with the general estate of Mankind, that you esteem it a fault in me to cry with so many that weep, that is, toweep when I see many miserable. I might in some happy place, if I could have found it, have dried up my Tears, and I should have embrac'd this as no small good Fortune, since it is no great pleasure to weep; and I came hither to seek it. But I am not only disappointed, as I have been in other places, but am so far fallen from my hope, that I seem to be over∣whelm'd in the Infernal Lake of Sorrow, where I rather deserve your pity then anger. If poor Prometheus fasten'd to a cold Rock was an Object of Compassion whilst the merciless Eagle fed upon his Heart; I have reason to expect that you should condole with me who, at least in my own apprehension, am sunk down to that Centre, where all the Calamities which do afflict the whole Circumference of Humane Life do meet: yet here am I accused for weeping.

It were a sufficient Plea for my Lamentation, to say that I do but bear a part in that sad Dirge which is sung by all the World: It is begun by Infants, who when they first live, that is, begin to be sick of an incurable Disease, come crying into the World; indeed presaging those Tragical Misfortunes which they are to suffer, they prelude to them with Tears. This is a common Destiny, and so to be met with in all places. But here I have seen the new-born wretches, wet with Tears and Bloud, expos'd so unmerci∣fully, that it would soften a Rock, if it were able to see their Calamity, and make it dissolve it self into Tears: But I must not weep. You throw the Poor to Hunger and Cold, nay their Parents doe it, because they have no money to buy them food and cloths: and if by some strange chance they out-live this Death, yet they are forc'd to learn to speak with crying, and to beg as soon as they can speak. I cannot but weep for company, especially perceiving the 〈◊◊〉〈◊◊〉 destitute of Humanity, that they see it, and yet re∣fuse to relieve them. I do not wonder so much at it, but

I am griev'd nevertheless to see them use their Own not much better. It's true, they give them Meat and Drink, and use means enough to keep them from dying; but when they are grown to the use of Understanding and Choice, they prostitute their Youth to Ignorance and Vice: For neglecting to bestow upon them that benefit of which they are now capable, to assure their Infelicity they carelesly a∣bandon them to two foolish Guides, Apeirus and Cacotypus. Apeirus is an Obstinate man, you are all well acquainted with him, and by reason of his extreme Ignorance and high conceit of his Knowledge, is scarce capable of being taught himself. Cacotypus is utterly devoid of Vertue. So that one of them being unexperienc'd in the true Method of Education, makes them Fools; and the other corrupting them also with bad Example, renders them Vicious. You might as well put them to suck a He Goat, or make a Wolf their Nurse. The consideration of this doth often make me say within my self, Lord! what small hope is there that Goodness should ever grow to any Perfection in this world, where it is thus nipt in the Bud! And my grief is con∣tinued, whilst I foresee those sad consequences which must needs proceed from such miserable Beginnings. For they no sooner arrive at those years which are esteem'd the con∣fines of Childishness and Manhood, but they are captiva∣ted with the follies of both States. It's true, I have ob∣serv'd in your City a low narrow Gate call'd Metanoea, which opens towards Orthodus, which is the rode that leads to Sophiarete, the Region where Wisdom and Vertue are said to dwell; and I have taken notice of some Young men, which being awaken'd by some courteous Genius, who (as I suppose) had fore-warn'd them of that which would happen to them in their older Life, if they continued that course which they had begun, have hereupon rush'd out at that difficult passage, and made towards Orthodus: but the Ascent being steep, and the way rugged in that part which lies nearest to your City, they made no great haste, and be∣ing clogg'd with a Cachexy or Habit of sin contracted by long Custom which they are unwilling to shake off, and

being enfeebled with tempting Remembrances of their for∣mer Voluptuousness, advanc'd no considerable way till their Companions in sin, which hasten'd after them, over∣took them, and having seduc'd them back do so confirm them in their Errours, that they are good for nothing but to propagate new Instances of wicked Life, and to hinder Vice from decreasing for want of bold examples. I con∣fess it grieves me not so much for what these suffer in their single capacities, but because the concatenation of like Successions doth perpetuate Folly, and seems to make the end of sinning almost unexpectable. You their unwise Parents are the chief cause of this mischief; for you never minding that the Excellency and Service of our after-life depends upon our early preparations, leave your Children an undisciplin'd prey to Uselesnesse and Contempt. By which means you not only bestow, but entail a Curse upon Mankind; whilst you neither cease to be bad your selves, nor permit your Children to begin to be good. Hence it comes to passe that when they are grown Men, and make no doubt but that now it is fit that they should be their own Governours, they not knowing of themselves what is best, and much more unwilling to be told by others, by reason of an irregulated heat, they venture upon such rash Actions, and do so grosly mistake in the management of their Life, that when by the change of their Complexions they understand that they are arrived upon the borders of old Age, they desire to go back again, and fall into this pas∣sionate wish, Alas! why is it not lawful for us to grow young twice, that what hath been done amisse in our first Life might be corrected by our after-thoughts? that is, having lived foolishly, they are vext that they must die when they begin to be wise.

But before it comes to this I cannot but pity you, seeing how you are tormented with the effects of your precedent Errours: for that feeble Body, made of a little Bloud and Earth kneaded together, in which the Soul is cag'd, is not only of it self frail Flesh and weak Bones, apt to be cut with every sharp thing, and crush'd with every weight, but so

fill'd with accidental distempers by your Imprudences, that, like the shell of a Granado, it is in continuall danger of fly∣ing in pieces, being ready to be torn asunder by what it contains within it, distemper'd Humours, Crudities, Wind, Obstructions, Inflammations. These and many such like things do so distresse your Health, that you doubt whether you live or no; and when you endeavour to believe that you do, your hopes are frighted with those Deaths which hang over your Heads by small threads, threatning every moment a sad Period to an uncertain Life by a hot Fever, a watrish Dropsie, a pining Hectick, the painful Stone, intolerable Gout, or a stupifying Apoplexie; some of you being toss'd for a long time together between the Grave and Hopes of Recovery, by that known scorner of Physici∣ans, a sly malicious Quartan. But this would not afflict me so much, nor you neither, if that Better part of you were not a more lamentable Spectacle. I cannot suppresse my tears when I see those Misfortunes which are fallen upon the Heaven-born Soul. How is it clouded with Mists of Ignorance, deluded with false Opinions and wild Fancies, befool'd with Self-love, swell'd with vain Arrogance, apt to be set on fire with mad Anger, and burnt up with hellish Wrath, to be exalted with bold Presumptions, and some∣times as low depress'd with deep Despairs, abus'd with inordinate Appetites, sick with disquietnesse of Mind, tor∣mented with anguish of Conscience, and overwhelm'd with weariness of Life? A Truce being made with one Pas∣sion, a War is begun by another, and the poor Spirit rack'd upon the Vicissitudes of its own restlesse Affections, as up∣on so many afflictive wheels. Can I chuse but weep when I behold such Miseries, especially since I look at them as in∣curable?

This were enough to be quoted as a Defence of those Tears for which you accuse me, and I need not strengthen it by making a Catalogue of those innumerable Aggravati∣ons which swell your Misery up to an unspeakable Masse, and torment all conditions of Humane Life, in the City, in the Country, at Land, and at Sea. The Husbandman is

condemn'd to pull up Weeds which will never cease to grow in his barren ground. He mingleth his Bread with Sweat, and his Sweat with Tears; and when he hath ta∣ken the greatest pains, hath only drawn water in a sieve, and labour'd to make himself more work. Your Mariners are distress'd at Sea, and after a thousand Dangers with much difficulty make their Port; that is, they are toss'd home that they may rebound to some new Storm. Your Craftsmen are chain'd to endlesse toil, like Galley-slaves to their Oars. Your Citizens of all ranks pretend great dis∣content for want of loving Neighbours: and Friends of all sorts complain that they have no Touch-stone to try such as say that they love them, but that which commonly shews they do not, Adversity. Parents are vex'd with the Disobedience of their Children, and they think themselves undone by the Unkindnesse or death of their Parents. Ma∣sters and Servants frequently accuse each other. It is ordi∣nary to hear some bemoan themselves because they are not married, and others judge themselves more unhappy because they are. Some Husbands cry because their Wives are dead, and some because they are alive.

These are some of those Tragical parts which you act upon this miserable Stage, and the last Scenes are worse then those, which remain to be represented by Ancient people, who when they are already wearied with a miserable Life, are still disturb'd by one Geron, a Grim-look'd Fellow, who be∣ing a rigid Factour for Death, comes to make you pay dear for those small Contents which you enjoy'd before, and that but for a little while, and which were then not so greatly desirable, every good thing having two Evils joyn'd with it. When you are scarce able to pay any thing, it will go hard but he will have something, and he usually takes the best of what is left, an Ear from one, a Hand from a second, a Leg from a third, or what he can lay hold on. How did it tear my Heart some few dayes since, to see how Chronus, the Father of this Geron, seiz'd with a re∣morsless Violence upon a wretched Company of ancient Men and Women, drag'd some by the Arms, some by the

Feet, some by the Neck, struck out their Teeth, pull'd out their Eyes, lam'd them, kill'd them, and threw them into Ditches? I think it was a courtesie to some of them, for their Bodies were ill us'd by his Son, and grown such trouble∣some Lodgings to their Souls, that they could scarce en∣dure to dwell in them. And yet the miserable wretches were forc'd to stay in these streight Cottages, unthatch'd a∣bove, full of Smoak and Rain within, and there to swallow the Dregs of Life till some welcome Mischief choak'd them.

Here Skeletion made a pause, for his sighs forc'd him to leave Speaking; and when he began again, Euphranor laugh'd so loud that the Plutocopians could not hear him, and ha∣ving taken no great pleasure in what he had spoken alrea∣dy, they were unwilling he should say any more: So Eu∣phranor was commanded to succeed him, which he did in such words as these. I have travelled over the greatest part of Histrionia, most gentle Bathypogon; but I never came into any place where such as kept a Theatre were unwilling to admit Spectatours, much lesse where the Players were an∣gry at such as were present for laughing at their Mimical sport. The whole world is a kind of Tragick-Comedy, in which I never saw any act their parts more ridiculously then the Plutocopians; and yet they accuse such as laugh at them: which I cannot but esteem one cast beyond all which I have seen already. I suppose you have no such conceit of your own Actions, and are ready to demand at what I laugh in particular. I will save you that labour; I smile at every thing which I see or hear, I laugh at all which you doe or say, and chiefly at you your selves, be∣cause in this Play you like no part but the Fool's. I perceive by the silly Government of your Actions, that you have cashier'd Wisdom out of your Thoughts; and, which is the height of your Folly, you think your selves Wise. I can ex∣cept no order of Men from the reason of my Mirth. I have not maintain'd correspondence with any that wish your disgrace, and have therefore reveal'd your Infirmities; for they are every where manifest. I suppose you cannot

look upon it as a Contumely that I take notice of what you discover, nor take it as an affront that I am so pleasant in your presence, since you compell me to be merry. How can I chuse but laugh to see so many Bladders empty of all true worth, swell'd with false Opinion, and then toss'd up and down the streets with vulgar breath, not much unlike those Bubbles made of Soap and Water which idle Boyes blow off from Nut-shells? When I meet so many hun∣dreds of conceited people, who think they are Wise because they are Rich, Vertuous because Politick, Learned because they have a few Books, Happy because they have many Ti∣tles, and suppose themselves full of Worth because they are big with Arrogance, and Good because they are so esteem'd by the Ignorant, and ador'd as Gods by such as know not what belongs to Men; I cannot but stand still and laugh to think what a brave Mart this would be for Prometheus his Oxen, and I easily fancy with what wonder you Plutocopians would gaze upon a Drove of large Skins well stuff'd with empty Bones. I was almost kill'd the other day, my Spleen was so stretch'd with laughing at a young Gallant who stood in a low Balcony, having nothing else to doe but to observe whether such as pass'd by did make their Obeisance proportionably submissive to the Greatness of his Pe∣ruke, and did sufficiently admire the new fashion of his French Breeches; especially when turning back, I saw how dejected he look'd because I went by him without stirring my Hat, which I did on purpose, thinking I might as well neglect to worship a man made up of cloths, as re∣fuse to bow down to a gilded Post.

I confess also I can never think of your Old men but I laugh at their foolish Covetousness, whilst they tell their Money all day, and rise in the night to hide their Gold in some sa∣fer place then that in which they put it when they went to bed, and grow lean with cares to make their Heap bigger, which is so bulky already that it is troublesome to keep, and doth exceed their Necessities with such vast disproportions, that they know not well what to doe with it. I cannot but please my self to think how eagerly the Poor whom they

have defrauded will fall upon them when they appear in the other World, and what a sad scuffle there will be when they clap their bare Skulls with their bony hands. Yet such is the Madness of this sort of Men, that they bequeath the Monies which they should restore, to erect stately Mo∣numents to dwell in when they are dead; imagining that they shall be happier if they lie under great Marbles, and hoping that some may possibly spend their time in viewing those brave Structures which cover their dust, and reade with no small content those Epitaphs which before they died they made themselves. But it is so ridiculous, that methinks the Poor should laugh at it, when they see how much these Rich Fools think themselves worthier and bet∣ter then their Neighbours, because they have greater Hou∣ses and more Money, and will not remember that in Hell they will not be known from them by any other Mark but greater Torments. But since the Poor do so peevishly slight what should make them patient, I must laugh at them whilst they whine so sillily at their poverty, and will not know that in a short time they shall be equal to the richest men in the World, and who are at present in many respects more miserable then themselves. It is a cast be∣yond Laughter to see these foolish Poor how proud they grow upon a little taste of Good Fortune: they are as much ashamed of their very Parents as Fathers usually are of their Bastard-Children; it may be they allow them, as Mercury did Pan, to come to them sometimes, but never to call them Father before Company. Now they no more know those friends which reliev'd them in their Adversity, then a Great man's Porter can remember that he saw one that was at his Master's house but the day before, till he have hired him to recall his name, and help'd the weakness of his Memory with a piece of Silver.

It is some sport to me to see those curious Women, who have nothing to doe but to be fine, and to think before-hand how wan their painted faces will look when Death, which doth not much value Beauty, comes rudely to undress them. Methinks I hear how they will cry when he breaks

their Glass, throws their Hair one way, their Powder ano∣ther, and leaves them no Ornament but a white Sheet; and how they will vex when he tells them that in the o∣ther World there are no Marks set upon Skulls by which a Lady may be known from her meanest Servant. I am not a little beholden for my Mirth to those proud People which have accustom'd themselves to talk of their Pedigrees at such a high Rate, as if they would have us think that Mankind had sprung from divers Originals, or at least that they have nothing in them of the first clay; and are so ele∣vated above this lower World with the wild belief which they have entertain'd, that they will scarce bestow a hum∣ble word upon such as come near them. They make me think how dejectedly they will look and shrink out of sight, when I and my Companions shall meet them and laugh at them in the Deserts of Negrogaea. I envy not those fat Epicureans which float at present in muddy pleasures; I shall find them ashore ere long, for I know at what Port they must all Land. I cannot but laugh to think how they will cry when I and one or two of my Friends shall sit down by them and upbraid them with their former Vo∣luptuousness, and how they will fret to hear poor Cynicks sing.

You think perhaps, Bathypogon, that it is a strange kind of Mirth to laugh at the unhappy: and so it were, if those which are in misery acted their part with any Decorum; but they complain ridiculously, and are very angry at those mischiefs which they inflict upon themselves. They are vext because they are sick, and when they were well did what they could to destroy their Health. They eat and drink beyond all Natural Appetites, and then inveigh bit∣terly against surfeits. They despise the Happiness of Tran∣quillity, undervalue the Riches which wise men never miss'd in a Competency; they reject the Pleasures of a Re∣tir'd life; they will climb up into the Region of Winds, and when they are there rage at every Storm, complain of the burthensome Cares which attend Honourable Employ∣ments, are gall'd with the envious looks which are cast up∣on

great Preferments, are infested with the Counter work∣ings of Corrivals; and when they fall, as they often do, being now sensible that their Hurt is equal to the Height of their Exaltation, they curse and express a seeble impatience, al∣though they are only orush'd with their own weight. Then they will needs revile Greatness, and foolishly praise the Po∣verty which before they only hated, and confess that Golden fetters are as uneasie as those of Iron; and yet are so discom∣pos'd with the impertinent remembrance of what they have been, that they cannot contentedly be what they are: and shall not I laugh at them? If they were not mad, they would consider that they have only lost what none can keep, and suffer that which commonly happens to very ma∣ny. Why do they not make account that those Servants will run away from them whom they knew to be perfidi∣ous, or at least very fickle, having chang'd many Masters before they came to them? These uneasie Souls pretend to be much troubled with the greatness of their misfortunes in comparison of that which others suffer, and yet will not put theirs into a common Lump with their Neighbours, that the whole may be divided into equal Shares; but fear∣ing that their present Lot will be encreas'd, carry it away as it is, and yet go home grumbling. And must I pity them? I am sorry that no Play is yet invented where both sides might win alwayes. These Delicate people should doe well to transport themselves into some new-found Land, where there is no use of Patience; for none are permitted to dwell in this world which will not be content to endure some Hardship. If I should make conjectures of their Af∣fections by other pieces of their Carriage, I should think that they love unhappiness; for not being satisfied with what they feel at present, they torment themselves with the fear of that which is to come, and so antedate their mise∣ries, and sometimes crucifie themselves with the trouble∣some Expectation of that which will never happen. Nay, they dote so upon Affliction, though it displeaseth them, that not being content with their own Misfortunes, they will needs take part in those of others; that is, visit their

suffering Neighbours, talk whiningly and look scurvily, but not relieve them. And this they call Pity.

But since Grief is not heavy enough with all these allow∣ances, they encrease it with Envy; that is, they unworthi∣ly despise the Joy of those many Good things of their own, which God hath given them to fill up the Defects and alle∣viate the Sorrows of Humane Life, by repining at other mens better Conditions, which yet, for any thing which they know, (for they judge by very slight rules) is much worse then their own. Sometimes they are displeas'd with the Excellent parts of others by which they are benefitted; like those ill-natur'd beggars which murmure at his wealth from whom they receive daily Alms. Being troubled that others out-shine them, they endeavour to eclipse their Light by Defamation, hoping vainly that themselves shall be thought good, if they can make others seem to be bad. But this colour is so base that it appears by any Light; for as they are truly empty of that Love which would hide the failings of others, they discover plainly that they are full of Impotent Malice. But I must not offend these Virtuoso's with laughing at them. Yes I will, and I can never laugh enough to hear them talk sometimes of Felicity and pre∣tend desires to be Happy, and yet scorn the way which leads to it: for though they have been told a hundred times that no great Happiness is to be hoped for in this world, and that the chiefest parts of that which is attainable are, rightly to know our Selves, to dis-esteem Mortal Life, to be content with our Portion, not to expect what cannot be had, and such like things; they will needs seek Happi∣ness where none ever found it, being incurably miserable by reason of a wilful Ignorance of the Nature of Things, a false love of Fleshly Life, ungovern'd Longings after those Things which if they could enjoy would no more asswage their Thirst then water will cure a Dropsie. They are just like to those discontented persons which endeavour to lose themselves by wandring in divers places, but they meet themselves every where, and will alwayes be sure to find vexation whilst they are in their own Company; yet they

accuse all things but themselves. So the Impotent Sick complain of their Bed because they lie uneasily, and beat their Pillow because their Head akes.

It may be I should not laugh so much at the follies of you Plutocopians, but that you do so ridiculously date your Resolutions to grow Wise; for thus you say, After we have got so many thousand pounds more, after we have built so many Houses, or purchas'd so many Lordships, we will be content. And why not now? Are you not Rich enough already? What need you so greedily to gnaw that Crust of the Poor, Hope? So the Clown sits down by the River's side till all the water pass away: But he may sit long enough. Go over, Fool, the Stream is fordable now. But it is better sport to see how subtil Time is reveng'd up∣on those which slight his present offers. One not altoge∣ther unsensible that he hath over-charg'd his Vocation with burthensome Cares, sayes he will shake off his Load at the return of his next Ship: Another expects but one good Harvest more, or two dear years at the most, to make his Riches answerable to his Desires: A third resolves to be charitable (as Hypocrites sometimes talk of leaving their Sins) at the next great Feast. And whilst they are vainly contriving how to delay that which is necessary to be done at present, Time beckens to Death, and he comes and makes it impossible for the future.

And now I talk of Death, which is the End of this Ludi∣crous Play, I cannot but laugh at the Epilogue, which is u∣sually acted by an Old man, who having nothing to prove that he hath lived long but that he hath bought many Al∣manacks, doth pride himself in his Age; and being blind, deaf and lame, will yet venture upon the Stage; and when he is there, forgetting what he is to doe, cries out unseasona∣bly, I would live still, and repeats his mistake so often with a feeble voice, that the Poet is forc'd to send one to pull him into the Tiring-Room. And there it is a new sport to see how all the Actours quarrel with the Master of the Revels for telling them that the Play is done: they would act still, and cry because they are commanded to put off

their Habits, and think themselves robb'd when they restore their Vizards, which were only lent them for a while to fit their persons to their Part.

Though Bathypogon understood not much, yet he per∣ceiv'd that Euphranor jeer'd the Plutocopians; and fearing that he would never end of himself, commanded him si∣lence; and taking Orthocrinon for a very wise man, as the rest of the Plutocopians did, (for men sometimes approve Vertue which they will not imitate,) he desired him to give his opinion of the two Philosophers, and to advise him what to determine concerning them. Orthocrinon, perceiving that what the Philosophers had said was capable of some Correction, and considering with himself that it was a fit opportunity to bestow some charitable advice upon the Plutocopians, began thus: I have alwayes thought, Bathypo∣gon, that the Calamities which attend the condition of Man∣kind are not inconsiderable, but I never saw them resented so compassionately as by Skeletion, neither did I ever know any so pleasantly unconcern'd in them as Euphranor seems to be. I know that Glycypicron with unaccustomed Tides flow'd lately twice in twelve Hours: but who would have thought that it did portend that in a short time you should become the Objects of the deepest Sorrow and highest Mirth? Poor Plutocopians! your Misery is so great, that one of them thinks he needs an ever-running Spring of Tears to bewail it; and the other esteems your Folly so ridiculous, that he cannot contain himself from perpetual Laughter. However, Skeletion, I do something wonder at you; for if there be so many unhappy people in the world as you seem to believe, what need you make your self of the number by your calamitous Sorrow? If those mischiefs which in∣evitably await us are too great already, why do you make an addition of this voluntary Torment? If you think men over-match'd with Adversity, or at least very hard put to it, why do you so uncharitably endeavour to lessen their Pow∣er by Despair, or soolishly deplore what you judge incu∣rable? Do you mean to open Pandora's Box again? It was almost quite emptied before, nothing but a little quantity

of Hope being left in the Bottom; and will you let that out too? How should they look upon Humane Life otherwise then as a desperate Case, seeing it plung'd in a gulf of end∣less Sorrow? It is an impertinent Humanity to make o∣thers more disconsolate by weeping for them. If the floud be not passable, why do you swell it higher with your Tears? If it be, why do you discourage them from attempt∣ing to go over, whilst you sit weeping upon the Bank? But let me tell you, Skeletion, the state of our Life is not so deplorable as you would make it. A Man is neither a Contemptible thing in his Constitution, for he is adorn'd with Reason, by which he is capable of the knowledge of all things, and is priviledg'd with Speech, by which he is fitted for Conversation with such as are of the same Na∣ture with himself; neither are the Pleasures which are al∣lotted for our portion so inconsiderable, that it is undesira∣ble to be a Man. For since he hath many Faculties, and those furnish'd with proportionable Objects, he is a rare in∣strument of Pleasure to himself. He hath no Sense but it is abundantly provided for; he need not to glut himself with any one Recreation, divers present themselves. And though the world be full of people, God hath provided Room enough for them all without streightning any, if they could be content with just Shares. And though some things occur which are Inconveniences, yet every one hath its Remedy annex'd; as there is no Poison which hath not an Antidote. The Winter is warm'd with Fire, the Sum∣mer is cool'd with Shadows. There is no Affliction so heavy but it is accompanied with an Alleviation, and wise men can easily find it. Courteous Time doth alwayes apply one Consolation, whether we seek it or no; for by the fa∣miliarity of long converse it makes any condition tolerable. It's true, some things are trouble some for a while, and Fools complain more then they need; but wise men bear them handsomly, and put the best side outward. What need we take things by the wrong handle, or quarrel with God or his Providence? We ought to think that there may be good Reason, though we understand it not, that things should be

as they are, when we wish them otherwise; and that Mor∣tal condition must be appointed after this manner; and that we ought by no means to wonder at our own grie∣vances, when we see that all our Neighbours have either the same or others. Nay, though Death awaits us, and so we seem to be in danger of losing All, yet we have no reason to complain, because it is mere Courtesie that we have lived so long, and indeed that we came into Being at all: and if we knew our Happiness, or would learn to call things by their right Names, we should not be so shie of Death, for it is the only passage to Immortal Life.

As for you, Euphranor, though I think a Man shews some Gnerousness of Mind that laughs at all adverse Accidents, and that he doth deserve better of Men then one that weeps at all things which he sees; since by being in the Company of one that is so merry, they begin to think that the face of Humanity is not so terrible as they were apt to imagine when they were alone: yet if I may freely speak my mind, I must tell you that as it is an insupportable torment to lodge the Miseries of others in our own Hearts, so it is but an inhumane sport to be delighted with them. Or if you intend your Mirth more charitably, hoping by this means to make Fools ashamed of themselves, yet I am afraid you will never reduce them to Wisdom by laughing at their Follies. Humane Nature is sometimes willing to be in∣structed, is never content that any should insult over its Imperfections; alwayes esteeming such Tutors Enemies, not Reprovers of Sinners. Sick men would not be jeer'd, but cured: and really, Skeletion, your Method is as unreaso∣nable, for Physicians do neither laugh nor cry at their Pa∣tients. If you attempt a Cure this way, one of you doth but milk a Bull, whilst the other holds under a Sieve: or if you both think, as you seem to do, that they are past Re∣covery, go away and let them die quietly. If you judge them out of their Wits, doth either of you think to appear Wise among so many Mad-men? or will you be mad for Company? Have you consider'd the Nature of things, and do not remember that no Age brings forth many Wise

men? Take heed lest you both fall out with Nature, and it may be mistake it too. What? would you have no fools in the world? you would have a Picture drawn with∣out any Shadows. Should nothing be greater, nothing less in the Creation? Is it to be esteem'd an Indecorum that Beasts are not Men, nor Trees Beasts? Is it any greater Indecency that some Men are more Wise then others, then to see excellent Fruits grow upon some Trees, upon others such as are not so desirable, and upon some none? Will any Wise man cry because it is not alwayes day, or laugh to see people Feverish? Is not Folly one of those diseases which Humane Nature is sick of? As he which made Men is not to be blam'd for their want of Health, because they are voluntarily sick; so neither is he to be thought want∣ing as to their Recovery, since he hath given them sufficient means to obtain it, and they perish irrecoverably because they will not use them. But what is that to you, Euphra∣nor? Let them alone. Your Discourse, though never so wise, is but lost upon such as are past sense. Exhortation is odious to such as are otherwise resolv'd. You praise Li∣berty to abject Souls that can bear any yoke so it be lin'd with Gold; which love to be slaves, and are worthy of Fet∣ters. You talk to those of a dangerous Hook who have determin'd to swallow the Bait, and will never believe that there is any Hook till it stick in their Throats. You ad∣vise such to forsake a foolish course of Life, which are so utterly unacquainted with Wisdom and Vertue, that if they should take your Counsel, would not know what to doe. Therefore let me desire you, Euphranor, not to provoke men to be worse then they are already; that is, of Fools to make them mad by laughing at them: and you, Skeletion, not to make them think their condition more unhappy then it is, because you continually cry for them.

I entreat you also, my Neighbours of Plutocopia, not to be too angry at the Deportment of these Strangers, conside∣ring that it is a Courtesie to be awaken'd out of a hurtful Dream, though by a loud Noise. Be not displeas'd that you are put in mind of your Mortality. An Emperour

could bear such words from one that stood behind him in his Triumphant Chariot. Your Possessions are like your selves, of Uncertain Continuance. Mine and Thine are Words that signifie only a just present Use. The most Right∣ful owners are but Usufructuaries. You can never make a Prescription by possessing that which is only borrow'd for a time, and held merely at the Will of him that lent it. If you accustom your selves to think you are Mortal, you will live more prudently, you will spend the little time you have more frugally, use well what you cannot carry with you; and knowing that you do but sojourn in this World, you will be less troubled when you are call'd Home. If you make that use which you may of Euphranor's Laughter, you will forgive him his Mirth; if you weigh the reasons of his pleasant Humour, you will wish to be of his Mind. If you made some Glasses in imitation of that of Skeletion, they would shew you such a true Image of this mutable World, that you would learn to proportion your affections to the frail Nature of Things. You would not then fret at those necessary Vicissitudes which are the Roots of your disap∣pointments; knowing that the brightest Prosperity shines but like a Winter's Sun, faintly at best, and is often cloud∣ed; that Men stand in Worldly Rank like Arithmeticians Counters upon a Table, sometimes for Shillings, sometimes for Pounds, and sometimes for Pence; or like Chesse-men, are sometimes Knights, sometimes Pawns, and at the end of the Play are shuffled into a Bag altogether. You would then see no more reason to be angry, because others flou∣rish, then to envy the Gayeties of a short-liv'd Butter-flie, or to repine at the Feasts and Musick of a Grashopper, which for a moneth or two hops from Herb to Herb, quaffs up the Dew and sings. You would not be puff'd with Pride, though your own sails be swell'd with prospe∣rous blasts of good Fortune, remembring that it is not long before proud people, that which makes them Arrogant, and their Pride sink altogether; Humane Glory being but like the vain Glistering of a Rain-bow, which is made of a few Sun-beams scatter'd upon a waterish cloud. If it were not

unseasonable, I should also advise you that you would venture your uncertain Riches not only at Sea, but upon Charity; for I fear many of you will be undone ere long for want of those gainful Returns which Merciful men are sure to meet in the Eternal World. If you bestow upon your selves such a moderate Portion as will maintain a Temperate chearfulness, and impart what you can spare to the relief of such as are in Necessity, you will improve what you have to the utmost advantage; for you prudent∣ly use things as changeable as the Wind and Tide to bring you to a Happy Port, and make those which sail with you glad by the way. Those which enjoy a flourishing estate and understand not this Art, lose, to their unspeakable da∣mage, a rare opportunity to be merciful to such as possibly in future time may be able to repay what they may then need. But Prosperity is alwayes ill-bestowed upon Fools, for they presently grow insolent, falsly supposing that they can ne∣ver be unhappy.

I have nothing more to say, Bathypogon, but only to en∣treat your favourable Sentence for the two Strangers. It were a most unmerciful thing to condemn Skeletion, who hath only griev'd you with too much pity; and as unjust to punish Euphranor for doing that which he is forc'd to, for he only laughs at things which are ridiculous. I think the Plutocopians might doe well to reform their Errours, and then they will be so happy that their State will no longer be a proper Object for Skeletion's Compassion; or, if you think it not yet time to grow Wise, make a Law that for the future none shall presume to laugh at your follies, and then it is likely that Euphranor will obediently depart out of your City.

Thus the gentle Orthochrinon ended his Advice. But Bathypogon and his Fellow-Citizens Ears were so hard stopt with the Hopes of a Feast which they intended to make with the Money which they should receive for the Philoso∣phers, that Mercurie's Augre would not have been able to boar a hole in them. Bathypogon, taking no notice of what Orthocrinon had said, pronounc'd the Sentence, and com∣manded the Crier to proclaim, That if any man would

buy the Philosophers, he should have them both for twenty pounds. No body offering to buy them, Bathypogon bade the Crier give a years time for the payment of the Money. The Merchants were so afraid of their troublesome Quali∣ties, that they were not Vendible so: Whereupon Bathypogon, by the Advice of his Assistants, order'd that they should be gone out of the City, and commanded them at their utmost Peril not to remain within the Gates that Night.

Orthocrinon having seen the fruitless event of his Interces∣sion, went away, but express'd so much Courtesie towards the Philosophers as to desire them to go with him to Euesto. They accepted of his Invitation; and when they came to his House, (which being a pleasant Solitude, was no impro∣per seat for a Philosopher) they could not but like it. But they were much more taken with the prudent Chearful∣ness of his Wife Euthymia, the sober Deportment and ex∣cellent Knowledge of his Ingenuous Children: in short, they beheld such a discreet Order in the appointment of his whole Affairs, that they were forc'd to think that Orthocri∣non was so wise and happy, that Euphranor could not laugh at him, except he esteem'd it Ridiculous that he was a Man; nor Skeletion weep, unless it offended him that he was not a God.

Here Irene ended her story, for which she receiv'd many thanks from Urania and her Companions. The time of the day requiring it, Theonoe desired them to walk in to Dinner. They were no sooner come into the Parlour which open'd into the Garden, but they were surpriz'd with an unexpected Joy, occasion'd by the fortunate Arri∣val of two Gentlemen near a-kin to Theonoe and Irene, call'd Amyntor and Sympathus, who came to perform a Visit. This made a great accession to the Contentments of the whole Company; and they which brought it, quickly perceived that they themselves had encountred a greater Happiness then they expected: The pleasures which are enjoy'd in Company being of that nature, that whosoever contri∣bute to their production ever carry away their Principal with an extraordinary Interest. The Fathers of these two

Gentlemen and the Ladies maintain'd mutually such an intimate Friendship, that they were commonly call'd Py∣lades and Orestes; and their Love was transmitted by a kind of Hereditary Traduction to their Children, and they pre∣serv'd it so inviolably, that their Families after their Death retain'd the Glory of their Ancestours Affection. Amyntor and Sympathus were persons of great Wits, advanc'd by Study and Travel, of good Discourse and agreeable Humour. Theonoe perceiving whilst they were at Dinner, that her Co∣sens were not altogether so chearful as they us'd to be, ask'd them, when the Cloth was taken away, what was the Rea∣son of their unusual sadness. Amyntor confess'd that they had in their hearts some Compassion, though at this time they would willingly have conceal'd it, for the Death of the good King Anaxagathus, and the poor Prince Alethion, whose Misfortunes were the ruine of that once-flourishing Family. This news was very unwelcome to Theonoe and Irene: how∣ever, since it is some satisfaction to know the state of our friends, they desired leave of Bentivolio, Urania, and the rest of the good Company, that Amyntor might be entreated to acquaint them with that which he had heard concerning the disastrous Fate of the best of Kings, and his Son a most Illustrious Prince. Bentivolio and his friends readily ac∣cepted the Motion, for they intended to have made the same request, not doubting but such a story must needs be full of great Accidents. Amyntor was willing to obey their Command, and the rather, because it breaths an inward grief to relate it to such as sympathize with our passions. Theonoe led the Company into a fair Gallery, where when they had dispos'd themselves in convenient Seats, he began after this manner:

The Kingdom of Theriagene (now well worthy of its Name) was formerly governed by Anaxagathus, who derived his Empire by Hereditary Right from many Royal Ancestors, that is, received Soveraign Power with all imaginary Advantages. The Ancient Root of a Princely Family is a great support to that Veneration which is due from Subjects to their Kings; for they can∣not

but have a Natural Reverence for one whom God, Na∣ture and Time have set and confirm'd in Royal Height. This most excellent way of Succession freed him from those disaffections which are many times fastned upon Elective Princes by the Envy of Ambitious Competitours, and the Hatred of such as factiously oppose their Choice. Anaxa∣gathus was neither engag'd to gratifie any Party of the Peo∣ple for their Votes, nor ow'd any Reward to his Souldiers for the help of their Swords; but being born a Prince, was equally acknowledg'd by all in his undoubted Right, and was free to oblige such as he should think fit with unpreju∣dic'd Favours. Upon this Foundation of his Soveraignty the Welfare of his Subjects also was strongly secured, both as the Interests of the People are most safe under Monarchy (which is evident; For since the greatest part of the Laws of a Nation do alwayes respect such matters as are the con∣tinual Occasions of Controversie between Men; every part of the People being biass'd with divided Interests, none can be so fitly qualified for Legislatours as is the Prince, who having no particular concernment aims equally at the Common Good,) and as the Right of Succession was intail'd upon his Posterity, he had no Interest of his Family divi∣ded from the publick: a mischief which can hardly be avoided in Elective Principalities, which being forc'd to take a great care of their Relatives, since they are not sure of Succession, do often exceed the bounds of just Moderati∣on in what they design for themselves; and as they fre∣quently stoop to the use of ignoble contrivances to obtain what they desire, so they make no scruple to repeat their Methods for the maintaining and encreasing of what they have gotten. As Anaxagathus was plac'd far above the Ne∣nessity of such unworthy Arts by an indubitable Title, so by a Princely Temper of Soul receiv'd from his Progeni∣tours he was naturally inclin'd to an affectionate Regard to his Subjects, being born their Father.

As he was thus plac'd in his Throne by a Divine Pow∣er, so he was accomplish'd with all those Princely Vertues which made him most worthy to sit there. For he ac∣knowledging

his Authority derived from Heaven, princi∣pally endeavoured to deport himself as God's Vicegerent, and was not so careful of any thing as his Honour from whose Hand he received his Crown; being not only Religi∣ous in shew, to gain Estimation with the People, but really affecting Piety, in hope of the Blessing of true Obedience which Princes need both for themselves and their Subjects. The Truth of this Disposition he made manifest both in that he shew'd no Countenance to those which were open∣ly impious, and ever declar'd an utter abhorrence of A∣theists, and preferr'd to the most Honourable places of his service such as he thought to be the truest Lovers of God.

As the peaceable entry into the possession of his King∣dom freed him from those troubles which have often a∣mus'd the Prudence of Great Emperours; so his deep Insight into the Principles of Government inabled him to avoid two dangerous Rocks, upon which many Kingdoms have been 〈◊〉〈◊〉, viz. the Ambition of the Potent Gentry, and the Insolent Disposition of the Vulgar. He had great Natural parts, and so improv'd them by Reading, Consideration and Experience, that he was able to frame a quick and so∣lid Judgment of any Matter belonging to his Government. He knew that the business of a Prince is to advance the Prosperity of his Subjects, and to secure their Peace against the Invasion of Foreiners; and therefore acquainted him∣self with all things which are necessary to be known as Means conducing to those Ends, particularly with the Na∣ture of his Prerogative, the Rights of his People, the Laws of Nations, the Strength of other Kingdoms, the Commodities of his Own, the Inclinations of his Subjects, and the Designs which his Neighbours may probably have against him.

He gave a great Demonstration of the Perspicacity of his Judgment, both in the Election of his Councellours, (for knowing that Kings must see with other mens Eyes, and trust a considerable part of their Affairs to the Fidelity of their Ministers, he made choice of such as were not only persons of Honour, but men of singular Prudence and un∣questionable Integrity,) and in the Examination of their

Advice: for since all men are fallible, and may some time or other give Counsel with too great a reflexion upon par∣ticular Ends of their own, he would never receive any but that which he did clearly perceive to aim directly at his and the Common Interest. If after publick Debates he did yet doubt concerning that Opinion to which he inclin'd, he would privately conjure some of those who differ'd from him, to tell him freely the Reasons of their Advice; which they would most willingly doe, knowing that Anaxagathus never esteem'd those his Friends, who out of fear of contra∣dicting his Inclination would conceal what they knew con∣cerning his Good. By this means he secured himself a∣gainst Flatterers, and made the utmost Improvement of his Friends Abilities. To his Wariness in Deliberation he added Stedfastness in his Resolves, and Diligence in the Execution of his Purposes.

In his Carriage he express'd a Majestick Gravity, never condescending to such Actions as import lowness of Soul, diminish the Veneration of Royalty, or expose his Person to any Contempt: yet he alwayes manifested so much Se∣renity and Sweetness, that he incurr'd no Hatred by the most severe Exercise of his Regal Power. Knowing that it is easier to prevent Hatred then to regain Love, and that Malice cannot be slighted without some Hazard, he de∣clin'd avoidable Offences. He ever match'd Clemency with Greatness of mind, knowing that Mercy shewn by one that hath great Power doth unspeakably oblige; and that it was never any Advantage to a Prince to be hated, which is alwayes the Effect of Cruelty. When any Favour was bestow'd, he ever let the People see that it proceeded freely from his own Goodness; and when Rigour was ex∣ercis'd, which was but seldom, they saw it was a necessary Punishment of Sins which ought not to be pardon'd.

There is no Reason of just Infamy, for which Princes do sometimes receive a dishonourable Character in the Book of Fame, which he did not well observe and carefully avoid. He was very curious of his Conversation, lest it wanted the just Ornaments of every Moral Vertue; because

he knew that Princes cannot hide their Actions, and that it was no assurance that he had done well, because none durst reprove him. He was unwilling also to make an Ex∣ample against the Law, and let his Subjects see that it was possible for sin to be unpunishable. He would make no use of an Arbitrary Power, though his People knew it was their duty not to resist him; neither did he think he lost any thing of his Power by not doing every thing which he might. Whilst the King strictly observ'd the establish'd Laws, the People learn'd Obedience from his Government. His great Care of his Subjects safety made them perform their Duties with an unspeakable willingness: they e∣steem'd the King's Riches their Publick Treasury, and when they pay'd their Taxes, acknowledg'd that they gave but a Little to secure All.

Anaxagathus lived alwayes according to the Degree of a Prince: yet manag'd his Expences so frugally, that they did never exhaust his Revenue. For this there was great Rea∣son: for though Money was not the Sinews of his Wars, but rather the Love and Courage of his native Souldiers; yet he knew they must be pay'd when they are imploy'd, and that with Silver a King may hire men as well as buy Iron with Gold. The truth is, he had little cause to think of entertaining any forein Auxiliaries, for he was so entire∣ly beloved at home, that he could not but be much fear'd abroad. His Subjects endear'd his Happiness to them∣selves, and made their Loyal Affections so manifest upon all Occasions, that Conspiratours had as much reason to expect Punishment, though they should accomplish mis∣chief against his Person, as they are alwayes fearful when they design it against other Princes. It was a singular te∣stimony of the Prudence of Anaxagathus, that he had ob∣tain'd whatever could belong to a Prince's Security, when to the Majesty of his Person, the Defence of the Laws, the Assistance of his Friends, and the Strength of his Guards, he had added the Universal Good-will of his People. Be∣ing assured of this, he slighted the vain Strength of charge∣able Forts, maintaining only One in a weak place of his

Frontiers, and that rather for Pomp then any Defence that he expected from it.

Thus did the Good King Anaxagathus live in Glory, con∣temning that poor Honour which some weakly endeavour to perpetuate by Statues of frail Stone; for the Everlasting Image of his Vertues was fram'd in the Souls of those which could not think upon him without Admiration. His whole Kingdom was his Theatre, and all his People Spe∣ctatours, applauding his wise and just Actions. There was no City in his Dominions which did not preserve his Tro∣phies made of Conquer'd Hearts. This was Anaxagathus his Happiness; and indeed what greater Felicity is there then to be able to impart Prosperity to many others? His discreet Subjects thought themselves happy too, for they saw that they enjoy'd what Freedom Mortal men are capa∣ble of, and they desired not that extravagant Liberty which the Ignorant Multitude often talk of, sometimes rebel for, but never enjoy; exchanging Obedience and Peace for Sin, War, and then just Slavery under such as for their own am∣bitious Ends made them in love with Treason.

Thus the Kingdom flourish'd under Anaxagathus, and they had no small grounds of Hope that it would never wither; for as they could not enjoy a better King, so nei∣ther did the King or the People desire a more Hopeful Suc∣cessour then the most Excellent Prince Alethion, who was the only Son of Anaxagathus. I pray you, Cosin, said The∣onoe, with the leave of this good Company, since you are so good at Descriptions, will you give us a short Character of his Perfections? by this means we shall not only enjoy the pleasure of your Wit, but you will also detain us by a bene∣ficial Delay from the hearing of that at which we are assu∣red before-hand that we shall be griev'd. Though I have reason to blush, replied, Amyntor, at one half of the reason which you give for your Command, yet I will be obedient in the best manner that my poor ability will allow. Ale∣thion was a Prince of a lively Complexion, sprightly Eyes, black Hair, curling naturally in handsome Rings, of a se∣rene Aspect, of a tall Stature, goodly Shape, and Princely

Carriage, of an obliging Conversation mix'd with Majesty. He had a quick Wit equall'd with a solid Judgment. He spake with facility, and delivered extraordinary Concepti∣ons in most clear Expressions. Those Connate Notions of Truth, which God hath bestow'd as a Natural Glory upon Rational Souls, did shine in his bright Intellect like fixt Stars, unclouded with those ill-sented fumes of Lust which darken wicked Minds. To this Light he added whatsoever may be gain'd from Experience enlarg'd with much Conference and great Reading. He had a constant Propension of strong Desires to all Excellent Attainments, a most piercing Wit for the finding out of such means as would help to accomplish his End, and was unweariedly diligent in the use of them. That he omitted nothing which might make him Master of his Noble Designes, was manifest in this, that neither the Avocations of the Court, nor those multitudes of Tentations which allure Princes to Pleasure, but do usually betray them to Ignorance, were able to hinder him from an exact knowledge of the best Arts and Sciences, which made him able to give a true Judgment upon any piece of Learning.

It was one of his principal Recreations to discourse with Philosophers, that is, such as he perceiv'd really to have ad∣vanc'd the knowledge of God and his Works, and were also perfected with that Wisdom which consists in a sincere Be∣lief of what God hath made known by Revelation: for he accounted it a strange kind of Vanity to pretend an eager desire to find out Truth our Selves, and yet to slight that which God of his Grace hath reveal'd to us for our Directi∣on and Encouragement; that is, to pretend an Esteem for Books, and undervalue the Sacred Bible. The great plea∣sure which he found by understanding the Mysteries of Natural Philosophy, made him very Curious in the Con∣trivance and Use of those Instruments which do further us in that Inquiry, as Telescopes, Tubes, and all other Mecha∣nical Engines. He was very Liberal in allowances which are requisite to make those Experiments upon which true Principles are founded, and by which they are proved; but

which Princes only are able to bestow. Generous Nature in requital of these Services discover'd to him all her Secrets, except some few which she yet resolves to conceal from Mortal eyes, and intended that in a short time he should be acknowledg'd by all the world as the Prince of Philoso∣phers.

He made a firm League with all the Vertues, and was true to his engagement, never betraying any of them to scorn in the whole Course of his Actions. He would of∣ten express a pity for the Superstitious, and alwayes declar'd a zealous abhorrence of Hypocrisie. He was the more to be admired in his Religion, because as he was a devout wor∣shipper of the Supreme King of Heaven and Earth, so the Sincerity of his Vertuous Disposition did not grow upon any Erroneous Principle; for his Regard of God did not spring from Ignorance or panick Fear, those contemptible Foundations upon which Ingrateful Atheists bottom Reli∣gion, but from a clear Knowledge and true Love of that which is best. He was the Paragon of Temperance, and Chaste to an Example. He had such a Generous Soul, that he could not only forgive an injury, but forget that he was wrong'd; esteeming them very ordinary Chirurgions which cannot heal a wound without a Scar. By his pra∣ctice he made others learn this true and noble sort of Re∣venge. He had an unfeigned Love of Truth, and would rather endure any Inconvenience then break his Word, and lose any Design which he could not gain but with the ble∣mish of his Honour. He had an incomparable Fortitude, whereof he gave infinite proofs, and did usually forget himself to be a Prince when his Friends stood in need of his Courage. He had a Prudence which taught him to make use of every thing that was an Advantage to any important Business, and this he attain'd by much Exercise. At Home in times of Peace, when the most excellent Souldiers have little to doe, he would walk into the Field with them, and discourse concerning Military Affairs, make them train their men, represent serious War in jocular Skirmishes; and having view'd divers sorts of Ground, ask Questions

proportionable to their diversity of Situation; such as these: If an enemy (would he say) had not minded the Ad∣vantage of that Hill, how might we gain it? Or if he pos∣sess'd it, and we were plac'd in this lower Ground, how should we assault him? If he worsted us, by what means might we be able to retreat in order? If we had the better of him, how might we make the best improvement of the Victory in a pursuit? From such Instances going on to o∣ther Chances which happen in War, he made Demands, re∣ceiv'd their Answers, and replied. By this means he at∣tain'd such a clear fore-sight into Martial Affairs, that no case could easily fall out for which he had not a Remedy provided. I have heard some, which have had the happi∣ness to know him familiarly, say, that of his own Coun∣try he had drawn such an exact Map in his Mind, that he could talk distinctly of all In-land places of Strength, and knew his several Ports, convenient Rodes, dangerous Shelves, and useful Fastnesses upon the Sea-Coasts, as well as if he had dwelt in every place.

He had one happiness which Persons of his Quality do not frequently enjoy; For Travelling Incognito, he saw the Courts and Camps of many Princes, where he had the op∣portunity to observe the best Actions, and also to perform some which made his Worth shine through his Disguise. This made him admir'd in most places where he sojourn'd, and he return'd home inrich'd with variety of Experiments from them all.

Before the Necessity of any actual Adventure, he form'd his Resolutions according to such Rules as wise Persons had compos'd for all cases in Speculation; and coming to encounter disasters at Sea and Land, he gave such Proofs of his Constancy, that it was visible to all which knew him, that Chance had no power over his Vertue; and that the fixt Temper of his great Soul did not rise and fall according to the weather-glass of external Accidents. He had such an undaunted Presentness of a prepared Mind, that when he was affronted with any sudden alteration of Fortune, with∣out any Consultation how he might make an escape, he

would immediately stand upon his Defence. When he engaged in any Enterprise which concerned the King's ser∣vice against his Enemies, they made but a small account of the Advantage, if in any thing they had the better of him, for they knew he would soon repair it at their Cost; and when they were put to a Loss, though they knew he alwayes pursued his Victory, yet they were not much dejected, for they were sure that no success did ever make him Insolent.

The King his Father having perceived by a short Expe∣rience that his Son was made up of all those Accomplish∣ments that he had put into his Prayers for him, taking no∣tice that it was a hard task to determine whether his Body or Soul had the Advantage in those Gifts which were dis∣tinctly proper to them; and having observ'd that he was able to give as good Advice and manage what was deter∣min'd with as much Prudence as any of his Senatours, he made him one of his intimate Councel; and seeing that his Souldiers received not only Discipline but Example from his Matchless Valour, he made him General of his Armies.

The People were inamour'd with his Perfections, and never look'd upon him but as the Glorious Mirrour of all Princely Graces. Their Happiness being full to the top in Anaxagathus, they thought it must needs run over in Alethion. They could not look at the Father as a setting Sun, whilst they seem'd to see him rise and shine more gloriously in such an Heir. Their honest Hopes were not ill-ground∣ed, though the Princes Excellencies had not the same effects in the King's Mind which they had in the People's. Yet those were not their Natural Products, but oblique Resent∣ments caus'd by sinister Representations made by a Cosin of Alethion, whose name was Antitheus. He envying the Prince because he was so justly Great, brought the King in∣to suspicion that he aim'd by indirect Means to be unjustly Greater. The Excess of Vertue in Alethion upbraided him with his own Defects, and the Imbecillity of his Malicious Wit could devise no other way to be reveng'd, but by endea∣vouring to make the King believe that his Son valued those Excellencies which were taken notice of in him only as

things which made his Father Lesse. Antitheus had a Na∣ture unspeakably Ambitious, and that made him discon∣tented with his condition in the Court, though it was much too good for so unworthy a Person. He fancied that there was no Happiness in the World but to see swarms of officious People press about him, and await his pleasure with uncovered heads. He despis'd the best Estate of Sub∣jects as a gilded Slavery, and esteem'd it Poverty of Spirit to be willing to be govern'd; and had entertain'd such false Principles to accommodate his proud Humour, that he made no question but it was his Right not to obey any lon∣ger then till he could get power to Command, and con∣cluded that no Method was unlawful by which he could make himself Supreme. This Temper carried along with it a Malicious Envy against his Equals, and possess'd him with an habitual Malignity against his Superiours. He made account that he had but two considerable Impedi∣ments in his way; (for other matters he thought he should easily dissipate with a puff of his Breath) and those were the King, because he was in the present Possession of Royal∣ty, and the Prince: and this latter troubled him most, both because he had a strong Antipathy against his Heroical Soul; and because he knew that though the King were dead, yet he would survive in the Prince: so that he could never look at the flourishing state of Alethion, but as that dismal Coffin in which he himself was buried alive.

In those Intervalls of Reflexion which force themselves into the thoughts of great Sinners, he would sometimes say to his friends, But what is this which I attempt? How can I forget my Uncle? why should I injure my Cosin? I must trample upon Fealty, abandon Gratitude, despise nearness of Bloud, banish all respects of Piety out of my Mind, and suppress the pains which my Conscience makes me feel. These troublesome Considerations, and the va∣rious Difficulties which he was to incounter, gave mighty checks to his Hopes: yet he had such unsatiable desires to go forward, that he resolved to try all Possibilities, and ei∣ther to accomplish his Design, or perish more contentedly

in the attempt: Hoping withall that if he could not rise to the Height at which he aim'd, yet he should make the Prince fall with him; and imagin'd foolishly that if Success did answer his Expectations, he should be able to hide his Sins under the Prosperity which he should then enjoy, and obtain pardon for his bold Wickedness by a Title which whilst he possess'd none durst deny to be good. He had divers Friends which not only knew his Temper, but ha∣ving peculiar Discontents of their own were disaffected to∣wards the present State of Affairs, which they wish'd alte∣red, in hopes to rise proportionably to the Advancement of their Patron; and they promis'd themselves a more pro∣bable Success, because Antitheus was the next Heir but one to the Crown.

Antitheus found no means so fit for his purpose as to im∣plant a deep suspicion in the King's thoughts against the Prince. Anaxagathus having a fearful Nature, his Mind was a soil too fit for Jealousie, and Antitheus doubted not but he should be able to make it grow, whilst he and his Ac∣complices nourish'd it with much Artifice, and that in time it would bring forth the fruit which he desired. The more he considered, the more difficult he found his task: for the Prince managed his Command with such prudent Innocence, that Antitheus had nothing but misconstrued Vertue to form into an Accusation; and the King having great Affections for the Prince, it was not easie to make a Father cease to love such a Son, who by his Excellencies at∣tracted the Love of all men. This forc'd Antitheus to use his Wits to prepare matter for the Prince's Ruine, and his patience to await some lucky season when he might throw a spark into it to blow it up, and yet so undiscernedly, that none should be able to say from what hand it came: Know∣ing that bold Falshood cannot only impose upon shallow Judgments or weaker Courage, but upon Wise men too, if the opportunity be watch'd wherein they also will be weak. That his Intentions might not be known, he hid them un∣der a deportment full of civilities towards the Prince, and took all occasions to give him humble respect, especially in

the King's presence; but by his Agents he secretly under∣min'd the King's Affections to his Son, and mis-reporting his Designs with many false surmises, he endeavoured with these, like sharp Darts wing'd with Fame, mortally to wound his Reputation. He set a false Gloss upon all Ale∣thion's Actions, some of which could not but be capable of different Constructions: It being a hard matter for a Per∣son of his Quality and Employment so to deport himself in the concurrence of various Circumstances, that one which observes him with a malicious Eye shall not be able to make a sinister Interpretation of a most sincere Intention.

Theosebes the King of Theoprepia, being invaded by the Theromachians, had sent to Anaxagathus to desire his Assi∣stance; Anaxagathus resented his Condition, and sent the young Prince Alethion to his relief, who perform'd many admirable Actions, and in particular rescu'd the Person of Theosebes when he was inclos'd in a Troop of Theromachians, and so incourag'd his Souldiers by his Example, that the Theromachians were all kill'd or taken. He stay'd a while in Theoprepia; and though he return'd Victorious, it was mutter'd against him, that whilst he was absent with the Army, he caress'd the Souldiers with extraordinary Fa∣vours, express'd more then usual civility in his words and carriage; and that they not only obliged with his Bounty, but infinitely taken with the prudent Courage of which he had given most signal proofs in the Conduct of the Fight, cried him up with such words as are only fit to be given to Emperours. This was suggested to make the King believe that his Son was infinitely Ambitious, to make him su∣spect his Loyalty, and look upon him as one that thirsted after the Government. The Disturbance which Anaxaga∣thus receiv'd from these Reports was much encreas'd by the Peoples Acclamations, which he fancied as Echoes to the voice of the Army: For they Extolling the Person and Actions of Alethion, bestow'd upon him the greatest Praises and significations of highest Admiration as he pass'd along the Streets; and as they came near to the Palace, the King took notice of all that was done from a Balcony.

Then was Anaxagathus indispos'd with too much Pro∣sperity; He thought himself miserable when he was only too Happy, like those who are blinded with over-much Light; whilst Alethion was in danger of an Eclipse, because he shin'd too bright: So the Athenians bestow'd Ostracisms upon those which were too Vertuous. The King had but a few Holidayes after this sight, for the entertained a tor∣menting passion which continually gnaw'd his Heart, and turn'd every the most innocent Accident into a most cor∣rosive nourishment for it self. In a short time the Vene∣mous Affection shew'd its power in very malignant Effects: for the King, without any Cause known to the Prince, would express himself in such rough Language, and ac∣company it with such unpleasing Looks, that Alethion could not but perceive that his Father was abus'd with untrue sur∣mises. This did afflict the Prince; yet he having a great Soul, and that fortified with a spotless Vertue, dissembled his Grief, and entertain'd Patience, till God and Time should cure his Father's mistakes. Anaxagathus to discharge the trouble of his Doubts, unhappily reveal'd his mind to Anti∣theus, who being too well vers'd in the Art of Dissimulati∣on, pretended a great belief of the Prince's Loyalty; and though he confess'd that he had heard things which were most extremely dishonourable, if they were true, yet he ad∣vis'd the King to repute them, as he himself did, false; ad∣ding that a short time would probably give a clear Resolu∣tion of that which was at present doubtful. The King left it so at that time, and Antitheus went no further in his Dis∣course, because though he saw a strong Jealousie kindled in the King's Breast, yet he was unwilling to blow it up into an open Flame, fearing that for want of sufficient Fewel it would be extinguish'd without doing that mischief which he intended to the Prince. Whereupon having enter'd in∣to consultation with Dogmapornes his Friend, and one that loved not the Prince, they resolved upon a new Device; and that was, to write a Letter in Alethion's Name, and direct it to Theosebes the Prince of Theoprepia, whose matter should be form'd to advance the suspicion of Anaxagathus, and put

him upon some such Action which they might use for a fair Introduction to their main Design.

Alethion had not only made a common Amity with Theo∣sebes, but contracted such an intimate Friendship with him, that they were no lesse dear to each other then to themselves; and both to testifie and preserve their Affe∣ction, kept a constant Correspondence. It happen'd also that Alethion, during his stay at Phronesium, had entertain'd a great Affection for the Princesse Agape, the Sister of Theose∣bes. The knowledge of these Accidents was but too sub∣servient to Dogmapornes, for he had a faculty of forming any Characters which he had seen before. In confidence of this Art he undertook to imitate the Prince's hand so ex∣actly, that he should not be able to know it from his own. He had an Acquaintance with one call'd Panurgus, who was well known to Siopelus, Alethion's Secretary. Him they or∣der'd to visit Siopelus, and to watch an opportunity, when he found the Secretary engag'd in earnest business, to fix the Prince's Seal to the Letter, and then pretend that he found the Letter by chance, and give it to Dogmapornes when he should see him with the King, unto whom Dogmapornes was to present it. The words carried this sense.

Most Illustrious Prince Theosebes;

The Love which unites our hearts, hath made it impossible that I should not be alwayes Yours. The Truth upon which our Friendship is founded will not permit any Condition to make a diminution of our Affections. If it were not a Reservedness unbecoming our Relation, I would not give you the trouble of knowing my present State. I am afflicted by my Father to gratifie his Enemies, who have wickedly brought him into an unjust suspicion of my Loyalty. It doth some∣thing astonish me to find my self a Grief to him whose Joyes I would re∣deem with the loss of whatsoever is dear unto me. Although I am more apprehensive for his disturbance, then for any mischief which it may possibly work to me; yet I am not so out of Charity with my In∣nocence, as to abandon it carelesly to undeserved Ruine. I hope I have discovered the Ground upon which my danger is built; and when

I shall have sprung a Mine which I have lay'd under it, I doubt not but that which now threatens me will be torn up by the Roots. At present I need nothing but your Prayers, as occasion serves you shall hear further from

Your most affectionate and faithful Lover, ALETHION.

The next day the King took Antitheus into the Garden to talk with him concerning the former business, which was never out of his thoughts, and ask'd him if he had yet re∣ceiv'd any further notice of Alethion's Designs. No, replied Antitheus, only they say the Prince was much out of Hu∣mour yesternight, refus'd to eat, and entertain'd some of his Associates in private discourse; and as he dismiss'd them, which was very late, one over-heard him say, I will, I will, for it is intolerable for a Prince to be so us'd; I will rather die then be despis'd. The King turning hastily about, advanc'd but a few steps in the walk which led towards the House, be∣fore he saw Dogmapornes with two more of his Confederates coming towards him. Dogmapornes perceiving by the King's Countenance that he was exceedingly incens'd, craved his Majestie's pardon, alleging that he should not have presumed to have invaded his Privacy, but that his servant having found a Letter in the Street directed to Theo∣sebes the Prince of Theoprepia, he thought it was his duty to bring it to the King. Anaxagathus observing it was seal'd with the Prince's Arms, was much troubled, especially when having open'd it he found it written with his hand, as he thought, and saw his Name subscribed to it. When he had read it, supposing he understood what it meant by the Comments which he had receiv'd before-hand, he seem'd to be rapt into an astonishment, and after a while broke through his silence with Expressions which signified an in∣finite Anguish. His words were such as these: O Lord! how feeble a thing is Humane Felicity? That flattering Glasse in which we pleasingly view the beautiful Image of Happiness may be made bright, but there is no Power which can secure it from break∣ing.

Our Heights are but Precipices, we cannot stand upon their Tops without Fear, and the higher they are rais'd, the more irrecovera∣ble is our Fall. How vain is the Trust which is repos'd in Mortal men, when the best Assurances of Humane Faith are only fairer Masks of Perfidiousness? O the foolish Boasts of proud Artists! How mean and useless are those Inventions for which they pretend to have merited Immortal thanks and Glory from Mankind, unto which they have, notwithstanding their Brags, done so little good, that they have left us unprovided of Supplies for our greatest Necessities? They can try Gold and Silver, and discover Counterfeit Jewels, and make a Judgment upon such like Trifles, but they are ignorant in that which should resolve our more concerning Doubts. Which of them hath found out a Touch∣stone for Fidelity? It is a poor Art which can nei∣ther make men good, nor teach us to know those which are bad. For want of this Skill (and he spoke true, though with a wrong Application) we are apt to give Credit to those which endeavour to betray us, and many times doubt when we have the greatest reason, did we but know it, to be assured.

I do not now begin to be acquainted with that Mutability which do∣mineers in this lower World; but it astonisheth my soul to experiment new mischief from such an unexpected Instrument. Sure my Son doth think that God to be dead who made the Laws which injoyn Obedience to Children and Loyalty to Subjects, and imagines vainly that some Devil Reigns in his stead, who regards not such things. But how can I believe Alethion to be so impious? He hath acknow∣ledg'd a Divine Authority by his long Obedience. It may be, for all that, some violent Storm of evil Imaginations hath overcome his Ver∣tue. Who could have dream'd that any thoughts so wickedly potent could find Harbour in the Minds of the now-Apostate Angels, as to make them fall at once from their Allegiance and Heaven? As I am griev'd for thy 〈◊〉〈◊〉, so I pity thy folly, Alethion. Dost thou impo∣tently long for a Crown? Ah! thou dost not know how oft my Head hath been wearied with it. Dost thou think it such a glorious Plea∣sure to govern others? Alas! Thou art Ignorant that the greatest Prince is but a Royal Slave, and doth perpetually serve those whom be commands, and is constantly rewarded with Fears and Jealousies so great, that no private person is capable of them. O poor Princes! Happy indeed if they estimate their estate by the opinion of others; but

when they judge by what they feel, they cannot find it so. Crowns and Sceptres, Purple Robes and all the other pompous Circumstances of Majesty are ever so much greater then the Substance, that Kings find themselves Men still, and that notwithstanding all those bright Glories which make their Out∣side shine to the dazeling of the Behol∣ders Eyes, it doth often lour and rain within. Ignorant people would soon see that they have little cause to grudge their Obedience, if they did but know what it is to endure the troublesome Care of Princes.

Here Anaxagathus changing his Tone, delivered words with a more passionate Air, and added, But all this I could bear, being but a common Lot incident to all Princely Fortunes: but that my Son, but that Alethion should endeavour to ascend the Throne by my Fall, it is intolerable! If wickedness grow according to this proportion, it will be impossible that the world should subsist. God must provide some other Earth, and transport good men thither; for this will be so over∣spread with Violence, that they will not be able to find any quiet Habitation in it.

When Antitheus perceiv'd that the King had made a Pause, knowing that it was his time to strike whilst the Iron was so hot, he prayed the King to retire to his own Pru∣dence, and rather wisely to think what he ought to doe him∣self for the defence of his Interest, then to complain so pas∣sionately of what was design'd against it by others, and seasonably to stop that which was ill begun from taking any further Effect. What then should I doe? said Anaxaga∣thus. You may (replied Antitheus) immediately secure Ale∣thion in one of your Castles remote from the City, by which means you will discourage his Accomplices, and gain time without danger to search to the bottom of his Design. The King appoved his Advice, and gave charge to Dogma∣pornes to carry Alethion to the Castle which was under his Command. Dogmapornes not a little glad that their Plot had taken so far, made haste, and with a select Guard of his friends march'd presently to the Prince's Palace, and ha∣ving secured the Avenues of the House, went in to deliver his Message, with a countenance which did more become some friend who resented the Prince's Condition, then him that was the principal cause of his Affliction. When he

had told the Prince that it was the King's pleasure that he should prepare himself to go to that Castle whereof he call'd himself at that time the unhappy Governour; the Prince be∣ing of a Magnanimous Temper, and taught by Prudence to receive without Amazement the most unexpected E∣vents, ask'd Dogmapornes what time was allow'd for prepara∣tion. You must be gone presently, answer'd Dogmapornes. But may I not see my Father first? said the Prince. No, re∣plied Dogmapornes, the King is much 〈◊〉〈◊〉, and charg'd me upon my Life to see his Command answer'd with pre∣sent Obedience. I will perform it by God's help, said the Prince; for how much soever he is mistaken in the Cause of his Anger, I will embrace the Effects of it with Pati∣ence; adding, But, Dogmapornes, do you not guesse the occa∣sion of this sudden Order? No, said Dogmapornes; for being hastily sent upon this unacceptable Errand, I only heard some of those which stood by talk of a Letter, which being intercepted reveal'd something of a Design against the King, in which I suppose that they imagined that you are interess'd. Though the Prince could not divine what they meant by the Letter, yet he saw plainly that some had abus'd the King, and did endeavour to ruine himself; where∣upon his thoughts concerning this Affair gave themselves breath in these words: Proud Errour! Will no other lodging serve thee but the Breasts of Kings? Is it not Victory enough to abuse all the Inferiour World with mistakes, unless thou dost also shew the malicious power of Triumphant Lies in the Ruine of Innocent Prin∣ces? How hard is it for Kings not to be deceived, who are forc'd to see with other mens Eyes, or to use such colour'd Spectacles as they are pleas'd to provide for them, who never meant that they should have a true sight of things? Modest Truth, which is alwayes Generous, and had rather be banish'd then intrude where she is sure not to be welcome, doth so rarely appear in Courts, that Princes are fain to disguise themselves sometimes to get into her Company. Flatterers are so unhappily cunning, that they can make Falshood pass currently for Truth, and represent Truth so disadvantageously that it is disbeliev'd, and make honest men dis∣favoured as the Prince's Enemies. It were happy for my Father, if those which attend his Person lov'd his Inte∣rest:

but I am afraid be is inviron'd with Sycophants, and that those which wish him well dare not save him from the prejudice of Misinfor∣mation, lest they lose themselves in the plausibility of Falshood.

I have great reason to be sorry for my Father's Misfortunes: Though my own Affliction be great, I should easily slight it, if I did not foresee that my Ruine is made a Prelude to his Destruction. O subtile Malice! Dost thou take away the Son as a Traitor, who is the only Bulwark which my Father hath left against treasonable At∣tempts? Is it possible my Father should think me so foolishly wicked as to endeavour to steal that which would be my own after a short time; and which I had rather want for ever, then blast the Glory of a lawful Possession by using the least indirect means to attain it? Is Anaxagathus grown so strangely credulous, that a Counterfeit Let∣ter is a better Testimony then so many years Experience? Did not Phaedra write an Epistle against Hippolytus, and then hang her self? but did that make him guilty of any sin against his Father Theseus?

But it is to no purpose to make Apologies, when the Judge will give no Audience. I could heartily wish that my Father may in some reasonable time be so far disabus'd, as not to love Vertue less for my sake, nor me for false Reports. But I am afraid lest this black cloud, which appears now over my Head, will ere long discharge a storm up∣on our Family. It is too plain a symptom that a Kingdom is not far from Destruction, when the Methods of its safety are confounded with perverse Counsels. This fatal Imprudence doth too commonly attend those who are destin'd to Ruine; when adverse Fortune hath begun to afflict them, they use contrary Medicines, or delay to apply fit Re∣medies to their Distempers till they be grown incurable.

The Prince having finish'd this short Reflexion, told Dogmapornes that he was ready to go along with him. Dog∣mapornes conducted him a private way through the Grove which adjoyn'd to the Prince's Palace, for fear of tumults. However he could not carry the matter so privately, but that the City and Army had notice of it. Most of them retaining their former Goodwill to the Prince, were ready to make an Insurrection for his Deliverance, saying as they went up and down that the Prince was betray'd. Those which were of Antitheus his party oppos'd them, and ask'd

them if they would rebel: adding, that nothing was done to Alethion but by the King's order. Hereupon Misopseudes, a prudent Senatour; and one of the Prince's friends, fearing that the Mutiny of the Army would turn to Alethion's preju∣dice, told them, that as there was no doubt of the Prince's Innocence, so he made no question but that he would be speedily freed from his Imprisonment; and, to quiet this Humour, he added, that nothing could more confirm the suspicion which was already entertain'd concerning the Prince's guilt, then in a Rebellious way to attempt his Vin∣dication. Having thus appeased the violence of the storm, he returned to the King to intercede for the Prince. When he was come to the Court, he found them all surpriz'd with an uncouth Accident: for an old Servant of the King's, who had ever a most passionate affection for the Prince, ha∣ving for a long time kept his bed by reason of a dead Palsey, being told by the boy that attended him that Alethion was sent to Prison, the old man amaz'd into a kind of recovery started up, and by the help of his boy having got out of his bed, and put on a Night-gown, and supporting his feeble Body with a pair of Crutches, went out of his Chamber, crying, Oh my dear Master! my dear Master! When he came to the King's Presence, he cried out, O my Lord, do not believe any Reports against the Prince. If there were ne∣ver so many Letters and Hands and Seals, Alethion is Inno∣cent: and the Tears running down his cheeks, he added, Sir, you are abus'd, you are abus'd. The King, vex'd with this unexpected Accident, commanded his servants to take a∣way the Impertinent Fellow. There is no need of that, said the Paralytick, I will be gone of my own accord: grant me your pardon for this offence, for I will never trouble you more: but let me tell you that you will repent of the Prince's Imprisonment. When he had said this, he re∣turned to his bed, and died immediately. The King said nothing: but those which stood by perceived that he was ex∣tremely troubled, and, as they guess'd, look'd upon this In∣terposition as an ill Omen; for it was known that the old man for many moneths was not able to stir in his bed but as he was moved by others.

Misopseudes, Philalethes, and some other of the Prince's Friends, took an occasion from this Accident to speak in Ale∣thion's behalf, and desired him not to make any peremptory conclusion in his mind concerning the Prince's Disloyalty: adding, that though Letters were found, yet possibly the Prince might not write them; mentioning also the great Grief which the King's Subjects had conceived for the Prin∣ce's Restraint; and ended with intreaties which they made to the King to give his Son leave to come to him, that so he might have an opportunity to clear himself from his Accusations. What? replied the King, do not I know my Son's Hand and Seal? Shall I not believe my own Eyes? Shall I not trust my own Judgment, when I see so much cause to doubt the fidelity of such as have the least reason in the world to be unfaithful? Do you tell me of the peoples Affections? then it seems my Son hath engaged them a∣gainst me; but I will take care that he shall not head their Rebellion. Anaxagathus was so far from accepting their Mediation, that suspecting they were 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of some Design, he commanded them to be arrested and committed prisoners to their lodgings in the City; but by the advice of Antitheus, who feared they might cause some disturbance, he sent them into the Country, and confin'd them to their Houses, charging them not to return to Court without leave upon pain of Death.

Within four dayes Dogmapornes came back, having secured the Prince under the Custody of Apronoeus his Lieutenant. The next morning after his Return one of his Souldiers brought news that the Prince, impatient of his Prison, had dismiss'd himself from that and his Life both at once, by throwing himself from the top of a high Tower into the River which ran by the Castle. This Report was brought according to an agreement made between Antitheus and Dog∣mapornes, for they durst not immediately murder the Prince, fearing the King's mind might change. Though the news was false, they looked upon it as serviceable to their Pur∣pose, which was, as soon as they could to destroy the King; and having done that, to use this report as a fair colour for

that which they meant to doe next. For they resolved then privately to doe that themselves which they now affirmed the Prince to have done, and so make one Sin a Disguise for another.

When this news came to the King's Ears it is easie to ima∣gine what grief it convey'd to his already-distressed Heart; but the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 was infinitely encreas'd by an Accident which happened an hour or two before the Messenger came: For Sagax the Captain of the Prince's Guard, deeply resenting his Master's Condition, neglected no diligence in endeavouring of his Deliverance; and knowing that the Letter alleg'd as his Crime was a Forgery, he thought he could not take a better course then to employ his pains in the discovery of him that contriv'd this Engine. Whilst he was advising with his thoughts how he might accomplish this, one that was an under-Clerk to the Prince's Secretary came to him, and expressing the same affection which Sa∣gax had for their common Master, he told him that he be∣lieved one Panurgus had a hand in the framing of this Letter, and that he saw him one day, when the Secretary was in earnest discourse with some Gentlemen which came to him from the King, put the Prince's Seal to a Letter; and when he ask'd Panurgus what he did, he replied, that he only seal'd a Commission, which the Secretary had de∣sired him to doe, because it requir'd haste. The Captain of the Guard having heard this story, ask'd him if he would depose what he had said before the King. Yes, said he, with all my heart. When the King heard this, he sent for Panurgus, and caused him to be examin'd before him; and being ask'd what the Commission was which he sealed at the Secretarie's desire, he denied that ever he sealed any: The Secretarie's Clerk attested that he did, and offer'd his Oath to confirm the truth of what he said. The King's Anger beginning to relent towards Alethion, he command∣ed Panurgus to be rack'd. When he had felt some sharp Torments, he confess'd the Truth. Being ask'd who em∣ployed him in that wicked enterprize, he answered, he un∣dertook it for such Reasons as pleased him: adding, that

since he had acknowledged his own fault, they might give him what punishment they thought good; but that he was resolved to suffer without endangering others. The King having notice of his words, promised him Pardon if he would discover those which had encouraged him to this wickedness. He answered desperately, that he desired not to be pardoned for that which he had done, and was so far from repenting of it, that if it were needful he would en∣deavour to doe it again. Whilst they encreased the pains of the Rack, it happened that an Impostume broke in his stomach and choak'd him.

The King understanding by this means that the Prince was abus'd, though he knew not particularly his chief ene∣mies, was so confounded with the miserable effect which his Credulity had produc'd, that he took all the blame to himself, accused himself of Folly and Injustice, abandon'd himself to disconsolateness, and not being able to contain the intolerable anguish of his Mind, gave breath to his Pas∣sions in these words: It is now time for me to die, since I have slain my Son, that I may hide the shame of my unjust Wrath in the dark Grave. I have destroyed my Son, my Self, my Family. I have killed Alethion, because he was accused. O accursed Jea∣lousie! O unreasonable Suspicion! He was Charged with sin, but did that make him Guilty? The Letter seemed to be his hand, but I was not sure it was the same. Did I think (O weakness of my thoughts!) that this was the first Seal which was Counterfeited? Alas! alas! Could I not have seen him? ought I not to have heard him? If I had convinced him of wickedness, would not his Repentance have given me Satisfaction? If he had assured me of his Innocence, would it not have saved us both? Had I not read the History of Hip∣polytus? Did I not pity the misfortune of Hermenegildus, and deplore the unhappy death of Mustapha? Did I not observe how their over∣credulous Fathers cruelly destroyed their innocent Children, and with them cut off the Succession of their Families? I had reason to have suspected the Advice by which I am now undone; it was too vic∣lent for the Matter, the Person which gave it was young, and might possibly lay the Foundation of his own wicked Hopes in my Son's Ruine. Had I not heard how Falshood among her other Tricks had

stollen the Mantle of Truth, and ever since performed all her mischie∣vous Stratagems disguis'd in that Habit? Doth not Cunning crook it self to insinuate pleasing harms? The Counsell which our Enemies know we will like is only fram'd to promote their Ends which made it acceptable. But we can remember nothing to direct us when we are in Passion! O my dear Alethion! My folly is the Precipice from whence thou art thrown; My Jealousie is the River in which thou art drown'd. Then the Tears trickled down his cheeks, and his Sighs stopt his speech: after a while he proceeded thus; For∣give me, spotless soul. But why do I ask forgiveness who have made my sin unpardonable by destroying him that should have forgiven me? It is all one, for I should never cease to torment my self till my Death, if he which would forgive me were yet alive.

With many more such Expressions did the miserable Anaxagathus lament his Loss, and having retired from all Company, took his bed, and with it a Fever, which being encreased with his extreme Grief and neglect of all Reme∣dies, brought him to that Death, which he now passionate∣ly desired, the next day; whereupon the wicked Antitheus sent Dogmapornes to his Castle, to verifie their false news in the death which before was but fictitiously suffered by Alethion.

Thus, said Amyntor, have I given you a short Relation of the sad state of Theriagene. I cannot inform you further, having not receiv'd any Intelligence from my friend con∣cerning that which hath happen'd since. The Company thanked Amyntor for the diversion which they received by his story, all pitying the unfortunate condition of Anaxaga∣thus and Alethion. But 〈◊〉〈◊〉 found a generous desire to arise in his Soul, and longed passionately to see Theriagene, not only out of Curiosity to know what strange Event at∣tended such dreadful Beginnings, but, if it were possible, to relieve the Prince's friends, Misopseudes and Philalethes, whom he understood to be Prisoners, and rationally guessed that some worse Sentence did await them, whose execution he hoped to prevent. He acquainted the Company with his desire, promising to return in a short time. Amyntor decla∣red that he had entertain'd the same Resolution, especially because he thought himself obliged to visit his friend Miso∣pseudes,

from whom he had received many kindnesses, and whose vertues had fixt such a deep Estimation of him in his heart, that neither any length of time nor the most adverse Accidents of life were able to wear it out; and therefore asked Bentivolio's leave to attend him. The Ladies were unwilling to deprive themselves of such Friends by giving them leave to depart out of their Company; yet considering the nobleness of the Design and the shortness of the Jour∣ney, they gave a mixt kind of Assent; only Urania would not dismiss Panaretus, and the two Sisters prevail'd with Sympathus to stay with them. They were both the more contented, because Bentivolio assured them that if occasion of∣fer'd it self, they should hear from him, and if any thing happen'd which was worthy of their presence or needed their Assistance, he would send for them. He took Nico∣machus also with him, to the end that if he could not return so soon as he expected, he might make use of him, to let Pa∣naretus and Urania understand the state of his Affairs. The night after they took their leave, they came into the Bor∣ders of Theriagene. The next morning, having travelled so long that the Sun had almost finish'd half his dayes work, they withdrew from the Road into a Wood, intending to repose themselves a while in the cool shade; and following a path which led into the Thicket, whilst they sought a place fit for their Retirement, a broad open Field discove∣red it self, and presented a sight which they expected not in that place. They saw two men lying dead upon the ground, and a Gentleman endeavouring to catch his Horse. What this meant they could not divine, but perceived the Gentleman something startled at their approach. Not knowing their faces, and doubting that they came not to his Relief in a place where he had found mischief design'd against him, he stood upon his Guard, supposing that they attended to perfect what was unsuccessfully begun. Ben∣tivolio and his Companions knowing that it was Prudence not to determine concerning any thing till they well un∣derstood it, much less to think of inflicting Punishment when they were not sure any Wrong was done, and remem∣bring

that it is a duty never unseasonable to be 〈◊〉〈◊〉, they catch'd the Horse, and delivered him to the 〈◊〉〈◊〉; who though he perceiv'd a Doubtfulness in their Countenances, yet finding their Actions civil, and judging by their Garb that they were Strangers, he began to hope that some other business brought them to that place, and that they had not any purpose to assist his 〈◊〉〈◊〉; and there∣upon with more confidence he began to speak to them, allowing them the Liberty of Silence, which at that time was a Courtesie, for they knew not very well what to say. Gentlemen, said he, I know nothing of you but that I am beholden to you: and though possibly I may have given you some occasion to think dishonourably of me, since you find me incompass'd with such dubious Circumstances; yet if you have heard of the Tragical state of Theriagene, you will the less wonder at this encounter: and if you will have the goodness to understand this little Scene which was just now acted, you will be so far from loading my Misfortunes, which are already heavy enough, with your severe Censure, that you will rather support me, who am forc'd to bear them, with your charitable 〈◊〉〈◊〉. Bentivolio replied, It be∣comes us to think well of all men, till we know we have cause not to doe so: we are Strangers in this Country, but we have heard so much of your perplex'd estate, that it hath rais'd a great Compassion in our souls. That which hath been told us is so extraordinary, that we have taken a Journey both to assure our selves concerning the verity of the Report, and to understand what hath happen'd since our first Intelligence. Particularly we have with a sincere Good will design'd the Rescue of two Noble persons, Phila∣lethes and Misopseudes; of which we make no great doubt, if God be propitious to our endeavours.

The unknown Gentleman observing eminent Marks of Vertue in Bentivolio's Countenance, and being greatly taken with the Nobleness which he had express'd, pull'd off his Helmet, and said, Generous Strangers, I am Philalethes the Brother of Misopseudes whom you have so civilly mention'd; I am confin'd to my House, which is not far off, by the Usur∣per

Antitheus: I hope you will honour me so much as to go home with me, though when you come there, I shall be forc'd to crave your pardon if my present Condition will not allow you that Welcome in this Country which persons of your Worth do deserve every where. Whilst he said, these words, he took notice of such Airs in Amyntor's face as he had formerly well known, and added, If my eyes and Memory do not fail of their duty, you are Amyntor. Which he acknowledging, Philalethes embrac'd him with a passio∣nate kindness, and mingling his salutation with tears, said Amyntor, we did not use to meet after this manner at my Brother's house, but since you have heard of our Afflictions, you cannot wonder at what you see. No, no, Philalethes, replied Amyntor, I am not ignorant of your Affairs, and though I did not expect this strange encounter, yet I esteem my self happy to have met so soon my friend's Brother, whom I shall never cease to love in despight of the greatest Misfortunes which often befall, but never lessen, the Best men. But that you may know, dear Philalethes, how hap∣py we are in our Misery, (I say ours, for my friend's is my own) know that we have in our Company Bentivolio, whom I can commend unto you by no better words then by saying it is He.

Philalethes struck with a glad horrour, express'd the sense of his Mind with all symptoms of a pleasant Extasie, in these words: Good God! How short are those measures by which we limit thy Power and Goodness? we represent nothing so lively to our selves as Afflictions; and when we have some small occasion to doubt, make it a reason of De∣spair, forgetting that extreme Misery is the only thing which makes thy help seasonable. O Lord, for whom shall I give thanks to thee first? for the poor Prince Alethion, or my self? I will doe it for both. For my self, because thou hast given me leave to see a Person whose Vertues all the world doth justly admire; but chiefly for the Prince, because now I make no doubt of his Restauration, since God hath sent such a worthy Person to undertake it. Ben∣tivolio astonish'd to hear Philalethes talk of the Prince's Re∣stauration,

said, turning to Amyntor, Sure this Gentleman thinks that I am able to raise him from the dead. No, Bentivolio, replied Philalethes, there is no need of that; for, God be thanked, the Prince is yet alive: I meant what I said, only of his Kingdom. Sure then, said Amyntor, God hath sent us hither to amuse us: but since we are only in∣tangled in the Labyrinths of Divine Providence, I doubt not but he which hath brought us in will lead us out by some happy clue. In the mean while, Philalethes, pray give us leave to rest our selves under this Oak, for we are weary with Travel, and you will doe us a great favour if you let us know what made you come hither, who those are whom we suppose you have kill'd, and what is become of the Prince Alethion. You shall quickly understand these things, answer'd Philalethes, who having saluted Nicomachus, sate down by Bentivolio. Those fellows were Brothers to a Villain nam'd Panurgus, who pretended to have taken up a forg'd Letter, for which the Prince was imprison'd; and either to revenge their Brother's death, for he died upon the Rack, to gratifie Antitheus, or out of hatred to my person as a Lover of Alethion, they came hither in hope to have mur∣ther'd me. They laid their design thus. One of my Bro∣ther's Servants (for what cause I cannot tell) remain'd in the City, and those Assasinates taking notice of it corrupted him, I suppose, with Money, to come to my house yester∣night, to tell me that two of my Brother's friends would be in this place to day about the time when I first saw you, to impart some Secrets to me which did highly concern us both, and therefore did earnestly desire me to give them a meeting. I knowing that the Messenger was my Brother's servant, and that those whom he nam'd were his most true friends, supposing that he brought no Letters because it was not safe to write, believed him, and came, but not with∣out Arms, of which I soon found the Necessity. As I a∣lighted from my Horse, they made towards me with Swords, which they had hid under their Coats, and gave me a wound for a Salutation. Turning upon them for my defence, I had the good fortune to kill one of them and

wound the other; which when I perceiv'd, I desir'd him to desist, and let me know for what Injury which they had receiv'd from me, they sought reparation by this highest sort of Revenge. But his Malice had made him so greedy of my Death, that by silence and continuing to fight, I saw that if he could not kill me, he would live no longer. Nay then, said I, you shall be pleas'd; and as you came, so you shall go together. With a very few blows I sent him after his fellow-Murtherer. But as these Villains have suffered more punishment for their wicked attempt then I desired to have inflicted upon them, if it had pleas'd God otherwise to have delivered me from their Malice; so I think my self well appay'd for the hazard I have run, and nothing dis∣appointed of my Expectation, since the Message is verified in a sense which they never intended by this fortunate En∣counter. Now let me entreat you to go along with me, and when we come to my House I will tell you the story of the Prince, and desire your advice concerning the course which we are to take; for it is a perplexed season. Bentivolio, whose Prudence was alwayes awake, stopping Philalethes, said, Sir, we are strangers, and do not know what Constructions may be made upon any Accident happening at our Arrival in such a Juncture of time: therefore if you please, our servants shall throw those wretched Carkases in∣to that old Cole-pit, lest some Foresters finding the dead Bodies, give notice to the Country, which will make a ge∣neral Alarm, and it may be trouble us all with an imper∣tinent Hue-and-Cry. Philalethes approv'd the Counsel, and as soon as they had put it in Execution, they betook themselves to their Horses. When they came to his house, Bentivolio told Philalethes, that the first expression of his Re∣gard to them should be to search his own wounds. Upon the first inspection he found them not dangerous, and ha∣ving quickly dress'd them, his Lady entertain'd her unex∣pected Guests with a short Collation; yet they thought it long, because it was some hinderance to the accomplish∣ment of Philalethes his promise to tell them what was be∣come of the Prince: which when the cloth was taken away

he fulfilled after this manner. I understand by the dis∣course which we had in the Wood, that you have heard of the death of Anaxagathus, who broke his heart with the Grief which seiz'd upon him when he heard the news of his Son's Death, of which he would never be convinc'd but that himself was the principal Author. The day after Anaxaga∣thus was dead, Antitheus, the Venemous Root upon which our Calamity grows, sent Dogmapornes, one of his Confede∣rates, to the Castle where the Prince was imprison'd, with order to kill him privately, and throw him over the Rock, that so his Body being afterward taken out of the River, might make good the Report which they had spread a∣broad before concerning the manner of his Death, which by that means they foretold much after the Custom of Evil Spirits, which give Intelligence before-hand to Witches and other their Correspondents of such mischiefs as they resolve to doe.

When Dogmapornes was gone, Antitheus and the rest of his Accomplices began to deliberate what was next to be done for the setling of the Kingdom. They determin'd present∣ly to proclaim Antitheus King, as being apparently the next Heir to the Crown, and commanded upon pain of Death, that none but the Souldiers of his own Guard should appear in Arms, nor that the Citizens should meet in any Assembly upon pain of Treason, and secured such as they knew to be Alethion's friends. This I learn'd from one of my servants, who escap'd out of the City by night. Dogma∣pornes made all possible haste to his Castle, to Execute the wicked Commandment of Antitheus, and kill'd some horses by the way; but when he came there he found himself ut∣terly disappointed, for the Prince was gone the day before. How it came to pass I will acquaint you, for my Brother not being able to conceal from me such happy news longer then the time which the Messenger requir'd for his Journey to bring it, sent one of his friends to me who was able to inform me perfectly, for he waited upon the Prince during all the time of his Imprisonment, heard his Discourses, and knew the manner of his Escape. You must understand

that the Prince was chiefly intrusted to the Custody of two Persons, Apronaeus, who was Lieutenant of the Castle, and Diaporon, who commanded a Troop of Horse under Dogma∣pornes. Diaporon attended continually upon the Prince, Apronaeus came only sometimes to see that he was in safety. Diaporon was of a nature very averse to Malice, and though he had not the greatest parts, nor could make a perfect judg∣ment of things by his own Ability; yet his temper was not impregnably fortified against good Reason. As he had at the first no disaffected resentments of the Prince's Person, for he had never disobliged him; so in a short time he fell into a great Admiration of his Vertues: and perceiving him not to be afflicted with what he suffered, he conclu∣ded in himself that the Prince had no Demerits upon which Punishment could take hold. He saw a smooth Serenity in his Looks, a great Contentedness in his Speeches, an undis∣turb'd Equality in all his Conversation. He heard him of∣ten assert his own Innocence, but without any other Expres∣sions except of pity for his abus'd Father. The affection which this Deportment produc'd in Diaporon's breast, possi∣bly augmented with some surmises of unworthy Contri∣vances against the Prince, in a short time grew so strong, that it made him heartily with that he might be so happy as to work his Deliverance.

As he was musing one day how he might accomplish such a hard Attempt, he thought it was best to communi∣cate his Mind to Apronaeus, for that he thought it necessary to the Prince's Escape that Apronaeus should assist him, or at least connive at the Design. Though he was something imbolden'd to reveal this secret to Apronaeus, by that inti∣mate Friendship which a long Acquaintance had contract∣ed between them, yet he found the matter of that Impor∣tance, that he could not resolve presently what to doe; both being doubtful how Apronaeus would resent such a high proposal, and also being well assured that if he did disgust it, he should not only ruine himself, but utterly undo all further hopes of the Prince's Deliverance: and thereupon resolv'd to doe what was possible in his single endeavour,

and chose rather to take any course for the Prince's rescue, then to leave him to that danger which was unavoidable in the place where he was. Whilst he was floating upon these Deliberations, Apronaeus came to visit him, and perceiving in his Countenance symptoms of discomposed Thoughts, (for he came upon him so suddenly, that he could not wipe out the picture of his Mind which his Passion had drawn upon his Face,) he demanded the cause of his Melancholy. Nothing troubles me, replied Diaporon, only I represented to my self the various Accidents of humane Life: and as I was attentive upon my Imagination, the unhappy state of our young Prince appear'd before me with strange mixtures; and I could not but wish that either a Person of such a brave Spirit had not stain'd his Innocence with any unhand∣some Designs, or that so great a Vertue were not unworthi∣ly clouded: And I began to wonder how Vice of late was grown so strong that it could endure to be punish'd, or why Vertue should be so weak that it is not able to shine through the plausibility of false Accusation. Away, Diapo∣ron, said Apronaeus, with these Philosophical follies. Thou art alwayes troubling thy head with Religious Dreams. To what purpose dost thou believe that vain Distinction of Vertue and Vice, and meditate upon those useless notions of Reward and Punishment? Dost thou not see how these Do∣ctrines are confuted by the Practice of all the world? Men seek Happiness by other Methods, and neglect these Rules both as uncertain and unpracticable. We have often heard our Governour say that there is no God, or, if there be, that he doth not trouble himself with the Affairs of this lower World: whether he doth or no, I do not much care; but I think it is true enough, because I see into what a mise∣rable estate this Prince is brought, who was a known pre∣tender to the Love of God, and a great Patron of his devout Worshippers. Here Diaporon interrupting his friend, repli∣ed, God forgive you this irreverent discourse, Apronaeus; will you never leave this Impious humour? I know you suppose that you have sufficient Reason for your belief; I think you have not. You are now going to visit the Prince;

when we are with him, I will by some means or other give you occasion to discourse these Opinions, for he doth not only abhor them as prejudicial to the state of Mankind in their fatal Consequences, but laughs at them as pieces of irrational wickedness in their monstrous Constitution. I am no great Lover of Disputation, said Apronaeus, neither do I esteem that which you call Truth worth much Inquiry; yet I will go with you to see our joynt Charge, and since we have not much to doe, this Discourse may possibly allow us some Recreation.

When they came to Alethion's Chamber, they found him reading a little Book, whose Title was, Good men are ever happy. Having given them his usual salutes, he spoke some∣thing in Commendation of the Author, who had shewn much prudence in chusing a subject that he was well able to demonstrate, and had express'd the sense of his mind so artificially, that his Readers were sure to find excellent thoughts cloth'd with sutable words. After that he ap∣plauded the fortunate state of Vertuous Souls, and admired the Goodness and Wisdom of Almighty Providence, which had so secured the Interest of all those who had faithfully consign'd themselves to his care, that nothing could make them miserable. At these words Apronaeus smil'd. The Prince perceiv'd it, and ask'd him the Reason of his Mirth. I laugh, said Apronaeus, that you, whom I have alwayes e∣steem'd very Religious, should notwithstanding you see your self abandon'd to Affliction, talk still of Providence. Sure, Apronaeus, answer'd the Prince, you have something else in your thoughts which made you smile at what I said, or you have some other Reasons which make you speak so dis∣respectfully of the Divine Providence. I have several things, replied Apronaeus, but I think that what I have said is most proper to you; for you reason against Sense, and dispute against Experience, saying, as others of your Opinion do, that a God created the World; it may be so: but if he did, it was to small purpose in my mind, since he doth not take care to keep it in better Order. Possibly he is weak and cannot help it; perhaps he is otherwise employ'd, or else so

idle that he will not trouble himself about it; or it may be it is below him to mind such Trifles. I know not which of these excuses you like, but I am sure it is a piece of unjust care∣lesness, if he can hinder it, that he doth not relieve his friends, but suffer them to be trampled upon by those which bid defiance to his Authority, and quote their own Prosperity, whilst they doe so, for an Argument against his Providence. I verily believe that ere long men will take it for granted that there is no God; and that those which think there is, will blaspheme him because he takes no care of them. For my own part, I make no doubt but that Fortune governs the world, if it be govern'd at all: and I think that she is blind, in that she bestows great Gifts upon many that do not deserve them; and I dare swear she is poor too, because she hath not enough for those which do.

The Prince permitting him to go no further, with a calm serenity replied, Apronaeus, though your words carry a very bad signification, and must needs be offensive to all Ratio∣nal Beings, which gratefully acknowledging the Fountain from whom they have receiv'd their Essence, cannot be contented to hear the common Father of the world disho∣nourably represented; yet I do not wonder to hear you speak at this Ignorant rate, since I know it is easie for In∣genious Atheists to abuse men of weaker parts, and vent∣ing their thoughts where they dare, (for, God be thanked, Wickedness hath not taken such an universal possession of Humane Nature, neither are all so degenerated from Know∣ledge or apostatiz'd from Truth, that they have the Confi∣dence to doe it every where, but) in some Company which they presume inferiour to themselves in Wit, or it may be admirers of their Excellencies, they endeavour to support the Reputation of their more then ordinary Abilities, by making Proselytes, and impose upon unexperienced Wits with great Boasts of new Philosophy: though their 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Discoveries are usually but two or three of the worst opi∣nions of some old Philosophers, which they have taken out of their Graves, and endeavour'd to revive with such Argu∣ments as have been often answer'd and hiss'd out of the world by the best of Men.

I am glad, replied Apronaeus, that your Princely Mind is so little sensible of those thorny Objections, though you feel how sharp they are by Experience, which do very much trouble others when they only think of them: But go on Generous Prince, and let us see if you can pull 'em out of my Understanding, at least so blunt their points, that they gall not this 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Diaporon. That which you spoke just now, replied the Prince, as it respects me I take but for a Complement; but to the rest, which concerns the Interest of all Good men, I will give an Answer. It is a common thing for people, when they suffer great Afflictions, to talk Atheistically. They speak as if they did not think that there is any God, because they fancy themselves to be little beholden to him; and sometimes they wish there were none, and yet think that they are justified in their Impiety, because he useth them, as they say, very hardly. Therefore, Apronaeus, I would not have you put your Objection of Suf∣fering, so carelesly as to hope to infer a denial of Providence from Good mens Afflictions: for let men be what they will, they think themselves too good to be punished; and let their Castigations be never so justly moderated, they judge them too great for them. If a young man die which possibly hath sinn'd away his Life, he cries out, O cruel Fate! why dost thou destroy me before my time? If a mother lose a Child, which perhaps her own indiscretion kill'd, then you shall hear, O unjust Stars! why do you rob me? For Stars or any thing else is God or the Devil, when they think themselves hurt. So that you may perceive, Apro∣naeus, that the common Original of these Complaints is a foolish Passion joyn'd with an Imperious Prides and that most Plaintiffs in this case labour not only under a defect of just Patience, but are troubled also with a shortness of Dis∣course. What? must God be bound to please men al∣wayes, lest they in a Fit of angry Grief deny his Govern∣ment by way of Revenge; or, which is as bad, accuse it of injust Severity? Is he so inconsiderable, that he is obliged to attend us with an officious care; and are we so great, that he must be afraid lest he do not please us enough? When

men are pleas'd, there is, yes, there is a God: why then, simple Mortals, and not when you are displeas'd too? You find so much fault in your Calamities, that you conclude they could not have happen'd to you but that there is no God, or else that he Governs not the world as he ought: whereas, if you examine the matter throughly, you will find so much more 〈◊〉〈◊〉 your selves, that you will be forc'd to acknowledge your sufferings Arguments of his Justice whom you foolishly accuse, and bear them as deserv'd Pu∣nishments. But when you are in a Passion, you will nei∣ther confess that you have merited anything, nor be con∣tent that God is not of your mind; no, you will die, and ra∣ther then live any longer, you will kill your selves, and in a scorn be gone out of his Territories, because, as you say, he bestows so little regard upon you. But it is very unlikely that you should escape so; neither is it a thing to be ima∣gin'd, much less believ'd, that God hath no Reserve for Re∣bels, and that he should fail to punish in another world those which have done their utmost to deserve it in this; and it is a 〈◊〉〈◊〉 madness to think that they shall be par∣don'd for breaking Prison.

I have said this, Apronaeus, to let you understand that such as have a mind to complain, do not punctually examine whether it be with just cause or no. But whereas you say it is many times, unjust because Vertuous persons are made miserable, and so urge your Plea against the Divine Provi∣dence; By this I see that you are ignorant of the Nature of Happiness and Misery, and therefore I wonder not that you determine so weakly in this Controversie. You do not only mistake the true notion of Happiness, but suppose it to consist in such things as a good man would think him∣self unhappy if he could not despise them. The Felicity which you fancy, is to be Lord of the Country where you dwell, to live in stately Palaces, to lie upon soft Beds, to drink excellent Wines, to eat nothing but what is Delicate, never to know Labour, to sleep with Musick, not to be con∣troll'd in your Designs, and such like. But, good Apronaeus, will you consider how childish your Attempt is, whilst you

go about to gather up so many things to put a fair Gloss upon Misery, and crust it over with a shew of Happiness? What? must Happiness be patch'd up with so many and such mean Shreds? I thought our Felicity had been compriz'd in one chief Good, and that the satisfaction of the Master∣wish of our Souls was attainable in that single Fruition, and not to be begg'd from a confus'd Multitude of 〈◊〉〈◊〉, which are so poor that they are not able to defend them∣selves from a Wise man's Contempt. The Heaven-born Soul advanceth it self by Rational passions towards God the first Good, whom it knows to be the Spring of Being, the Root of Life, the Father of Wisdom, the Fountain of true Pleasure, and the Haven of Desire. It hastens from all things to him, longing to be illuminated with his Divine Rayes, to partake of his most lovely Disposition, who is the Archetypal patern of all Goodness, infinitely pleas'd with the Contemplation of his Attributes, which are the Notifications of his Nature as far as it is knowable, and ra∣vish'd with the Consideration of his excellent Works, which are Entertainments worthy of the best and most rais'd Minds. Happiness must be plac'd in the Soul, that there it may perfect our Faculties, satisfie all our greater Capaci∣ties, and secure us against the uncertainty of all external De∣pendences. Those Divine Illapses which put us into a Sensation of God by an Intellectual Contact, and give us a lively Sympathy with him in whom we live, make us feel our selves happy, and give us a serene knowledge of him to whom we owe our Being, and fill our Souls with Joy mix'd with Gratitude and Love, unite our Hearts with his Sa∣cred Will by Resignation, make us lodge all our Concerns in his Providence, unto whose Conduct it is then easie to commit whatsoever is dear to us: Then we consecrate all our Actions to his Glory who gave us our Powers, and serve his Designs, both because they are his, and also the best in the World; so that our whole Life becomes one continued endeavour to perpetuate and accomplish this Happiness, we having now but one main Design, which is to begin and end all our Actions in God. The vigorous Motions which

these strong passions raise must needs be terminated in a pro∣gress of endeavour as boundless as our necessity of being eter∣nally Happy is cogent, and the Good which must make us happy is Infinite in sweetness. And though a good man in this world possesseth this Happiness but in part; yet it is an unspeakable Comfort to him to perceive that the power of the Divine Presence with which he converses hath taken off some of the ruder disconformities of his rough Nature, and superinduc'd some beautiful delineations of the Divine Image upon his Soul, which now adorn it with Greatness of Mind, Contempt of the World, true Liberty, pure Tem∣perance, an amiable Meekness, great Humility, vast Chari∣ty, venerable Chastity, the dearest Love of God, and most rais'd Thoughts. Whilst it expatiates in the latitude of its own Compass, it despiseth all little things, taking an un∣speakable pleasure, not only in viewing the fair Proporti∣ons of these Foundations, but in the hopes of equal Super∣structures which in time will be built upon them.

It is the top of true Philosophy, Apronaeus, to shew us our chief Good; for that being rightly constituted, the Di∣rections of our whole Life are 〈◊〉〈◊〉, and our Affecti∣ons setled. And though possibly we should mistake in some little matters by Ignorance; and omit some by Forget∣fulness, and meet others which are not manageable by reason of the innate stubbornness of humane Affairs; yet the con∣sequence is but slight; for we can receive no greater Dam∣mage then the Nature of those things which we have not known, or neglected, or cannot rule, doth necessarily infer. Those which have attain'd to this Felicity are elevated a∣bove common Fears and usual Disappointments: the misapprehension which pinn'd their affections to such small matters being now chas'd away, they are inform'd by Experience that they do as little need those low supports to uphold their Felicity, as they knew long before by Dis∣course their inability to relieve them if they wanted their help. For what man is there that hath consider'd the Nature of things, who doth not know that all Earthly conditions are empty of that true satisfaction which Humane Nature

alwayes wants, sometimes looks for, but never finds in the good things of the material World? Men feed themselves with a vain Hope, which hath its Root only in their own deluded Imaginations, and give glorious Names to Trifles that they may more plausibly deceive themselves; and when they find themselves disappointed, they accuse the World of falshood, though it only breaks the Promises which they themselves made; and then they confess, that though they could well paint the colours of the Flower, yet they could not give it the Vital sent. This hath been told us often by such as have gone before us, but we will not believe them, supposing that such as make the Report either envy us, or have not taken a right course; and thereupon resolve to make a Trial our selves, and then we are forc'd to confirm 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Relation with our own Experience. Wisemen have other seasons to determine them to seek Happiness in God, or else to bid adieu to all Hope: for they see that as the Con∣tentment which is sought otherwhere is but small, so that which they find is uncertain; the most assured course of Humane Life being carried about into various changes by perpetual 〈◊〉〈◊〉; the Earth upon which we dwell being the Stage of Mutation, the proper Region of Vicissitudes. The uncertain Method of these Alterations was formerly call'd Fortune, and represented by a Woman sitting upon a 〈◊〉〈◊〉, not improperly. It's true, some of the fonder sort of Mortals promise themselves stability in their floating Stations, being content to be ignorant as long as they can: but they might as well hope that the Boughs of which their Pavilions are made will never wither, be∣cause they continue Green for a day or two.

But besides this, Apronaeus, I am the more convinc'd of the cheapness of these things which you do so magnifie as to make the want of them Misery, when I see them thrown away upon the worst of men. It is but a Scorn put upon the admired Vanities of this World, when God scatters them with a careless hand, and permits them to the enjoy∣ment of the most despicable Persons. It satisfies me as to the unequal Division of Riches and Power, and I cannot

but conclude they are of no great value, since God concerns himself no more in their Distribution. Shall he be so re∣gardful of Trifles, as to weigh them out by scruples in Gold scales? Shall he partake in the Errours of vulgar Opinions, and trouble himself with the care of making every Good man Rich or Potent? What he slights, why should I esteem?

Here Apronaeus craving leave of the Prince, replied thus; Certainly, Sir, if we receive this Doctrine, we shall be forc'd to believe that this World was made to no purpose. If it be not our Portion, to what end was it created? The Prince answer'd, Be not apt to think that this World was made in vain, Apronaeus, although it is not our Happiness; though we may not make a God of it, yet it serves to ex∣cellent uses: It is a temporary Manifestation of Almighty Goodness and Wisdom in Material things. The Corpo∣real world is an Image of God, and shews what he could doe in Matter. According to the several Possibilities of Re∣ception God hath made his Omnipotence to reach all De∣grees of Being; so this Fabrick doth, as all excellent Ma∣chines do, discover the Worth and Ability of their Maker. I think God is so visibly reveal'd in the Creation, that I may safely pronounce that an Atheist is not only Ingrateful, but a Fool. However God did never intend that we should adore his work instead of Him; and what greater Adorati∣on then to court it as our Happiness?

By this Discourse, said Apronaeus, you seem to have an in∣different sense of those conditions of Life which we think very contrary, and possibly you have arrived at the Stoicall Apathy. No, Apronaeus, replied the Prince; Vertue doth not stupifie Good men, and so make them insensible of the Differences of objects. Though many things are extreme∣ly Ridiculous, and the Accidents of Humane Life in very many Instances contemptible; yet considering our Consti∣tution, I grant that some states of Life are so fram'd that they are a Trial of Resolved men, and it is all the praise which we can give to great Adversity, that it is the exercise of Vertue and the proof of strong Spirits. Man is an

Amphibion, part Soul, and part Body; and as by this means he hath different Capacities, which have divers Objects fitted to them, he is put upon his Trial both by prosperous and adverse entertainments. We are plac'd between sensual Amours and the muddy Delights of the Flesh, on one hand; and the pure Spring of Increated Goodness, and those Cry∣stal streams of Knowledge and Vertue which flow from him, on the other; and we are under the probation of our Wisdom and Ingenuity: and we come off with honour if we hold out in the Combat of Flesh and Spirit, overcome Body with Soul, and subdue Passion with Reason; which we then only doe, if we love the God which hath made all things above his best Creatures. Those who have devoted themselves to sensual Pleasures, have only glutted them∣selves with forbidden Fruit, and are so far from being hap∣py, that they are manifestly overcome with the Spirit of the Sensible World, which in time will Triumph over them, and having reproch'd them for their Folly and Cowardly submissions, at last throw them headlong from the Banks of Time into the vast Horrours of Eternity, where it is not possible for them to hope for a good Reception with God, whom all their life they have slighted for every vain Toy.

Good men are not insensible of what is beneficial to Na∣ture in those things which are miscall'd Happiness, but they know that their chief Advantage lies in a right use of them, which consists in Moderate, Charitable and Thank∣ful Applications. They look upon all created Goodnesses as God's Messengers, and are led by them to God; whilst others mistake'em for God that sent them, with as grosse an Ignorance as if a rude Peasant newly come to the Court should take the first man which he meets there in brave Cloths for the King. By this you may perceive, Apronaeus, that whilst vertuous men are provided of this true Notion of Prosperity, they cannot be ignorant of the Nature of Adversity, or ever be so sensible of any thing which it can doe, as to think that they are made Unhappy by it, unless they should fall into such a want of Discourse, as to esteem

themselves made miserable by the Absence of those things which did not make them happy being present with them. It's true, Adversity changeth the Scene and gives them other Parts to Act, that is, requires them to exercise some other sorts of Vertue then they did before; but the Actors are the same. A good man in Affliction is no more impair'd in point of Felicity, then a strong man is weakned upon a Theatre where he only shews his Strength. If his Suffe∣rings grow extraordinary, he knows that great Trials are necessary to make great Examples; and as he reflects Ho∣nour upon the Cause of his suffering from Innocence, so he derives Consolation into the manner of it from Patience. I have read the Stories of such as have despised no small Afflictions with a Generous 〈◊〉〈◊〉. Archimedes was not so distracted with the extreme dangers of Syracuse, as to make him leave his Figures. Did not Aristides write his own name in one of the Shells of Proscription, and would have done it in another? Did not Cicero rejoyce that he was banish'd from Rome? Shall I admire these and many other Noble Examples, and not imitate them? I am what I was before, Apronaeus; neither can a Prison exclude my Comfort, more then false Accusation hath destroy'd my Integrity. I do not think my self depriv'd of Liberty, for I am not hindred from performing those Actions which I chiefly delighted in before, the Contemplation and Love of God: other Duties are not requir'd, because I have no opportunity to discharge them; but I have the power and will to doe them too when time shall serve. As to the trouble of Adversity, I think it is worthy of me, who have often endeavour'd to comfort others, which is an easie work, now to forbid my self to grieve.

It seems then, said Apronaeus, any Condition is alike to you in point of choice. No, replied the Prince, there is some Difference, though not much: I do so far prefer my former State, that I would not have chosen this; and yet I am not so out of Charity with this, but that I can bid it welcome. The knowledge which I had of the others Un∣certainty made me provide for this long agoe. I should

think my self very Imprudent if I were now to seek for Pa∣tience, since I had observ'd that every man in the World hath great use of it one time or other. So I had seen Ma∣riners carry utensils which were proper only for Storms, though they went to Sea in Fair weather. The Peace of my Soul shines clear within, and is no more clouded with this Disaster, then a Light which is guarded with a thick Lantern upon the stern of a Ship is in danger of being put out with those blustring winds which make a noise about it. You doe well, Great Prince, said Apronaeus, to draw such a fair picture of Misfortune, but you wilfully take no notice of that deep Impression which Affliction makes upon all the rest of the World. I know, replied the Prince, that many look upon it with no other Passion then as if it were the head of some Gorgon. But what then? So I have heard Children cry for Trifles, and have seen a Fool held with a straw, and thought it as impossible to free his foot out of the snare, as if he had been tied with bands of Adamant. Those words signifie little which express nothing but the Imbecillity of vulgar Opinion, i.e. unprofitable Errour. We are not to pass a Judgment upon Truth according to the Suffrages of Fools, nor govern our Affections or Actions by the trivial Sentiments of those whose Ignorance we do commonly despise. I confess that if the Rules by which the Vulgar make Estimations were the Standards of Truth, I should allow it for a great Indecorum, that many times in the Ship in which we sail through this troublesome Sea, Good men are thrust down into the dark Hold, or put to toil at the Pump, whilst base Persons walk at their pleasure upon the Decks, and sometimes sit at the Stern; and I should be tempted to be angry, if I thought the Welcome which they find at the Port to which they are bound were proportion'd according to their usage on ship-board. If our worth were to be judg'd when we come ashore by an outward shew, it may be I should be no more pleas'd with my present condition, then Neptune was when Mercury, rank∣ing the Images of the Gods, put his below that of Anubis, and told him he must not take it ill that the Egyptian

Deity with a Dog's Mouth was preferr'd before him, be∣cause he had a large Golden Nose. Wise men must not be angry to see others advanc'd above them. Either they are better then our selves, or not. If they be, what cause is there of Anger? They deserve it. If they be not, we are equal to them. If they be worse, let us hold our peace and be thankful, we are preferr'd before them.

I might also tell you, Apronaeus, that as Good men are not made unhappy by Adversity, so many of those whom you see afflicted are not Good men, though they seem to be such. They may be bad enough which are so cunning as to conceal it. But no Mask can blind the Divine Eye. If it be unjust to punish Good men, which God doth not; it is unreasonable for bad men to complain, though he do. We ought of no case to make a Judgment against the Ju∣stice of God's proceedings; for though he makes Punish∣ment sufficiently discernable in some Examples, yet he ma∣ny times doth not acquaint us with the Cause why it is in∣flicted.

I am afraid, Good Prince, said Apronaeus, that I shall wea∣ry you with my trifling Objections: if you will pardon my importunity, I will only trouble you with demanding an answer to something which I propounded in the beginning of this Discourse. It may be Good men are happy, as you say; but methinks it were fit that wicked men, if there be any, should be punish'd. For whilst they are in Prosperi∣ty, as I told you before, it is hard to believe that there is any God that cares how things go here. Do you think then that they are not punish'd? replied the Prince. Do you think they are so highly privileg'd in their prosperity? Be∣side what I have said already to prove that the Material World is unable to satisfie the greater Appetites of the Soul, and to shew how uncertain that small pleasure is which men sometimes seem to take in their vain Dreams, there are other Reasons which demonstrate to me that wicked men cannot be happy. God hath interwoven Vexation with their most prosperous Conditions; Inseparable Imper∣fections do constantly molest them, and they are frequent∣ly

assaulted with unexpected Accidents; by which means they are never secure, never at case. I think this but a small matter and common to all which partake of the same e∣states with them. But because they are Wicked, they are for that very Reason Unhappy: Wickedness is its own greatest Punishment, neither can Punishment be so proper∣ly demonstrated as by the Nature of Sin. Reason and Vertue are the Glory of Humane Nature; and as it hath a rare content in the Discourses of Wisdom, so in the perfor∣mance of Actions suitable to Vertue it finds an Acquie∣scence like unto that which things have in their 〈◊〉〈◊〉 place. But he which breaks these Laws, offers violence to the Noblest Principles of his Soul; and they are so inter∣woven with the Essence of it, that he which affronts them, endeavours to degrade himself. Those Repeated Actions which induce Habits of sin, deprave the Soul, and sink it in∣to a base State of Being, sometimes making it to wallow in Mud with brute Beasts, and sometimes throwing it into that fiery Pit where Proud and Wrathful Spirits are tormen∣ted. The Shame that is fasten'd to all wicked Actions shews that they are naturally base. Let a man sin never so pri∣vately, as ravish a Virgin, or rob a Traveller in a Wilder∣ness; though there be no witness to make him blush, yet when he thinks what he hath done, he is sensible of the Nature of Honesty which he hath wrong'd; and the Pre∣varication is odious, because the Law which he hath trans∣gress'd is the transcript of eternal Righteousness written in the Heart of Man by God when he made Humane Na∣ture; and he can have no pleasure to remember that he hath done an Action so disagreeable to Nature. That Sin is its own punishment, is so generally true, that a man can neg∣lect the Rules of Vertue in nothing, but he is weaken'd and debas'd in Soul, or Body, or both.

But left bold Men should slight this Turpitude, and think to make a Compensation for some dislike of them∣selves by the pleasant diversions which Sin allows, God hath made it impossible to be undisturb'd in Wickedness, by reason of the sharp Remorses of an evil Conscience.

If they will sin, this will bear witness, and, if none else do, accuse, and hath Authority to condemn too, and it alwayes sees its Sentence put in Execution. Those which are pu∣nish'd by it, are burnt-with a sullen flame, which torments the Soul as a feverish heat doth the Body. The Sparks of this fire may be hid in Embers, but it cannot be put out. It hath been formerly represented by Furies with burning Torches, and sometimes by the Thespesian Vipers; for a Sin∣ner is ever gnaw'd by his Conscience upon the remem∣brance of an ill-govern'd Life. They are very Ignorant which think there are no pains but such as are Bodily, for the Mind is capable of greater Torments. That which af∣flicts the Flesh is only some present Pain; but the Soul is vex'd with that which is past, with what it feels at present, and with the Fears of that which is to come. It's true, Jolly Sinners doe what they can to make the World believe that they feel no such thing; but how is that possible? We know that Essential Principles are the same in all Men: Wise men of all Religions have acknowledg'd a Conscience to be rooted in the Nature of the Soul, that is, a Power which animadverts upon our Actions, and condemns us for what we doe amiss. This severe Reprover, by blows which Sinners only feel, destroyes that Joy which they promise to themselves in prosperous Wickedness. This makes Murtherers take but little content in those Posses∣sions which they have purchas'd with the Innocent bloud of those whom they have kill'd with the Violation of all Sa∣cred Rights. If Sinners be well, what makes them use so many Arts to palliate their sickness? what makes them so burthensome to themselves when they are alone? what makes them seek so many diversions, but the hope so to drive away this evil spirit which haunts them? Have not Tyrants kill'd or banish'd all Wise and Good men they could reach, left they should have witnesses of their Actions, because their Consciences told them that they were unjustifiable? Have not some Vicious Persons sought Refuge from thinking in perpetual Drunkenness? and o∣thers thrown away their lives, not being able to endure

themselves? I thank God, I abhor desires of Revenge, and I think it is too Cruel to think of those who have wrong'd me without great Pity; but I am assured, though neither God nor Man punish them in this World, they will never be able to pardon themselves.

But I must adde to this which I have named, the Tor∣ment which awaits them in the other World; the fear of that must needs be a great Vexation, as it is an incompara∣ble Pleasure to a good man that he hopes to be happy there. This expectation blasts the Delights of sinners, and makes them but like those Recreations which condemn'd men en∣joy in Prisons, who though they play at Cards or Tables, yet the Ropes about their necks spoil their sport, whilst they continually put them in mind of being hang'd. I grant that Atheists endeavour to blunt the edge of this Argument by a flat denial of Immortality, and would willingly think that they are all dead in the other World, because none ever came to them to give them notice of the contrary: but those faith-worthy stories which report the Appearances of Spi∣rits, and have told us of some that have risen from the Dead, put them many times into such agonies, that they would be glad to be assured of their Annihilation after this Life. When they venture to think seriously (which they dare but seldom doe) they have such an unacceptable re∣membrance of what they have been, and so much assurance, that if there be any happiness afterward, they shall have no share in it, that to comfort themselves they vote That there is nothing after this Life. These suffrages signifie indeed their strong desires, but are no Arguments of a true Opini∣on concerning the Future state; but that uneasie Temper of Soul which makes them wish so proves what I assert, That they are not happy at present.

It may be this is true, replied Apronaeus, and if it be, I con∣fess that those whom you call Wicked are very unhappy; yet it seems still a kind of slur to that Government you speak of, that if they deserve that Punishment, they have it not sooner. It is something which you say of the former sorts of Tormeut which you have mention'd, but they are invi∣sible,

and so little notice is taken of them by others; but if they were hurried to Execution as soon as they sin, it would strike a Terrour upon By-standers: but since Vengeance is so long in coming, they are incourag'd to sin by delay. Good mens Hopes are weaken'd, and they are ready to say, If God neglect his servants, why should they worship him? Justice is blasphem'd, and the Force of Law enervated. If some happen to be struck sooner, it is but as Thunderbolts fall, by chance: And who can imagine but they do? for they often cleave a gallant Oak, and sometimes tear an useful Sail, or kill a harmless Traveller; when those which sin bold∣ly arrive at gray Haires without any considerable Misfor∣tune, and in appearance die peaceably. Poor Apronaeus, said the Prince smiling, what slight devices art thou con∣strain'd to use to support a false plea? Must there be no Providence unless those which sin be presently Condemn'd and immediately Executed? Those which sin are alwayes Condemn'd, and God is so merciful, that he thinks it pu∣nishment enough that for a while they carry their heavy crosses, to which you would have them presently nail'd. He is 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Gracious, that he doth usually respite their irrever∣sible Doom in expectation of Amendment, and so both saves sinners, and teacheth those which look on to imitate his merciful Example. Those which have deserved the blow, fear that he will strike too soon; and shall any be wea∣ry of the Divine Patience which comforts others, because they love to see sinners fall? I must also tell you, Apronaeus, that he is not so gentle as to neglect Justice. God doth make Examples enough in every Age to let all the World see their danger: and though some be spar'd that deserve present Punishment, it is both a Glory to his Forgiveness, that some of those which escape Repent; and if he let many go in 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of their Emendation, may he not as well and much better doe it, then a General decimate his Regiments for a Mutiny of which they are all guilty? God is not enda∣mag'd by delay, those which continue their Rebellion can never get out of his reach; he is not willing to dispeople the Earth by sudden Executions. But because men are apt by

long Impunity to imagine that either they are not obnoxi∣ous, or that none regards what they doe; God many times is forc'd to confute their Imaginations by Great Plagues, Pining Famine, Cruel Wars, to unburthen the Earth of its wicked Load, and takes away such as had too long oppress'd Vertue and supported Wickedness with the most vile Examples: by which means he shews both how unreasonable Sinners are whom no forbearance will re∣claim, and how just he is when he useth severity, because those which suffer it sinn'd so long against one that was loath to punish, and by his Punishments asserts his Provi∣dence. By some words which you have deliver'd, you seem to be willing to think, Apronaeus, that God doth not manage his Justice with Prudence, because he doth not in∣flict all Mulcts upon the persons of sinners. But must this piece of his Goodness also be made an Argument against his Providence? and shall we think he doth punish by chance, because he is mercifully Just? Was it not esteem'd a Favour to the Persians, when their Emperour command∣ed only their Turbans to be beaten? Did the World use to grumble at the Charge of their Sacrifices, when God re∣quir'd only a Beast for a Man? But I spare to urge this any further, because those which are ready to sink must be permitted to catch at Reeds.

Here Apronaeus made such a pause as signified that he had no mind to proceed any further: but Diaporon, craving leave to continue the Discourse, added, I have so great sa∣tisfaction, most Excellent Prince, in your Answers to the Objections which Apronaeus hath made, that I have nothing to renew a Reply; yet other things which he hath not quo∣ted disturb my belief in this Point. For if God be Al∣mightily Good, and Rule this World by an unerring Pru∣dence, how came this Unlucky thing Sin, which 〈◊〉〈◊〉 so much trouble, into it? You say it is Evil, and assert that no∣thing but Good comes from God; whence is it then? What? did some envious Anti-God put this flaw upon his Work? There is no Question, replied the Prince, but Sin is Evil, for nothing else doth properly deserve that name;

and it is as indubitable that the most good God is not the Author of it: and yet to defend his Honour we need not run to that old Fable of Oromasdes and Arimanius, whom the Ancients, not knowing how otherwise to answer the Que∣stion concerning the Original of Evil, set up as two Gods, and made one the Author of Good, and the other of Evil; for this matter is determinable by ascribing Evil to its pro∣per Cause, which will clear the doubt, and reflect no dispa∣ragement upon the All-Good God: Men brought in Evil by the foolish abuse of that Free-will which God had given them. It is the Glory of the Creatour, that he could make such a Noble Automaton as Man, who moves spontane∣ously, and according to an innate Liberty of Election de∣termines himself to his Actions. He put this Liberty into the hands of an Intelligent Creature, whom he both made able to know that which is Good, and fitted his Nature to the Love of it. He made it so much his Interest to be Obedi∣ent, that he promis'd him great Rewards for doing small Duties; unto the performance of which he gave him suffici∣ent Assistance. He told him wherein Evil consisted, fore∣warn'd him of its mischievous Nature, forbad him to in∣troduce it, and by a most rightful Authority threaten'd him severely if he transgress'd the Orders which he had receiv'd. But Man, by a perverse abuse of his Freedom, chuseth that which is worse, will not take pains to distinguish that which is truly Good from that which is so in Appearance only, and so sins.

I thought, replied Diaporon, that as all things receiv'd their Being from God, so they operate only as they are act∣ed by his Power; and that therefore though some things which they doe are not Good, yet since nothing can work without his Assistance, it may be suppos'd that he let Sin∣ners into the World; and though they affront his Authori∣ty, it is not a matter of any great consequence, since they are permitted only as a Dramatist sometimes brings a 〈◊〉〈◊〉 upon the Stage, who abuses the Poet himself. If this be a true accompt of Sin, then it is not a Fault, but rather an Ornament of the Creation. God is a most excellent Dra∣matist,

said the Prince, to keep your own Metaphor, and hath made the World a Noble Representation of his Di∣vine Art; and when he brings Actors upon the Stage, he assignes every one according to his Ability a convenient Part, and commands them to observe the Order which he hath appointed: and if they pronounce the Words which he hath set, and act their Parts according to the Rules which he hath prescrib'd, they doe honour to God, and receive Praise from wise Spectatours, and Rewards from the Au∣thor. But when Man which hath a Poetical Fancy dis∣likes his Part, and changeth that which is given to him by the Variations of his own Wit, or acts that which belongs not to him, he disturbs the Design, and is like one that sings out of Tune in a Musical performance. The Dramatist sees what is done, and, though he stay till the Company are dismiss'd, will be sure to call him to account in the with∣drawing-Room; nay, the Spectatours themselves which know the Poet are much displeas'd that the Fool should put in such disagreeable Parts, knowing they are not of the Au∣thor's Composing, and do often hiss him off the Stage, when he thought to have made good Sport, and some∣times in dislike of the Impertinency go away. Sin in the World is like an ill Lesson play'd upon an Instrument out of Tune. Humane Nature was well strung and exactly tun'd by him that made it: but when men break the strings or play scurvily, it is most absurd to complain of God, the Fountain of Intellectual and Sensible Harmony.

But, Excellent Prince, replied Diaporon, since God could have hindered this Errour, why did he not? If he had not permitted Man to himself, he had not fail'd. What, Dis∣poron, said the Prince, shall not God have leave to make a man, except he be oblig'd also to tie him hand and foot as soon as he hath done? If man have a power to sin and not to sin, shall the unthankful Fool sin, and then rather accuse him who gave him power not to sin, then himself who had not sinn'd but that he abus'd it? Sin is a Voluntary Loss of an excellent Privilege, and is not Originally in the Na∣ture, but in the Action: Nature signifies the same thing,

that is Courtesie and Obligation, whether men use it well or ill. But since God could have prevented it, said Diapo∣ron, and did not, it seems to be better that there should be Sinners then not; and if it be so, what need we take any care what we doe? Certainly, Diaporon, replied the Prince, you are little vers'd in the Nature of Vertue, which cannot consist with Compulsion: For what Vertue is it to doe that which we cannot resist? If Liberty had not been given, there could have been no Vertue; but it was a thing worthy of God to bring Vertue into the World, although at the same time Sin was not made impossible. It's true, God could have made man like a Sempiternal Clock, and hung the heavy weights of Necessity upon all his Faculties, and forc'd all his Motions and Actions; but as our Nature had suffer'd a great prejudice to have been so meanly constitu∣ted, so it had been a great Disparagement to the Creator that he was not able to make a free Agent, and he had left himself but a little room for his Providence: for what great matter of Government is it to keep things in order which are bound up in Chains of Invincible Necessity? The Glory which God would then have had in Ordering the affairs of the Intelligent World would have been but like to that of a Good Clock-keeper.

But by your Argument, Diaporon, if you mind it, we must believe that it were better God had bestow'd no excellent Gifts upon us, if they be capable of any misapplications: and therefore we ought to be sorry that ever we receiv'd the blessing of Reason; for it is well known that many a∣buse it to very unworthy Designs. And so you infer that it is better men had never been Created. See what foolish Consequences you make when you understand not or con∣tradict an Infinite Wisdom. I hope that this makes it ma∣nifest that it is far more Rational that a power of being Ver∣tuous should be bestow'd upon men, then that they should have been wholly depriv'd of that Excellency, though it be not immutably assur'd from possibility of sin, (and for this Reason we ought, contrary to what you said, to take care that we sin not) both in respect of our selves, it being un∣reasonable

because ingrateful, when we have through our own neglect made our selves bad, to accuse God for making us Good; since if it had not been our own fault, we might both have continued so, and have grown better: and in re∣spect of God, to whom it is no prejudice, since his Orders are never so neglected but he can make himself an Amends for the contempt; and it is no small testimony of Provi∣dence, to make a good use of things which fall out unhand∣somely. As he himself is the Author only of Good, so he permits no Evil to be done by others of which he cannot make a profitable improvement. That self-conceited Player 9to use your former Comparison a little longer) which made a disturbance by his own impertinent and foolish Additions, is but a Foil to the excellent Wit of the Poet; for the Spectatours have a Copy of the Play by them, and know that the Author put no such things into his Design: and when he acts that which is prescrib'd, but not as he ought, it makes only to the Disparagement of the Impru∣dent Actor, for all discerning Auditors infinitely excuse the Dramatist from any fault, and blame the Player so much the more, because the part which he acted ill-favouredly was excellent. This is all the Applause which he gains, when by transgressing his Rules he thought to have made an unexpected Sport. Thus God out-wits arrogant Fools: for though he hath granted to Man a free principle by which he is Master of his own Actions; yet if he doe foo∣lishly when he pleaseth himself, it is not to be imagin'd that he hath leave to wander out of the bounds of Providence. It is an honour to us that God hath taken us aboard his Great Vessel, and more, that being there he hath not con∣fin'd us to our Cabbin, but given us leave to walk upon the Decks or below at pleasure: but it were a simple thing to imagine that he would not steer to his Port, or that our in∣considerable Motions should hinder the Course of his Ship, or that he would not punish us ashore or reward us accor∣ding to our Deportment a-shipboard.

But since Vertue is Good, replied Diaporon, and God loves it, and Goodness is the Happiness of Men, and God, as you

say, doth not envy us to be Happy; I think he ought to have found out some way to have made all men Good. You dispute boldly, said the Prince with a smart Accent; and if you made these Pleas in your own Name, I should think you very proud. Good Butter-flie, venture not too near the flame, lest you burn your Wings. Sober men have al∣wayes acknowledg'd that Modesty is no where more ne∣cessary then in divine Inquiries, and that these Speculati∣ons have such bounds set, that none can attempt to pass them with more discretion then venture over Precipices, because God's Understanding is as far beyond ours as his Power transcends all that we can doe. However this I say to your Objection, God hath appointed a way to make men Good, but you do not like it. You would have had a Man made something else then that which he now is. Humane Nature is Good, and therefore God cannot be blamed that made it. But it might have been better, you say. You may doe well to be angry that men are not Gods. But you will doe better to say, since men are Good by God's Gift, and may be better by their own Industry through his assistance, which he is alwayes willing to give; if they be bad, let them not blame God, but themselves. We must not demand what we please of him that ows us nothing; and it is extreme folly, when we have enough, to be discontented because we have not more. What though God could have granted such a privilege to Man that he should not have been capable of being deceiv'd? yet you cannot justly quarrel with him for not doing it, but are bound to return thanks to him for that sufficient know∣ledge of Truth which he hath bestow'd, since God was nei∣ther bound to make us or give us any thing. But you, Diaporon, would have some Method of Melioration which should make men Good whether they will or no, if I may speak so absurdly; and I suppose you have a mind to ask, if you would speak plain, why God doth not shew himself so visibly to men as to make it impossible for them to questi∣on his Being, and why he doth not work Miracles every year to convince Atheists. You care not for Converse with

God, unless you may determine the Manner of it. But you should remember that it is a high favour that we have leave to approch to Almighty God in any way that he will appoint. The Divine Wisdom hath made choice of an Ingenuous Faith as the Foundation of all entercourse with Eternal Truth; and that Principle doth then declare its Nature and Power where sufficient Causes of Belief are gi∣ven, though they are not such as do compell our Assent, or leave no room for Doubt, if men will pertinaciously endea∣vour to cavil against the Truth. Religion ought to have a Prudential Bottom, because it is a Rational Worship of God, and cannot consist except it be supported with Rea∣son; but it hath no such Motives as to force obedience from the most Wicked. If God should appear in his Glory, it would amaze men into belief by sight; and if he should so extort submission from his Creatures, they would have nothing left whereof they could make a free-offering to him.

Let me desire you, Diaporon, to consider what an Indeco∣rum it were to change the Method of Vertue which God hath put. God hath promis'd Happiness to mankind up∣on fair Terms, for he hath made Vertue the common Rode to it, which is smooth and agreeable to our Nature: Is it not then unreasonable, that they should come to the Jour∣ney's end which decline the way? Is it unjust that those who have indispos'd themselves for a happy state, should afterward meet with such things as suit their Disposition? How can they hope to receive a Crown, which never did any thing worthy of it? It is more patience then they de∣serve that God bears with them till they Trifle away 〈◊〉〈◊〉 whole Life, especially having frequently perswaded them to the contrary. Since God pleaseth himself with the Ingenuous converse of some few which love him of choice, he is not to be blamed by such as do not devote their Souls to him; because as he doth an infinite Courtesie to Holy Souls whilst he takes pleasure in them, so he hath highly deserv'd of those which are undone, because they have mis∣plac'd their Affections upon mean Objects.

Here Diaporon replied, But since, Dear Prince, it is our In∣terest to be Good, and God is most Gracious in his Nature, and knows that we are very weak; it seems congruous to those Considerations, that he should have made the Method of our Happiness easier, by taking out of our way those Ten∣tations which sometimes make us sit down, and sometimes lead us aside. Sure, Diaporon, said the Prince, you have a great love to Idleness, or else your Temper is more Cow∣ardly then I imagin'd. Would you have thought it better if God had made us without Faculties? or, since they are bestow'd upon us, do you think it fit they should be use∣less? You find fault with this World, because it is not a Stadium where men receive the Prize which never run for it. If you had not fond Passions, you would not desire that men should be rewarded for doing nothing. Is it a thing worthy of God to bestow Felicity upon such as will doe what they please, and slight the Observation of such Di∣rections as he hath declar'd to be the only Means allow'd for the obtaining that excellent End? You would have God govern the World by such Rules as suppose Men to be scarce anything. How came you to be thus soft? Diaporon. Will you not keep your way when you travell, if another Rode cross it? Will you leave off your thoughts of going Home, because you see handsome Inns by the way? Hath God commanded us any thing but that which is Good? Hath he forbidden us any thing but that which doth us hurt? We may enjoy what pleaseth us so long as it is pro∣fitable: he hath made our Bound only where it is not to our benefit to go further; and shall we be so unthankful and stupid as to call it a Tentation that we have not leave to doe our selves a mischief? If in any thing you take pains, doth not the pleasure of a Vertuous Industry and the great Reward which is promis'd infinitely exceed your small La∣bour? What are you afraid of? Alas! the Rose-bush hath prickles upon it; you are sorry that God hath made any thing that doth bite. Coward, if some things have Teeth, you have Hands and Eyes, can you not look to your self? What would you never go alone, Child? You are troubled

that you have not a perpetual Keeper assign'd to you. This is a foolish objection: God hath made Day in vain for such as are offended with the Light of the Sun, and laid Rewards to small purpose before such as hate Action; and we must needs think that all those do whom every trifling Accident tempts to be Idle.

When the Prince had said these words, he left his Chair, and walk'd up and down the Room: but perceiving a me∣lancholy in Diaporon's Countenance, he ask'd him if he was troubled with any thing which was spoken. No, Excel∣lent Prince, replied Diaporon, but I have some scruples yet, from which, if it were not uncivil, I should be glad to be de∣livered by your gentle hands. Propound them then, said the Prince, and we will discourse walking. Then Diaporon proceeded thus: I should acquiesce in the Reasons which you have alleged concerning the state of Vertue and Vice, but that I am told there is no such Liberty as you have men∣tion'd; in that all things are moved by the Laws of an In∣vincible Necessity, and that all Causes are chain'd to their Effects by such a Fatal Connexion, that no Election, Wit or Power can break the least Link: which if it be true, your fair Discourse concerning Choice is but a pleasant Impo∣sture. Particularly they say, That we are made in our Na∣tures what we are, and determin'd in our Actions to what we doe by the Influences of the Stars, from which also by an inevitable Order we are to expect our Condition of Life for all the time that we are in Being. The Prince replied, To resolve the first part of your Objection, Diaporon, I would have you to consider whether it be likely that Men are no more Authors of their Actions then those Automata which are mov'd with springs of Steel; or whether we do no more deserve blame for Irregular Actions then a Watch ought to be beaten when it goes wrong. When men live Vertuously, are they no more to be prais'd then the Tools of an Artist which have been imploy'd in making an excel∣lent Machine? Did the Hellespont deserve as much to be whipt for breaking the Ships of Xerxes, as a Parricide to suffer Death for Murthering his Father? Or was it as ratio∣nall

in that proud Persian to write Letters to Mount Athos, as for Atossa to have reprov'd her Son for that Folly? What difference can there be between any of the foremention'd Instances, if all things be tied by the Laws of invincible Destiny, and are extrinsecally determin'd to all their Acti∣ons? Those who can swallow such Absurdities need make no scruple of throwing Vertue and Vice out of the World: and indeed by entertaining the foresaid Opinions they are oblig'd to doe it. But God forbid, Diaporon, that you should engage in such monstrous wickednesse.

Let me tell you also, added the Prince, that what you said concerning the Stars is most extravagant. If you can ima∣gine such Fancies to be Credible, you are prepar'd to believe all those Ridiculous Fables which idle Dreamers have re∣ported concerning the Stars. These pretenders to new Principles of knowledge, which scorn the old because they did not invent them, and it may be because their necessary Consequences are altogether unacceptable to their de∣bauch'd Humour, would have us think that by the Motions of the Heavens and various Circumrotations of the Stars a Matter was generated at first, which being spred and sown in the Earth gave a Being to Men. A story of the same Credibility with Lucian's Dendritae, and may pass in the same Rank with the Fable of Deucalion and Pyrrha. If by these omnipotent Influences men became Rational Crea∣tures, I suppose some piercing Effluxes which proceeded from the Bull's Horns boar'd their heads with two holes be∣fore and one of each side, that they might hear and peep through them; and that their Masculine irradiations make Boys, as the Feminine do Girles. To what other Cause should we ascribe the Difference of Sexes? I guess also that from some extraordinary Illapses their Rival Fortune-tel∣lers, the Gypsies, took their Original.

But which will they say, Diaporon, that these potent Stars produce these admirable effects, Ignorantly or Knowingly? If they doe it Ignorantly, we must suppose that they run round like blind Horses tied to a Mill-wheel. But for Ho∣nour sake I suppose they will say that they doe it Knowing∣ly,

and so every Star is an understanding person: and it is no great boldness to affirm that, for some old doting Nati∣ons made them Gods, and bestow'd, as it was fit, divine Worship upon them, as they did also upon every Earthly Being which was beneficial to them, committing not only stupid Idolatry, but ingrateful Sacrilege; for they robb'd the Master of his Honour to give it to his Vassals. We may now easily imagine what other rare feats these know∣ing Stars do perform: Certainly the Sun and Moon, no mean persons, have excellent Discourses when they talk to∣gether in their Conjunctions. The Turks (those grand Masters of Learning) have inform'd us that they lie toge∣ther in the Eclipses, and beget Stars. A fair solution of the Phaenomenon of new Stars which are sometimes observ'd by Astronomers. The Sun is Hot, and therefore every Night goes to bed in the cool waters of the Atlantick Ocean, and makes oblique Motions toward the Tropicks to refresh himself at the Fountains of Cold, the Poles; and by his nearer approches visits one of them in Summer, and the o∣ther in Winter, left they should take his too-long absence unkindly, for they are very sensible, especially of Civilities. It is very likely that the Moon is the Sun's Wife, and that with his leave she doth sometimes officiously supply his ab∣sence in the Night, left the darken'd Hemisphere should fall out with her Husband. It would trouble us to guesse what these living Creatures do feed upon, for they must needs be hungry and thirsty; but that we may remember that the Earth and Sea, not unthankful for the daily Cour∣tefies which they receive from them, do continually exhale Tributary Vapours to keep their Benefactours alive.

These are the Great Princes which domineer over this lower World, who by the Sidereal Influences, which are sent down from their high and mighty Powers, do raise Hu∣mane Spirits and Affairs as easily as the full Moon swells a Cat's Eyes. These Potentates dwell in those magnificent Houses which Judicial Astrologers have built for them, founded not much unlike to Castles in the Air. Without question they have an excellent Polity among them, and

the Greater Powers give order to those which are Inferiour, who dare not be disobedient to them whatsoever it costs them. It is manifest, in that poor Diana lost her Temple which was burnt at Ephesus that night when Alexander was born, because she was sent by order of some higher Intelli∣gence to be Olympia's Midwife. These sensible Stars may well be those Wheels upon which the Fates of the World are spun, and accordingly the Circumvolutions of the Hea∣vens must be the Turning of those wheels. I suppose that the Puny Stars may be the Parcae's Spindles, of which they make use when they draw the contemptible Threds of mean Fortunes of short Lives.

It may be, said the Prince, continuing his Discourse, you think me too pleasant in resolving this scruple; but how can I, Diaporon, give any other then Jocular answers to such a Frivolous Doubt? I wonder, if you will have me more serious, how Humane Nature came to be guilty of such a gross Paralogism, as to believe that because the Sun hath a known Influence of Heat, that therefore it hath as many more as men please to assign to it, (some of which are lit∣tles less then Contradictory to each other; for they say it both heats and moistens;) or because the Sun hath some constant operations which are Regular and deprehensible by Reason, therefore we may attribute other 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Effects to it which have no foundation in Observation. Who knows not that the Sun, the eldest Son of Nature and Father of the Day, the Fountain of our Light, and that Ge∣neral Fire which warms all the World, doth accomplish rare things upon our Terrestrial Globe? that it makes the four different Seasons of the Year, in which earthly Bodies are observ'd to suffer very considerable Mutations? In Spring it makes the Herbs to grow, the Plants to Bud, the Trees to Flourish; in Summer it ripens Fruits, and adorns the Earth with Flowers; and in Autumn, having finish'd his Anniversary task with us, having the same work to doe in another place, begins to withdraw, that then also the exhausted Ground may repair its self all Winter with cold and moisture against the next Spring. These are known

effects, and we perceive that they flow from the Access, Abode, and Recess of that assured Influence, Heat: but what is that to those strange Products which have no de∣pendence upon any known Virtue in the Sun, but are as fictitious as those Consequences which Deluders do vari∣ously feign? They have no foundation in Reason, except this be sufficient, that because the Sun is an excellent Instru∣ment, it is a Principal Agent; or rather because it can doe something, it can doe all things, which is to say, because it is a brave Creature, it is a God. I cannot imagine upon what other ground they should assert that the Sun doth create Prophets as well as make the Grass to grow, and be∣stow rare Abilities upon Law-givers, and adorn some great Ministers of Religion with the power of Miracles, as easily as it can melt a Ball of Snow.

It were not difficult to give you, Diaporon, a particular notice of the manifest falshood of those inconsistent Prin∣ciples with which those pretenders to Astrological know∣ledge endeavour to support their Errours with which they would abuse you; but it would be too long at present, and since we shall meet often, I will doe it when you please. I believe by this time you are willing to retire, said the Prince, continuing his Speech to Apronaeus and Diaporon, for we have talk'd a good while; I will only stay you so long as to give you a little Advice, for I perceive you have been conversant with Atheists, who though they dare not speak directly, yet if you examine what they say, you will find that those Arguments which are us'd to traduce the Provi∣dence of God, serve no less to impugn his Being. I pre∣sume the rather to give you a friendly notice of your Dan∣ger, because Atheism is not only stain'd with Ingratitude, but is commonly rooted in a love of Sin, and nourish'd with a desire to live with an unregulated Will. When men have perswaded themselves that there is no Divine Power, to whose Laws they owe an Obedient Regard, they think they may indulge themselves in a Voluptuous Life without controll. They deny the Being of God, lest they should be put to the trouble of giving him holy Worship;

and when they seem to allow a Deity, they confine him to the superaerial Regions, lest being plac'd too near them he should take notice of what they doe here below, and so for fear of being call'd to an account for their enormous prac∣tices, they deny his Providence.

Your Civility, said Diaporon to the Prince, is infinitely obliging; but I hope my Errour, if I be mistaken, is not so dangerous as you pretend. That great Philosopher whom we honour as the Master of our Sect doth not, I confess, ac∣knowledge a Providence; but I suppose it is not only for those Reasons which I have mention'd, but as thinking it is below a God to mind such small things, or that it would be troublesome to his Happiness. It is well known that he confess'd an Eternal and most blessed Being, and affirm'd that he ought to be worshipp'd for the Excellency of his Di∣vine Nature: and as your Reason will not permit you to think that he did not believe a Deity, because he reproch'd the Gods of his Country, against whom he had but too much to say; so I hope your Charity will not let you call him Atheist, although he thought that Divine Being did take no care of this lower World.

I know well, said the Prince, that your Sect doth mag∣nifie Epicurus as the Inventor of Truth and the Architect of Happiness, who having only been honour'd to see what is True, had redeem'd the World from Errour, and declared the Methods of a blessed Life, which before were un∣known: but I know no Reason for any such Encomium, both because a great part of his Philosophy was not his own, and that which he added to what he borrow'd (to say no worse) is altogether Contemptible to Wise men, for he asserted the lowest sorts of bodily pleasure to be the supreme Happiness of Men. This Imputation is not fastned upon him by Ignorance in History, as some of his Admirers would make the World believe; for by those Relations which we find there, we have as much reason to doubt whether he himself were a Temperate Person, as to be assu∣red that his Followers were not. Though Laertius hath spoken in his behalf, and, to vindicate his Reputation, says

that his Scholars did either Ignorantly or Wilfully mistake him; yet his profess'd Disciple and great Admirer Lucian, (who preferr'd him before all other Philosophers, and extoll'd him with the highest words which can be be∣stow'd upon a Man) comparing him with Aristippus and De∣mocritus his Masters, says, that he exceeded them both in Im∣piety and Luxury. And we know that Cicero, an Author more Faith-worthy then Laertius, objected to one of Epicu∣rus his friends his unworthy Definition of Happiness, quo∣ting it in his own words, and reproching the sense of it, asserts that Epicurus did acknowledge no Happiness distinct from soft and obscene Pleasures, of which he us'd to dis∣course by Name without blushing. He reports also con∣cerning Metrodorus, who was Epicurus his most intimate Companion, that he did scornfully disdain his brother Ti∣mocrates, because he made a doubt whether all things which belong to a happy Life are to be measur'd by the Belly, and offer'd to shew Velleius his books if he question'd the Alle∣gation. His Garden was not shut against Whores; Leor∣tium was the chief, famous for her bold writing against Theophrastus, and who cast a sufficient disparagement of im∣potent Lust upon Epicurus, even when he was grown old, in a Letter which she wrote to Lamia, yet extant.

But this is not a matter which I care to contend for, whether Epicurus was so Voluptuous as these report him to have been, or to shew that his Followers were egregiously dissolute, which is not disputed; but to prove that his Prin∣ciples did so dispose men to Vice, that he said most truly who long ago asserted, Let those which would be Excessive∣ly Intemperate, prepare themselves to enjoy their desire by embracing the Epicurean Philosophy.

It is strange to me that Epicurus should be so magnified for his Philosophy, since (as I said before) the greatest part of it is not his: He took the best Flowers in his Garden from Democritus, without asking his leave, neither did he give him thanks for them afterward. It is a blur upon him upon Record, that he did also ingratefully throw mud and stones into that Well from whence he water'd his Gar∣den.

But I chiefly blame him for those Doctrines which are by his own Sect assign'd to him as his proper Opinions, some of which you have repeated; for by them all he de∣prav'd the Philosophy of Democritus, expos'd Humane Na∣ture as a Prey to Licentiousness, expresly denied God's Provi∣dence, and only Ironically acknowledged a Deity, and so undermin'd Religion.

That he debas'd Humane Nature, is prov'd already; for what can be more unworthy of a Man, then to use his Reason to make him more perfectly a Beast? That the Extirpation of all Religious Observance of God was his Design, is manifest both by the acknowledgment of his greatest Disciples, and by the nature of his Discourse. Velleius, extoll'd by his Contemporaries as equal to any of Epicurus his Scholars that were Greeks, and preferr'd before all the Romans, em∣brac'd his Principles being afraid of that Omniscient God which other Sects put as a perpetual Observer of Humane Actions, to whose Judgment he was not willing to be ob∣noxious for what he said or did. He did rationally hope for exemption from these fears in the School of Epicurus; for Lucretius, who took the pains to put his Philosophy in∣to Verses, hath recorded it as his Immortal Glory, that he was the first that ventur'd to set his Face against Heaven, durst disclaim Religion, and brought Arguments against it into the Field of Disputation, which made Devotion trem∣ble and flie out of the Souls of Men, and trampled under his Victorious feet that which durst resist him, and then triumph'd over it. Some, I know, do excuse this attempt with a smooth Interpretation, that he did not engage a∣gainst Religion, but that gross Superstition which was prac∣tis'd by the Sottish part of the Heathen World. If that were all, we should have no reason to find fault, neither would Lucretius have any great cause to boast of his Master's Valour: For the Superstition which he vanquish'd was but a Cowardly thing; and the Gods who were honour'd by it were so Contemptible, that they could not defend themselves nor their worship from the just scorn of Wise men. It was a most miserable Picture of Divinity which

was made up of all the Passions and Vices of the worst of men; and their Religion was proportionable, for it princi∣pally consisted of such Rites and Performances as were Ob∣lations only fit for Devils. But true Religion, which is a Masculine Principle, Rational in its Original, being found∣ed in Knowledge and Justice, and noble in its Products, is affronted by his Arguments. For he not only denies God's Regard of us, for which chiefly we are obliged to acknow∣ledge him with Religious Adoration; but hath given such unworthy Characters of his Eternal Being, which he pre∣tends to own, that he doth rather expose him to Contempt then promote his Worship. Having left his most beauti∣ful Attributes out of his Description, he hath drawn only a wan Image with a few inconsiderable Delineations, such as are to be seen in the first Draughts of a Picture; for which cause, if there had been no other Reason, it was just that his God was anciently derided by the name of Mono∣grammus. What strange kind of God must that needs be which doeth nothing? If he have an Almighty Power, his Omnipotence is bestow'd upon him to no purpose; if he have not, he is Contemptible for his Weakness. He says his Eternal Being is to be worshipt for his Excellent Na∣ture: but how can we believe that he hath an Excellent Na∣ture, who is devoid of the greatest perfection of Being, Goodness? It is the Glory of all brave Natures to be Good, and it is the Lustre of the Divine Majesty that it is the 〈◊〉〈◊〉: But what Goodness is it in that Nature which (as he con∣fesseth) doth delight it self in its own pleasures, and neither did, doth, nor will doe any thing else? It is likely that Men will acknowledge an Idle thing sitting in Heaven with fold∣ed Hands, for a God? Is that a proper signification of his Blessedness, that he hath nothing to doe? Is he worthily praised who is reported to be like those delicate people, who esteem Idleness so great a Felicity, that they would judge themselves unhappy if they had any Employment to at∣tend? Doth he rationally perswade us to worship God who tells us that we were never beholden to him, and that he is resolv'd never to take any care of us, nor doth more

regard our Adorations then if we did blaspheme him? Will the vulgar honour him for a God, whose excellent Na∣ture a Philosopher reprocheth with such base Representati∣ons? Shall not discerning persons conclude that he is an Atheist really, who asserting a Godhead in words, speaks so unworthily of him as to hinder those which heard him from believing what he said? That this was the sense of some of the best of Ancient Philosophers concerning Epicurus his Theology, is evident to such as know Books.

He did prudently to talk of God, for fear of drinking in Socrates his Cup: but he was infinitely below the generous Simplicity of that brave man; for he deliver'd his Opinion plainly, but this declar'd his mind in such slight words, that he discover'd he had form'd no nobler Conceptions of the Immortal Godhead then of the Vulgar Idols, nor equal to those estimations which his Neighbours had of Statues of Stone; but it was sufficient to his purposes, if they serv'd him for an Antidote against the Athenian Poison. I must confess I do not wonder so much at his prevarication, when I see some of his Followers, who pretend to doe honour to God by bestowing Glorious Attributes upon him, slur it by saying they gave him those Titles only as Poets write flat∣teries in a Song.

I have observ'd how variously this sort of men use their Wit to excogitate devices by which they may cast dis-re∣spect upon God, whilst some deny his Being, and others disallow his Providence; some say that God is a Benefa∣ctour to us in that possibly he governs the World, though he did not make it, only orders things which had an eter∣nal Existence from themselves. Those which have read the story of Vaninus, know how little Atheists desire to be believed when they speak any thing in favour of God. This new Notion is no great favour, I confess; but it is the less, because it is incredible. How shall God obtain such a Dominion over that which he did not make? It was ei∣ther given to him, or lent, or else he took it by force, or bought it, or it was pawn'd to him; He came to it by Suc∣cession or Right of Occupancy, or possibly was hired to go∣vern

it for some other. But these are such Impious Vani∣ties, Diaporon, that we cannot imagine they were design'd to any other purpose, but to deprive God of all Title to Creation or Government.

But Epicurus, knowing it was a slur upon the Divine Prudence, if God being acknowledg'd to have made the World, should have left it without Government, bestow'd the honour of Creation upon Democritus his Atoms, by which he hath sufficiently discover'd what he esteem'd to be the Cause of all things; and though, it was Glory enough to his Mock-God to confesse jocularly the Excellency of his Divine Being, and look'd upon it as no small Courtesie that he exempted his Delicacy from the care of any thing but Pleasure, pretending, as you say, that the Government of the World is a thing below the Divine Majesty, or too trouble∣some to his Happiness. These two Allegations might sig∣nifie something more then they do, Diaporon, if we did not know that Ingenious persons want not various pretences to dismiss that Company with which they are not pleas'd. Why should it be below a God to Govern the World? Is it not worthy of a Creatour to overlook those things which he hath made? The Creation was not unworthy of God, and it is no less becoming him to preserve then to make. You may as well say that it is below God to be Good, as to say that he is above a Charitable Regard to his Creatures. The most Benign Father of the Creation doth not abandon the Orphan World to the careless disposal of blind Chance, or to be commanded by the savage Passions and turbu∣lent Humours of exorbitant men, who would soon make it unhabitable to those who are most worthy to live in it; nor doth he despise their Concernments in it, but doth find reasons for his continued Care in his own innate Goodness. The Corporeal World is not contemptible, for it is a visible Image of the Divine Perfections; and whilst God doth or∣der all affairs in it by his Almighty Wisdom, he doth illu∣strate that Glass from which his Glories are reflected. That goodly Machine, the Universe, the regular Motions of the Heavens, the Vicissitudes of Seasons, the alternate

Mutation of Bodies, the safety of the whole System not∣withstanding the rude Clashings of turbulent Matter, and the Symmetry of all the parts preserv'd intire notwithstand∣ing the frequent concurses of contrary Principles, shew not only the power and presence of a Great Mind, but assure us that God pleaseth himself to take care of his Works. Because Goodness is essential to God, he is not wearied with Ingratitude, he makes his Sun to shine upon Atheists. That which was Courtesie at first to the Ignorant, conti∣nues till it grow Mercy to the Unthankful. Selfish Spirits are unacquainted with this Divine perfection, and think all labour lost which is bestow'd upon the Good of others; and, being indigent Souls, stand in need of all that they can doe for themselves. But God is inexhaustible in his Sufficien∣cy and infinite in his Good will, and can supply the Neces∣sities of all his Creatures, expecting no return but what is their Benefit which give it. Why should men phansie this employment below God? For as none is so stupid as not to acknowledge many of his Greater Works to be Excel∣lent, that is, Products of great Skill and vast Power; so those which are but small in bulk testifie as much Art, and are valued proportionably by such as have judgment in things, and they are convinc'd that it was more then a little Skill that made them, since their Composition is so Myste∣rious that it requires a great knowledge to understand it. That many things which seem but mean have no excellent Uses, because the Ignorant know not what they are, is no more just a Consequence, then that a Lute is only fit to car∣ry Ashes, because a poor Woman doth so mis-employ that rare Utensil sometimes for want of a Dust-barrel. Those Imperfect pieces of the Creation, that is, which are so e∣steem'd by undiscerning persons, could no more have been spar'd then little pins can be rejected which hold together the Frame of a curious Watch. It may be we think some things little, because we have conceived our selves to be greater then we are. All things are but small if we com∣pare them with God's Being: but to say that any thing is too little for his Care, is to reproch him for labour ill bestow'd in the making of it.

But whereas you say it is Civil to exempt the Divine Majesty from an Employment so troublesome to his Hap∣piness: It is an Officiousness so far from Civility, that it is the greatest Dishonour imaginable, and shews with what mean Conceptions they have bounded the Divine Power which speak such poor words concerning it. God is an omnipresent Goodness, piercing through all things with his powerful Wisdom with more facility then the Sun can dart Light and Heat through the Air, Water and Earth. A Man, which is no great thing, can govern a Ship amongst raging waves, can guide a Chariot drawn by fierce Horses, can rule an Army consisting of vast Multitudes of valiant Souldiers, and, by the assistance of a little borrow'd pru∣dence, can manage the Affairs of many Kingdoms, and wrap up their principal Concernments in a few thoughts: And shall not he which made Man doe much with Ease as well as he can doe a little with Trouble? Cannot he accom∣plish his Designs without any disturbance, when his Crea∣ture only fails for want of Skill or Power to force the Spi∣rits of those whom he doth govern into Obedience? God needs not to send Scouts into forein Parts for Intelligence, he wants to help to obstruct the Machinations of his Ene∣mies, he can make them destroy one another. He is not distracted with cares, he never suffer'd any Disappoint∣ment. He dwells in the midst of a serene Light, and sees all things at one view, and with a powerfull Hand keeps an indisturb'd Order in his Affairs. This is the Reason of that perfect Consort which is between the Parts of the Creation; and his Government is no more interrupted by some Accidents which seem to Jarre with it, then an Har∣monical Composition is disorder'd with Half-Notes well plac'd. Those Instances of Government wherein the Me∣thods of Prudence or Justice seem to be contradicted, and with which we find fault because we know not how they agree with all parts of his Design, are not more justly blameable then Knee-Timber, without which Ships cannot be built, is to be slighted because it is crooked. So that all the Favour which this Argument made up of a pretence of

Civility doth bestow upon God, is to represent him Igno∣rant, Impotent, or Envious: It must be Weakness or want of Skill, that he cannot govern all things, or want of Good∣ness, that he will not take any care of his works; and he is a Blessed Being in a very unhappy sense, being suppos'd a God, who is defective in any of these Respects.

Here the Prince, resolving to make an end of the present Discourses, concluded thus: As I would not have been wil∣ling to upbraid Epicurus with this Gross Ignorance, since he had not the happiness to look upon things by the light of Divine Revelation, which not many years after his time shin'd upon the deluded World; so I should not have trou∣bled my self nor you, Gentlemen, with so large a Confuta∣tion of this Errour, but that the Method of our Conversa∣tion and the Danger of so great a Mistake requir'd it. I doubt not but you esteem it an extreme folly to retain an Errour which God hath made known, and know that the plea of Antiquity is vainly applied to Falshood, since Truth is more ancient; and that it is an unworthy rudeness not to accept of the notice of Truth, because formerly you have been acquainted with her Enemy.

Thus ended the amicable Dispute between the Prince and his Keepers: but his Arguments so captivated their minds, and his Sweetness had so prevail'd upon their Affe∣ctions, that they wish'd it might consist with their Duty to set him at Liberty, and manifested the humble Respects which they had for him in several Expressions of Sympa∣thy. The Prince, with an Air which signified the sereni∣ty of his Generous Soul, replied; My friends, I am not un∣sensible of Ingenuity wheresoever I find it; but I desire that you would not express your Love to me in any pedantical notion of Pity. The Miserable may be compassionated; but I hope I have given you no 〈◊〉〈◊〉 occasion to reckon me as one of that number. I have many times taken a serious notice of the Afflictions of my friends; but I never us'd such a pity as made me take a share of their grief without lessen∣ing their part. I account that Compassion only worthy of a Man, which is so express'd that it delivers him that

suffers from his Calamity: All else is despicable, because there is no reason that two should be afflicted for one. If you be not, as possibly you are not able to express this sort of Pity, do not trouble me or your selves with vain Affe∣ctions. I know that the Rode which leads to the other World hath so many Varieties of Good and Bad, that when I meet with the worst I do not think my self out of the Way. I have no power to make it all plain, neither have I bargain'd with God to smooth it for me. My mind is fix'd upon the thoughts of my Journey's End, and if I may arrive in God's presence at last, I am much unconcern'd in any thing which may happen till that time. Undeserv'd Dis∣grace, a Father's Suspicion, a close Prison, an immature Death, and that hasten'd by Malice and Falshood, are all Welcome. A Storm doth no hurt which brings a Mariner sooner to his Port, though his Bark sink there, if he save his Lading, where he must have left the Hull however. I speak not these words out of Despair of Restauration, for that is possible enough in it self, and I have no cause to make it improbable, who have Innocence for a Bottom of Hope: I do not think there is any difficulty in the Divine Methods, be∣cause I understand them not, nor do appoint God a time to bestow those Courtesies which I do not absolutely pray that I may receive. Dramatists do usually so lay their Plot, that it is nearest to take effect when it seems to be a lost business. For my own part, I protest I do not desire God should alter the course of his Providence to accommodate my present Condition; neither will I think that any thing falls out amiss, though he permits that which I unjustly suffer from my adversaries not to be rectified in this Life, since I know it will be set in order in another World to my infinite Ad∣vantage. Though I might be troubled at the Mystery of my Affliction, because I am not yet acquainted with the Cause of it, yet I am satisfied in the Wisdom and Justice of the Divine pleasure; and I hope that God, who is the lo∣ver of Truth and patron of Innocence, if he allow no means of my Rescue, will however vindicate my Reputation, by which means my Name will rise again, and live when I am

dead. If I knew the Instruments of my Adversity, I should no more attribute my suffering to them as having any Con∣cern in the principal Design of it, then if I were assured that two Angels did play at Chesse invisibly, I would think that the Knights and Pawns did put themselves from one place to another, because I could not discern the power that mov'd them. So far as I think Grief becomes me, I am sorry for those who, having, as I am afraid, no principles of Action but Ambition and Covertousness, have done me wrong, and engag'd you in an unworthy undertaking.

Here Apronaeus and Diaporon making Excuses for so long a Visit, (but which they would not have liked so well if it had been shorter) took a humble leave of the Prince. Diaporon being very passionate in his desires to deliver one whom he judg'd most unworthy to be a Prisoner, went with Apronaeus to his Lodgings, and beginning to discourse, ask'd him how he liked the Prince's Philosophy, and what he thought of his Deportment. I cannot tell, said Apronaeus, whether I should admire more his Wit or his Patience; but as I plainly perceive that a Prison is no restraint to his gene∣rous Soul, so I am made to believe that Vertue is the Foun∣dation of his Courage, and that there is more Providence in the World then Dogmapornes doth acknowledge. If Vertue be so happy when it is afflicted, I think a Sinner is not safe though he be unpunish'd for a time. However it be, I will endeavour to understand whether it be a Reality or no, since it makes her Lovers so content with all sorts of Fortune. For my part, answer'd Diaporon, setting aside the Dignity of a Prince which God hath bestow'd upon Alethion, I should be glad to be in a worse Condition then he now suffers, so I might but have the experience of that Goodness which possesseth his Soul. Since Wisdom enters not into Mali∣cious minds, I make no doubt but his Soul is the Temple of Innocence. Whilst Diaporon pronounc'd these words, one knock'd at the Door, and when he was come in, told them that he was lately come from Polistherion, where the King was much disturb'd with the news of Aletbion's Death, and that one of Dogmapornes his acquaintance was accus'd for

forging Letters in the Prince's Name, that the King was fallen sick with Grief, and that the Army and City mutter'd some discontented words against 〈◊〉〈◊〉 and Dogmapornes, as the Contrivers of the Prince's Imprisonment. This Relation startled them both; and having desired the Mes∣senger to withdraw, they consulted each other what was fit to be done. I think, said Diaporon, that this is the most intricate Scene of Affairs that ever I beheld in my life. I thought it impossible that Alethion could be suspected, but much more that any should dare to accuse him, and most of all that the King would believe any thing suggested a∣gainst him. I know no reason why any should report him to be dead, unless they meant to kill him; and I can∣not but conclude that if the King be so disturb'd at the false news of his Death, that it hath made him sick, he will be so much more pleas'd with the true Report of his Life, that it will recover his Health. I think it is not only our duty to our Soveraign, to whom we owe all services, but our pru∣dence, not to neglect such a fair opportunity to shew our Loyalty by preserving his only Son. The worst Interpre∣tation that can be made of our Action is, that we endea∣vour'd to put into a Harbour which was not assign'd us, to avoid the danger of a violent Storm; and if any thing hap∣pen contrary to our Expectation, we can suffer nothing dishonourable, having desir'd to perform our Duty, though we saw it full of Hazzard. I am much amaz'd, answer'd Apronaeus, at this strange Accident; since the Prince is re∣ported to be dead who was in my Custody, I may be assu∣red that his friends will look upon me as his Murtherer, especially since one of my Colonels acquaintance is accus'd for writing the Letter for which the Prince is imprison'd. Since the Army and City, by whom the Prince was al∣wayes infinitely belov'd, do concern themselves in his suf∣ferings, I am afraid of the Issue of this dark Affair, and wish with all my Heart that I had not received such a trouble∣some part as I know not how to act. However, Diaporon, I think it is best to follow your advice, by which we shall gain time, and save our selves from sudden Attempts.

But to what Port shall we steer our Course? What we are to doe in this matter, if we can doe any thing, requires speed. You say true, replied Diaporon, we must resolve quickly, lest long Deliberation take from us our power to act. Let us convey the Prince into Theoprepia, which we may effect thus. There is a private Door which leads by a subterranean Passage from the Governour's Lodgings to the River's side: let one of your servants about four a clock this afternoon bring our Horses thither, as if he intended to water them, there we will take Horse, and conduct the Prince first to the Castle of Misopseudes, who is his known friend, where we are sure of safe Repose to night, and from thence we shall easily reach the Borders of Theoprepia. Apro∣naeus lik'd the Contrivance; whereupon they presently re∣turn'd to the Prince, and acquainted him with the Intelli∣gence which they had but then received; and with many protestations of their sincere Intentions reveal'd their desires of his Safety, and told him of the way which they had a∣greed upon to secure his Person, if he pleas'd to accept of their service. The Prince knowing it was better to run any hazzard then to stay where he was, after a short discourse accepted their offer, and went away in a Disguise.

When they had travell'd about two miles, they met a Horseman riding toward them with a very great speed, who knowing Apronaeus, stopt his Horse, and told him that he was sent before by Trisanor, who was not much behind with a Convoy, and brought Misopseudes Prisoner to his Ca∣stle. Whence do they now come? said Apronaeus. From his House, replied the Messenger, where we surpriz'd him this morning about break of day. By whose Order, said Apronaeus, have you perform'd this service? By a warrant sign'd by Antitheus, said the Messenger. When they heard that, Diaporon at the Prince's Command took hold of his bridle, and then dismounted him. Whilst they were delibe∣rating what to doe with him, (for it was not fit that he should go to the Castle and give notice which way they were gone, and his Company was but of uncertain use to them if he went back) Apronaeus desired leave of the Prince

to kill: him but he falling upon his knees and begging his Life, the Prince had but just granted his Petition when the Party which conducted Misopseudes came up. Trisanor rode in a little Charriot, which was attended with two Horsemen upon each side, and gave leave to Misopseudes to sit with him. Apronaeus rode boldly up and kill'd him which drove the Charriot; upon which Trisanor flung himself out of the Coach, and mounting his Horse which was led by one of the Souldiers, gave Misopseudes who was disarm'd in charge to one of his Souldiers, and then a sharp fight be∣gan between the Parties. Trisanor and his men resembled the Deportment of a stout Tigre, which whets valour with rage when she is in danger of being robb'd of her Whelps. The Prince's friends animated their Courage with the worth of the Person who had honoured them to be his Pro∣tectours, and whom they knew to be very able to defend both himself and his Guard; and concluding that it must needs be a grateful service in the beginning of their Trial, if they could also rescue one whom the Prince intirely lov'd, they threw themselves between the Prince and his Enemies. Diaporon made such a sharp pass upon Trisanor, that if he had not avoided it by turning aside, he had been slain at the first encounter: however he lost not his labour, for he kill'd one of the Souldiers who came in to the relief of his Captain, and afterward continued his combate with Trisanor, who being asham'd that he had given ground, redoubled his Vigour in the next Charge. The Prince attacqued him which guarded Misopseudes, and with a Princely boldness said, Traitor, deliver up that Loyal sub∣ject to his Prince; and accompanying his Commands with a blow or two, made them to be obey'd: for the Souldier fell down dead, and the Prince gave his horse to Misopseudes, who was come forth of the Coach, not so much glad of his Liberty as amaz'd to see him that procur'd it. Diaporon had given and receiv'd some wounds from Trisanor, who fought desperately, not so much desiring to save his life, as to sell it at a considerable Rate, and discharg'd a blow upon Diaporon's head which was so far effectual as to astonish him

for a while, but withall broke his sword; and as Diaporon recovering himself was aiming a thrust which would have ended the controversie if it had been prosecuted, the Prince hoping by Trisanor to understand the Affairs of Polistherion, commanded him to hold his hand, whereupon Diaporon ri∣ding close up to him 〈◊〉〈◊〉 him out of his saddle, which be∣ing perceiv'd by the rest, who were four, they fled, taking the way which leads to Misopseudes house.

This Storm being thus blown over, the Prince gave the Charriot to be driven by the Messenger whose Life he had spar'd, who had seiz'd upon the Horses, which, perceiving themselves destitute of a Guide, began to run wildly up and down the Field. They had advanc'd but a little way in their intended Journey, but they were forc'd to return a∣gain to their postures of Defence, and put themselves in or∣der for a new encounter, perceiving six arm'd Horsemen to make all possible haste towards them, whom they suppos'd to come to secure the Captivity of Misopseudes. They were only some of Misopseudes his kinsmen, whom his Lady had procur'd to endeavour the Redemption of her Husband; and as they were going to Charge each other, both found themselves happily mistaken. Misopseudes led the Party, and though they were his friends, they also suppos'd that they saw him, but being much distracted between Wonder and Joy, could neither tell what to say or doe, till Misopseu∣des imagining what doubts possessed their Minds, resolv'd them by crying aloud, Alight, alight, my true friends, your love to me is infinitely 〈◊〉〈◊〉; you doe not receive me, but our Prince. These words were such an Addition to the former unexpected Happiness, that they began to think that they were asleep, and therefore put these strange things together in a Dream which could never be enjoy'd waking. However having the use of their Eyes, and the Prince doing them the Favour to pull off his Vizard, they threw them∣selves from their Horses and ran to perform their Homage. The Prince gave them his hand to kiss, but not without Tears; for he could not conceal the sentiments which he found in his Soul of those Affections which his Friends had for him in his extreme Adversity.

Amongst all these clashes of various occurrences, one thing fell out happily, for Misopseudes his friends kill'd all Trisanor's Souldiers that fled, except one whom they took prisoner, by which means the Prince had a more safe op∣portunity to escape out of the Power of their Enemies. The Prince having now a little more leisure, was willing as he rode along to acquaint Misopseudes and his Companions with the manner of his escape from the Castle of Dogmapor∣nes, and was going to express to them the Obligations which he had from Apronaeus and Diaporon; but the deep Im∣pressions of dutiful Love which were fix'd in his Soul for the King his Father made him first call for Trisanor, by whom he hoped to be inform'd concerning the state of his Father, the Court and Kingdom. Trisanor was now grown so near unto Death with loss of Bloud by reason of many wounds, that he could scarce speak, and only said with a low voice, Anaxagathus is dead, and Antitheus is pro∣claim'd King.

This News as an unexpected Allay took off the lushious Relish of their late good Fortune. Though they did not fully believe what Trisanor reported, yet they had but too many reasons to cause them to believe the truth of that which he said, besides this, that Bad news is seldom false. The Prince's Faith was stronger in this point then that of his Companions, and his passion prevail'd so proportional∣ly, that he was forc'd to give it leave to exhale it self in this exclamation: How unserene are all the Joyes which we pos∣sesse upon Earth! Certainly mortal men are uncapable of pure pleasures. How is every grain of Contentment which we are allow'd in this World blended with a much greater quantity of Sorrow? There is no time so proper for us to expect Affliction as that wherein we think our selves most secur'd against it. We have no confirm'd Peace, but only a short Truce made with Adversity, and that never well kept; for our escape from one mischief is but a short delay that another makes which is design'd to overtake us. But to what purpose do I speak after this manner? we must not refuse what God presents; and since we are yet un∣certain

what his pleasure is, let us placidly await it.

Misopseudes perceiving that the Prince had ended his Dis∣course, continued a Reflexion upon their present estate af∣ter this manner: The afflictive sense which I have of the Condition of Theriagene cannot equal Yours, most Excel∣lent Prince; my presumption is not so bold as to come near such a great Comparison; but it gives precedence to none else: for as my Obligations urge it as the highest Du∣ty which is now possible; so that knowledge which I have of the effects which must needs ensue upon this strange con∣junction of unlucky Accidents doth awaken whatsoever I possesse of pious Affection. But as I am fortified against what may happen with that magnanimity by which your self most concern'd in these Dangers makes your Courage exemplary; so I find all reason to hope, when I consider the strength of those Principles upon which your Felicity was alwayes founded. Who hath not observ'd that in Extraor∣dinary Cases the Design of Providence is laid so intricately, that we may have just occasion to wonder, but none to doubt? It is to me a sufficient Argument that an Almigh∣ty Knowledge attends the Concernments of Good men, because though they are frequently permitted to come near those Pits which their Adversaries have prepar'd for them, yet they seldom fall into them. There are two States in the World, Good and Bad; and when that which is worse hath cunningly contriv'd the destruction of Vertuous per∣sons, whose multiplication is the Welfare of the World, and is assisted in this most unworthy Attempt by vast num∣bers of those who are sworn Vassals to Wickedness, it is a great Testimony of the over-ruling Power of Supreme Goodness, that it is able to make their Designs abortive, when the distance is but small between the Contrivance and the Execution.

We thought, most Dear Prince, that your Life and your Friends Interest in Theriagene must needs be blown up, when a Train was so privately laid against it, and so many hands ready to give Fire to it: but by our mistake we gain this Assurance, That when good men are not successful, it is

not because God is defective in his Care, or wants Ability to assist them; or when the Designs which are made a∣gainst them take effect in part, it is not because he could not have frustrated them totally, but because he gives ground for a time, as prudent Commanders make their men retreat with a seeming Flight, that they may make way for the em∣ployment of their Ambush, and then by a more complete overthrow destroy the vain hopes of such as thought them∣selves Conquerours only because they were deceiv'd. We ought not to be so curious as to the Mode of our Preservati∣on, as to deny God leave to shew his Wisdom when he doth us a Courtesie.

This is all the sense which I have of our Condition; and since we cannot of a sudden put our selves upon Action, it will be requisite that we think of some place where we may deliberate with safety. Whether should we betake our selves? replied the Prince. To Theoprepia, said Misopseudes. I have resolv'd upon it, said the Prince, with Apronaeus and Diaporon, whom I must now and alwayes commend to your Affections as Friends to whom under God I owe my deli∣verance; we have agreed to retire to Theoprepia, where I am sure to be welcome to my good friend Theosebes, whose Kingdom was ever an open Sanctuary to wrong'd Inno∣cence.

Here Philalethes made a pause, and crav'd pardon of Benti∣volio and Amyntor for so tedious a Report, adding this excuse, That it is not easie to make a short story of that which plea∣seth him that tells it. You shall not need to ask forgive∣ness, said Bentivolio, of those which owe you infinite thanks for performing an office which hath taken up much of your Time, and highly oblig'd us both by making us to under∣stand those incomparable Vertues with which your Prince Alethion is accomplish'd, and because you have so fully as∣sur'd us of the safety of his Person, which we esteem as a di∣vine presage of his and Theriagene's Restauration. Noble Travellers, you have express'd a Generous Charity, said Philalethes, in the Compassion which you have entertain'd for a miserable Kingdom; and how rationally your Pity is

bestow'd you will more fully understand, if you can endure to hear any more of our present Condition: but because the Relation is long, I will not begin it till to morrow; and if you please, we will bestow the rest of this Evening in the Gardens and Park which adjoyn to my House; for as I am sure you have travell'd enough to day, so I am afraid I have talk'd too much.

The next day Philalethes conducted his Guests into a Tur∣ret which was upon the top of his House, where in a plea∣sant privacy he continued the Discourse which he had begun concerning Theriagene to this sense: After Dogmapornes ar∣rived at his Castle, and was told that the Prince was gone, he was infinitely confounded; not being so much asto∣nish'd that the Accident was contrary to his Design, as vext that a thing should be possible which he had made so diffi∣cult. At first he endeavour'd to give no credit to those which told him the news, being very unwilling to think that could be true which he most passionately desired to be false: But when he was convinc'd by the testimony of ma∣ny witnesses and the fruitlesness of a diligent search which he made himself, and was inform'd concerning the Manner of the Prince's escape, he was utterly bereaved of that vain Hope with which for a while he smother'd his Passions, and then the Fire pent up in his wrathful mind broke forth in flames of wild Rage, whilst he talk'd after this manner: Though I did not think that there is a God, yet now I see there is a Devil, and that he hath made this Castle his Hell in which he doth torment me; but I will not burn alone. Then he wounded and kill'd some of his Souldiers. Many were not present; for the greater part considering the Cru∣elty of his Temper, and knowing that the Vexation of Disappointment would make him excessively revengeful, without taking any notice whether he punish'd Offendors or Innocents, had withdrawn themselves as soon as they heard of his approch.

Dogmapornes made no long stay here, for knowing that this Accident requir'd new Counsels, and being disenabled to perform the task for which he was sent, he saw that it

was necessary to return speedily, and give notice to Antithe∣us of that which had happen'd. Antitheus was much pleas'd when his servants told him that Dogmapornes was come back, hoping that he had deliver'd him from the fear of his most considerable Adversarie: but when he was come into his presence, perceiving that his Countenance gave no inti∣mation of such news as he expected, What, said he, Dogmapor∣nes, with an angry doubtfulness, is not all well? No, Sir, answer'd Dogmapornes, I am the unhappy Messenger which must let you know that Alethion made an escape from the Castle a day before I came thither. How, said Antitheus, with a great Consternation in his looks, is Alethion got out of our hands? what Mad Fate doth over-rule our Affairs? Had ill Fortune no other time but this assign'd to act her part? It is to no purpose to be angry, but I cannot help it; for the same Chain of perverse Destiny that hath drawn down this Misfortune upon me, doth also pull me along with it into a Confusion of thoughts. However I may hope that as this Accident was unlikely to have happen'd if we consider those things which went before it, so possibly that which is to come after it is as different from this. That invincible Necessity which forceth me to think so, whether it be true or not, makes me also speak after this manner, whether it be wisely or not. But let us go on, Dogmapornes, and make what we can of this unlucky busi∣ness; I mean, let uncontrollable Fate tumble us further down the Hill, or roll us up again. That which hath hap∣pen'd could not have been otherwise, and what is come is not in our power to prevent. Since we have no Freedom to chuse our Actions, it is some comfort that we are not accomptable for what we doe. If that which we aim at be destin'd for us, we shall arrive at it whether we will or no; if it be not, we do but trouble our selves in vain. Since we hope not, why should we despair?

You are startled, Noble friends, added Philalethes, at this Mode of Discourse, but it is not unsuitable to his Princi∣ples; and you will wonder more at the absurdity of his Actions. I will give you a brief accompt of those Rules

by which he pretends to govern his Life, and also tell you the effects which they have produc'd in this poor Kingdom since he put them in Practice. But before I reherse his O∣pinions, which are the most hurtful Extravagancies into which Humane Nature can fall, I will let you know how he became capable of such extraordinary Delusion. He hath a good Natural Wit, but that so over-match'd with Pride, that he is like a little Vessel with a vast Sail and no Ballast; for he looks upon himself as one born to govern all the World, and boasts that his Stars whom he acknow∣ledgeth for his Creatours have accomplish'd his Body (for a Soul he doth not believe to be in the Nature of things) with such transcendent Vertues, that he is not unfit to be the Illuminatour of Mankind, and declareth frequently that the Universal World is not only obliged to hear him, but to sit at his 〈◊〉〈◊〉 with the lowest Reverence, and receive his Doctrines as the indisputable Commands of a Catho∣lick Dictator in Knowledge, and yield Obedience to his Precepts as proceeding from the great Father of all Art. He wonders that the Ignorant Nations do not flock to him, being the Infallible Oracle by whom Nature is at last pleas'd to speak; and doth often say, That though the present rebellious Age doth not perform their duty, yet he makes no doubt but after-times will understand themselves bet∣ter, and deploring their long Ignorance expunge out of their Souls those Erroneous Principles by which before they misguided their Actions, and keep an anniversary Festival as a solemn Commemoration of him the Redeemer of Knowledge. He esteems all Books, Ancient and Modern, except two or three of his own, but Rhapsodies of such in∣significant words as Mountebanks deliver upon their Stages; and compares those which reade them to the dull Multitude which is abus'd with their impertinent Medi∣cines. He is much displeas'd that the Ancients were born before him and by way of revenge will sometimes say that Pythagoras, Plato, Aristotle, Hippocrates, Plotin, Simplicius, and the rest of that Rank, are but the Names of doting Fools whom the World hath sillily admired; and that Epicurus, and

it may be one more, lived till they began to know some∣thing, but not much, which also by the Malice of Time and the Ignorance of latter Ages is almost lost: but that He hath taken the Ashes of buried Knowledge out of their Urns, and to the joy and wonder of men hath made it live again. It is a great part of his ordinary Discourse to re∣proch the Neotericks; and then he makes use of such a scornful Carriage as if he were switching one of his Lac∣quaies with a Riding-rod, and will protest that those who do not confess that they have learn'd whatsoever they know from him, are proud and ingrateful Dunces; yet sometimes in a better humour he will express a pity for such as do not believe his Opinions, because none can un∣derstand his Books but himself. He esteems Schools the Nests of purblind Owls, where nothing is learn'd but Igno∣rance, and says that the Universities cure the Imperfections of their Disciples after no other manner but as Tinkers mend pots.

It may be you will laugh if I should tell you what he said not long since to one of his Confidents: Nature hath made me her privy-Councellour, and done me the Honour to see her undress'd; a favour bestow'd upon none but my self: She hath led me through all her Territories, and, be∣ing not a little proud of my Company, talk'd with me all the way, and resolv'd me all Questions in Natural Philosophy, Divinity, the Doctrine of Manners, and Rules of Civil Government; hath intrusted me with the Key of her Secrets. She hath shewn me the Pillars upon which Truth is found∣ed, and expos'd to my view the essential Connexions of all things. She hath conducted me with a dark Lantern through the Subterranean Labyrinths of this Earthen Globe, and let me see those hidden Floud-gates by which the Sea steals into the under-ground Rivers, as also the back∣stairs by which they climb up to the tops of Hills where they make Springs. She hath led me into the entrails of the deepest Mines, and shewn me the great Caldrons where Earth is refin'd by Subterranean Fires. She hath walk'd with me through the greatest Seas, and acquainted me with

the whole Nation of Fishes, and leading me round the out∣ward part of the Earth, hath discover'd to me the nature of all things which appear upon the surface of that Globe; hath shewn me the various contextures of different Atoms into several forms of Being, and let me see those strange figures by which the little particles hang together, which other men have not as yet heard named. She hath told me why it was impossible for some things to grow, and how some came to have Sense, and why others are honour'd with Reason, the highest of all Bodily Faculties. After this she carried me through the Air, and acquainted me with all its various Modifications, taught me the doctrine of Vapours by Experiments, let me stand by whilst she gave fire to Thunder, dissolv'd congeal'd Clouds, and squeez'd thick moisture into Rain. Here we sate down upon a Rain∣bow, and she resolv'd all difficulties that arise from the Nature of Matter; told me what Light is, and how Co∣lours are produc'd, and answer'd all Questions that concern Motion. Then she transported me into the AEthereal Re∣gions, and shew'd me the Motion of every Orb without those Artificial Spheres which ordinary Mortals are fain to use, and that to small purpose. She gave me the proper names of the Stars in a Book, and a Catalogue of their di∣stinct Qualities, by which means I can tell the true nature of every particular Influence. At last she let me see the ut∣most Wall by which the World is inclos'd.

Here Bentivolio making an interruption to the Discourse said smiling; I thought, Philalethes, that you would have told us among other things that Antitheus was Complement∣ed by all the Signs in the Zodiack as he rode through the Heavens upon the back of the stately Asse Alborach; and that as he was passing by the Lunar Orb, the Moon, over-joy'd to see this new Endymion, crept into his sleeves to embrace him, and went out in two pieces at his Neck; and that he, by the great Skill which Nature had then taught him, soul∣dred it together again in requital of so great a Civility. But to be more serious; Pray, good Philalethes, acquaint us with some of those deep Mysteries which he pretends to

have learn'd by such a miraculous Method. I know not yet what he hath perform'd, replied Philalethes; but he brags that the Civil World was not known till he discover'd it, having descended from the Mountains of Light, and that the Principles of true Policy are no older then his Books; that he hath rectified the Notion of Religion to the un∣speakable Benefit of the World; that there is nothing worth Observation in the Mathematicks which is not entirely due to him; that he hath reform'd the whole System of Natural Philosophy, and so perfectly discover'd the Impostures of Ethicks, that he hath prov'd the Doctrine of Vertue and Vice to be a mere Fiction, by a new way of Reasoning which he hath invented; in short, that he hath so ad∣vanc'd Mechanical Skill, that the best Artists esteem it their happinesse to become his Apprentices. I beseech you, Philalethes, said Bentivolio, what hath he reveal'd concerning Divinity?

I can more easily give you an accompt of his words, replied Philalethes, then tell you what he would have us believe to be his meaning; for at different times he doth express himself in such contrary Language, that it is difficult to suppose that he hath any resolv'd thoughts concerning God. This Great Phoebus looks at all his Dictates as Oracles, but they are useless to manking till some other Apollo rise up to un∣riddle them: However we see Reason enough to imagine that he did not intend men should increase their Faith of a Deity by reading his Books, because he hath written so ambiguously concerning his Nature. One while he says there are no Beings but Bodies, and that Incorporeall Substance is a term of Contradiction; which would make us think that he believes no God but the Visible World, and that the Sun, Moon and Stars, Men, Beasts and Trees are the Limbs of his great Body; but that at other times he hath been heard to say that God neither is nor can be a Body: for when they consider that these Expressions jarre so horridly that they are incapable of Reconciliation, they are forc'd rather to con∣clude that he is in jest when he mentions God, and useth the name Deity by way of scorn, or for fear of the Fate of Va∣ninus.

For when he wrote his Books, he knew well e∣nough that the Religious acknowledgment of a Supreme Power is so deep impress'd in the Minds of men, that if he had talk'd plainly against Almighty God, some of his more Loyal Creatures would have chastis'd the boldness of his Blasphemy after some such Fashion.

Sometimes he sayes there may possibly be a God, but we are utterly ignorant what he is: that is, that there is something in the World which none can tell what it is, which is God; and that we ought to adore him, that is, doe honour to we know not what. When some much displeas'd with such a dull Assertion have answer'd, That his Attributes are known significations of his Divine Na∣ture, that is, Essential Properties which are manifest by his Works; and urg'd that we have as true a knowledge of God as of any thing else, and behold the Wisdom, Power and Goodness of his Eternal Being reveal'd long since in the Creation of the World, and which do still present them∣selves to the eyes of men in the Preservation and prudent Government of all Created things: He replies, that the foremention'd Attributes may be given to God, but they do not truly expresse what he is more then the Amorous Sonnets of Extravagant Lovers do give a true Character of their Mistresses Persons, and that the Praises which they import do not more properly belong to God then the Flat∣teries of Amoroso's do to their Idols, whom they extoll for Perfections which were never in them. Since some would be apt to call this Atheistical Impiety, he hath endeavour'd to hide it under the plausible Notion of God's Incompre∣hensibility; that is, he would have men such Fools as to believe, that because they cannot comprehend the Immense extent of the Divine Nature, therefore they do not appre∣hend any thing concerning it: as if it were not more easie to find the great Sea then a small River; or as if we could not discern the wide-spread Ocean at all, because we cannot drink it all up with our Eyes.

You will easily suppose, Bentivolio, said Philalethes conti∣nuing his Discourse, that he hath represented Religion as

springing from base Grounds, who hath given such a mise∣rable accompt of the Deity which is to be acknowledg'd by it. If he had not been disaffected towards the Divine Nature, he might easily have found many good Reasons to support his Honour in the World. The chief of those which he hath assign'd are these, Ignorance in the Generali∣ty of Mankind, the Impotent Fear of Superstitious Fools, the Cunning and Hypocrisie of Princes and Priests, and the Influences of some Stars. Thus he pleaseth himself to imagine that the Ignorance which forceth Mankind to frame strange conjectures for want of acquaintance with Ordinary causes, made them suppose that some Invisible Power created the World; and that seeing the Condition of Mortal men is often oppress'd with Poverty, Disgrace, Sickness and Captivity, through an impotent fear of such Misfortunes, though they happen by chance, yet ei∣ther by reason of their own Ignorance, or because they have been told so by others no wiser then themselves, they esteem them Punishments inflicted by an Invisible Power whom they have offended, and to whom out of a slavish pusillanimity they are apt to doe Homage, and appease with Prayers and Sacrifice, that so they may escape Torment. Some have observ'd that in his lucid Intervalls the inbred Notion of a Deity hath forc'd him almost to confess, that there is something in God for which by the Right of his Nature he is to be ador'd; yet he will by no means allow it to be Beneficence, which doth naturally infer Gratitude; but, if there be anything, it is Power, by which he is inabled to doe us a Mischief. Thus he would have men to acknow∣ledge God only for such Reasons as the Devils, because they can doe hurt, are ador'd by the Indians in a dreadful Image arm'd with sharp Teeth and crooked Claws. By this Iron yoke the Heathen world was of old kept in subjection to those Cruel Spirits whom the Hebrews properly nam'd Asmodei, and the Greeks Apollyons, and we, from the Evil which they doe, Devils, the power of their mischievous na∣ture commanding fear by hurtful actions.

Men being naturally under the power of the foremen∣tion'd

Principles, he says that cunning Princes, who with the Assistance of covetous Priests both contrive and alter Religion as it best serves their Designs to awe their People into Obedience, endeavour to make them believe that they receiv'd their Laws from God; telling them that when contagious Sicknesses, cruel Famine, dreadful Earthquakes, or any other extraordinary Misfortunes happen, it is be∣cause God is angry for the neglect of his Rites; teaching them to appease his wrath with expiatory Sacrifices: and when they took notice of obstinate Offenders whom they could not conveniently punish because of their Multitudes; they threatned them with Punishments to be endur'd in the World to come, by which means Melancholick people are affrighted into their Duty.

Besides these Reasons, by which Piety is rather under∣min'd then supported, he says that Mankind is piously af∣fected by certain Stars, and that Religion is diversified ac∣cording to the Variety of Influences which are sent down upon the Earth. He pretends also to know the Complexi∣on of every Star so exactly, that he can declare by what Planet or Conjunction of Stars every distinct Religion is produc'd, and affirms boldly that the Jewish Discipline is from Saturn, the Christians Gospel from Jupiter and Mercury, the Mahumetan Superstition from the Sun and Mars, the Idolatry of the Pagans from the Moon and Mars. It is strange that he deriv'd not Heathenism from Jupiter, since his name was so famous among them; and that Mahume∣tanism should not have taken its Pedigree from the Moon, which would have symboliz'd with the Turkish Arms, the three Crescents; and that neither of them should have been made to hold of Venus, since both are so full of abominable Lusts. However, borrowing a little more canting Igno∣rance of the Astrologers, he sayes that all these Constitutions have been and shall again be afflicted according as there happen any great Conjunctions in those Opposite Tri∣gons which have dominion over their Laws (as for exam∣ple, Aries, Leo and Sagittarius have over Christianity, Gemini, Libra and Aquarius over Judaism;) and that as one Planet

overcomes another with Reason, Craft, Piety, Cruelty or Lasciviousness, Religions alter and succeed one another, as they have done eternally. These are the unworthy Bases upon which he would place Religion, slighting those no∣ble Pillars upon which it was at first erected, God's Right and our Duty. Any man that believeth the Being of God, and confesseth him to be the Creatour of the World, will easily grant that we are obliged in Justice to worship him, and Ingenuity will constrain him thankfully to acknow∣ledge and humbly to adore his Patron and Benefactour. But as Antitheus has stifled the Connate sense of a Deity, which all Nations do confess to be interwoven with the nature of their Souls; so esteeming himself not beholden to God, he suppresseth those great Reasons which make other men Religious, left he should be judg'd Ingrateful.

It may be you desire, proceeded Philalethes, to know by what brave Standard he measures Religion, which he hath disgrac'd with such a mean Original. Antitheus taking no notice of the Law of Nature, or the Gospel of our Saviour, assigns no Rule but the Arbitrary Commands of the Civil Magistrate, and esteems that true Religion in every Country which the Governour thereof prescribes, and approves all for true, though one contradict another, and judgeth him Religious who, because he is commanded, worships the Devil; and says it is no sin for men to prosess Atheism, if they be requir'd to doe it, or to renounce their Saviour, nay, though it be against their Conscience; and teacheth them to excuse the denial which they make in words by thinking otherwise, and gives them liberty to doe it in their interi∣our Cogitations too, if they will, upon this ground, because, as he says, Mens thoughts are not subject to the Commands of God. Thus he hath represented the Saviour of the World as a Rebel for preaching a Gospel which was not au∣thoriz'd by the Roman Emperour; and hath disparag'd the Apostles as seditious Hereticks, because they perswaded the World not to worship Idols. If any thing can be added to that which I have already related, he hath further demon∣strated that small measure of Good will which he hath

to Religion by endeavouring to invalidate those Argu∣ments which assure good men that it proceeded from God, the chief of which are 〈◊〉〈◊〉 and Prophecy. Miracles are Divine Works transcending all ordinary Power of Nature, by which God hath given Testimony to the Doctrine of his Messengers. These he calls only unusual Accidents of Na∣ture, which Ignorant people wonder at; but which Wise men look upon as no great Matters, because they under∣stand their Causes, and because Impostors doe such things by a dexterous application of Natural Causes, or make weak people believe so by 〈◊〉〈◊〉 casts of Legerdemain. He says also that if some things be so strange that they seem to transcend all Power of Nature and all Art of Magioians, yet he which performs these rare Operations is not to be credited unless the Civil Magistrate declare that the Works are Miracles, and that the Person is come from God. By which Argument the World was not obliged to believe in our Saviour, though they saw him cloth'd with Divine Power, commanding the Winds, making raging Seas obe∣dient to his Word, subduing Devils, healing all sorts of Diseases without any natural Medicines, triumphing over Death, both by raising some to life out of their Graves, and rising himself after he had been buried three days, in a word, exercising an absolute Authority upon universal Nature; because Tiberius and his 〈◊〉〈◊〉 did not make his Mira∣cles authentick with their Civil Sanction.

He is so willing to vilifie these great Operations, as Tricks invented by Covetous Artists to get Riches and Ho∣nour, that he will affirm those strange Prodigies which ap∣pear sometimes in the Air, to be either Visions only report∣ed by Princes to have been seen, to amuse their People, or else that they are represented in the Air by Glasses. He says that the Armies which seem to skirmish in the Air are only Images of Souldiers at Land or Sea reflected from one cloud to another, and multiplied as shadows are ordinarily by divers Looking-glasses; and when no Armies are near the places where these Apparitions are seen, he says they are brought from remote parts by strong Winds. Some∣times

he fancies that men form these Shapes upon thick Vapours which swim in the Air by the power of Imagina∣tion, as women make marks upon the Embryo's in their Womb; or else that the Celestial Intelligences which move the Orbs imprint those shapes in their own Bodies, which are extended much like to Skins of Parchment, and in these men seem to foresee future Events by painted Schemes. Thus he makes Miracles things of no greater wonder then an Ignis Fatuus, and Ignorant Superstition the only Reason of that Faith which is produc'd by them.

Prophecy in his Opinion is no better Assurance: for he esteems Prophetick Visions only as Dreams of phrenetick men, that thought they convers'd with Angels when they talk'd only with their own Shadows; and says, that God's speaking to them in Dreams is no more but that they dream∣ed that God spoke to them. Because sometimes things seem to be foretold, he ascribes the power of Prediction to pro∣phetick Vapours which some parts of the earth exhale in some certain seasons, and that those Inspirations enabled the Ministers of Apollo to give Oracles at Delphos, and forc'd the Pythian Girles to sing ecstatick Verses.

These being the chief Reasons which we have to believe what God hath said, and to doe what he hath command∣ed; you may easily suppose that he esteems the Primitive Martyrs Egregious Fools, and their Noble Deaths only ef∣fects of potent Imagination, which they suffered either through a great desire of Honour, or were forc'd to it by the strength of Hypochondriack Humours, and that except the Applause of their Sect they perish'd as trivially as a wild Indian, who will die rather then not Worship his Pagod. Thus that Passive Obedience, which for many Ages was perform'd with so much humble submission, that it was manifest to all beholders to be no obstinate Humour, and by such vast multitudes, that it prov'd it self to be no Re∣bellious Design when they could not comply with unlaw∣ful Commands, which was the ancient Glory of Christia∣nity, and made it flourish under the most sharp persecuti∣ons, is by him disparag'd as at the best but an Honest Foole∣ry.

You will not wonder at all, if after all this he expound any great point of Faith into a Trifle. The Resurrection he esteems only a Recovery from some Apoplectical Dis∣temper; to raise a man from the Dead is only to awaken him out of a Lethargical sleep, or to cure one that is sick of an Epilepsie. The Apparitions of men that have been bu∣ried, as he says, are only some Vapours extracted out of their Graves by the Stars, which represent the shapes which they had when they were alive: The potent Stars collecting it seems Vapours out of their cloths too, for they appear many times in the same Habit which they us'd to wear. But it is easie for him to swallow such small matters, who esteems Angels in general but Phantasms or wild Imaginations of sick Brains, and by Good Angels would have us to under∣stand nothing but our Friends, such as are of our Opinion, observe our Humour, or applaud what we say: So an Archangel is a Parasite, or a Carrier which brings good news in a Letter. Departed Souls he interprets Shadows, that is, such as fall from our Bodies when we walk in the Sun; and says that the Anguish which is call'd Remorse of Conscience is inflicted by those, and that they are the most proper Ministers of that punishment, because they must needs be conscious to all our Mis-doings, having accompa∣nied us in all places. Devils he reputes either Fictions of terrified Souls, which hurt only such as make them by their own Fears; or else Wicked men, that is, such as are not of our Mind; and sometimes any thing which hurts us, as Disea∣ses. Sometime he says he could be more content to be∣lieve that there are Angels in the received sense, but that the Assertours of that Doctrine do not allow Angellesses. He doth not value Eternal Blessedness, esteeming the Beati∣fick Vision an unintelligible Notion; and instead of a clearer knowledge of God, and all things accompanied with an in∣comparable Joy, he says the Kingdom of Heaven signifies only a state of Civil Government, like to that which the Jews had before they made Saul their King. He tells us that the Souls of Good men do not ascend into Heaven or enjoy any knowledge, but die with the Body, but that they

shall rise again, and then be as Adam was before he sinn'd. He under stands by the pains of Hell, that Wicked men shall die as others do, and lie without any sense in the Grave till the day of Judgment, and when they rise again shall be tor∣mented by seeing themselves more unhappy then others, that is, they shall be forc'd to eat, drink, marry and beget Children, as they did before, and then die again.

Here 〈◊〉〈◊〉 made a pause, and begg'd pardon for the Length of his Narration in these words: I am afraid, Benti∣volio and Amyntor, that I have wearied you both with a prolix Story of Antitheus his Theology; but as I hope that Obedi∣ence to your Commands will serve for an Excuse of my of∣fence, so I make no doubt but that though the matter of my Discourse hath been displeasing, because it gives notice of a Wicked 〈◊〉〈◊〉; yet it is the less considerable, because that which is design'd is impossible. For though the Engine which I have describ'd be fram'd with an Intention to throw Religion off the Hinges; yet it is no more able to doe it, then to pull Humane Nature up by the Roots.

You might have spar'd this excuse, Philalethes, said Bentivo∣lio, but that you can omit nothing in your Conversation which you judge Civil; but if your own Weariness be not the true meaning of your Complement, we desire to be ac∣quainted with some few of those Principles by which 〈◊〉〈◊〉 pretends to have glorified Natural Philosophy. It is but a small labour, answer'd Philalethes, and if it were grea∣ter I should willingly undertake it at your Command. Anti∣theus, to make the foremention'd Engine more strong, hath fortified it with some assistances which he pretends to have receiv'd from Natural Philosophy, though indeed they are only a few false Opinions which he had bestow'd upon it in hope to borrow them as he should have occasion to use them; that is, to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Philosophy to serve his Design against Theology: turning the sound Principles of sober Discourses into bold Paradoxes, and fitting extravagant Fancies, which are apt to take with vain Souls, not only to oppose true Notions, but to lay Foundations of Atheism in his Disciples minds; at once endeavouring to supplant

true Reason in those whom he teacheth to misunderstand Nature, and to disserve God's Interest with such as know not the difference between Jargon and Philosophy. One of his Fundamental Notions is, That the World was made by a fortuitous concourse of stragling Atoms, or, in plainer Terms, that it is Eternal, and was alwayes such as it is now, or not much unlike to it; the common Principles of all things which did eternally exist of themselves, being often 〈◊〉〈◊〉 into feveral Forms by a continued succession of va∣rious Motions. By which Artifice all Dependance upon a Deity is rejected, and the World instructed to acknowledge no first Cause. For he was afraid that if he should con∣fess that the World was not Eternal, he would also be forc'd to acknowledge that the Supreme Deity determin'd it to begin at his pleasure. The World thus constituted he calls Nature, and sometimes dignifies it with the Name of God; not meaning that Omnipotent Wisdom, which being di∣stinguish'd from all created Beings derives from himself to them what they are in their particular kinds; but the Na∣ture of things connex'd by several Links of Essence which make the World to be what it is: which is but a more dull Expression of the Doctrine of Atoms, and depends upon the Ignorance of this Truth, that Nature is God's Work, that is, the Method of Divine Art plac'd in the Essences of things, by which they are led orderly to their particular Ends, and so is only the effect of his All powerful Good∣ness, or the proper Nature which he hath bestow'd upon everything.

He looks upon Incorporeal substances (as I told you be∣fore) as things to be hiss'd out of the consideration of Phi∣losophers; and in correspondence with that brave suppositi∣on asserts, That the Soul is nothing distinct from the Body, but only a few Atoms put together by chance in a certain Order; and that Death is a dissolution of that Contexture, and a Resolution of the Soul into small particles of fine Dust. But because of some who have diligently consider'd those rare Operations in which Humane Nature doth ma∣nifest it self to be some better thing, he says that all those

Acts are capable of explication by Corporeal Motion. He affirms Sense to be nothing but the local Motion of certain parts in the Body, and that Motion, and Sensation which is the Perception of Motion, are both one; that is, a Bell hears it self sound. He defines Reason to be only a Motion of the exteriour Organs of the Body caused by an Impression of the Object, and propagated by a succession of Agitati∣ons to the inward parts; that is, the In-side of a Base-viol is made to understand Musick by him that draws a Bow over the strings which are fastned upon the Out-side, and is a Li∣ving creature all the while it is play'd upon: poor Musi∣cians never dreaming that they have such a power bestow'd upon them, that their Instruments understand Musick as well as they; and not believing that the Trees or Stones did ever dance after any Harper, though some Poets have said so. Thus as he would have the Constitution of the World understood without a God, so he would have all the Phaenomena of Humane Nature explain'd without a Soul, that so Men may be free, if they please, to live like brute Beasts, to whom by his Argument they are not Superiour. The best notion which he can bestow upon the Soul is but a Vivacious Habit of Body, or the local Motion of some particles, and the Beasts have that; and Life possibly is an Harmonical Wind, such as is convey'd by Bellows through the Pipes of Organs, whom we may suppose to live as long as they breathe. Discourse is nothing with him but Mo∣tion with Reaction, of which a Lute-string is equally capa∣ble with any Man. He obliterates all Connate Idea's of God by which Excellent persons think themselves inabled to converse with the Divine Nature, as the Eye being re∣plenish'd with a Crystalline Humour is made capable of seeing the Sun. Thus Men are represented as no more fitted for Religion then Beasts. But as his Doctrine rai∣seth Wood and Stones to the same pitch of Sense with Hu∣mane Nature, it is but a small matter for him to depress it to the same Level with Beasts, either in Excellency of Knowledge or Capacity of Religion. It is consequent to this That the Soul is Mortal: How should it be otherwise,

being but Motion. when that ceaseth, it dies. And con∣sidering that many believe otherwise, he adds, that the Im∣mortality of separate Souls is only a Window open'd into the dark Region of Eternal Torments by such as have been fool'd with the Demonology of the Greeks.

I perceive you are cloy'd with his Natural Philosophy, and therefore I will set no more of it before you, but give you a taste of his Ethicks. But doth he acknowledge any such thing as Vertue? said Bentivolio. You may well make a Question of that, replied Philalethes, by what I have re∣ported; but I will tell you what he says, and then you may judge. He asserts that in the Natural state of Humanity all things are indifferent, that nothing is absolutely Good or Evil, and that no common Rule of Good and Evil can be taken from the nature of the Objects themselves; but all things are to be measur'd by mens Appetites, which have the only Power to make whatsoever pleaseth them Good. He supposes men in the state of Nature to be a company of Licentious People stragling up and down the surface of the Earth without any Law, obnoxious to no Authority, incapable of Sin, both because there are no Eternal Rules of Good and Evil, of which the best Philosophers have be∣lieved the Law of Nature written upon our Hearts to be a Transcript, and because no positive Commands were given to them; for from whom should they receive them who were their own Lords? He says that the World had never been troubled with those useless Notions of Vertue and Vice, but that some proud Ignoramus introduc'd them up∣on an arrogant Supposition that men have Liberty of Will, that is, a free Principle of Action; whenas by his words all the Freedom that they have is, that they do not see that they have none; mens Wills being, like other things, extrin∣secally determin'd: Hence he infers that either there is no Sin, or that God is the Author of it, who doth not only help us to Act, but force us to Will; teaching the vilest Persons to excuse their worst Actions by accusing those causes which with irresistible sorce necessitate them to operate as they do. Thus Deliberation is rendred as a great Foolery,

and a Horse made as capable of Honesty as a Man, and a Stone as either of them. Conscience, which the Good, men of all Ages have ever rever'd as an in-dwelling God, is despis'd by him as an Idol made by false Imagination. Blame is reckon'd but a signification of Displeasure, not the Imputation of a Fault. His new Gospel hath abolisht in∣genuous Shame, and says that those whom we call our first Parents had no troublesome resentment of their Eating the Forbidden Fruit as a Crime, but express'd a little Anger a∣gainst God for not making them with their Cloths on: as if they had been blind, and did not see their skins before they broke their Creator's Orders; or had no reason to blush when through an ingrateful Carelesness they devested themselves of the Innocence with which he indu'd them, by doing what he had prohibited. Thus he hath extermi∣nated Sorrow for unworthy Actions, which in sinners be∣gins the Practice of Repentance; and made humble Prayers, by which all the World doth express a Dependance upon God, as impertinent as if we should make an Oration to the Sun to day to perswade it to rise to morrow. It's true, sometimes he makes bold with his own Doctrines, and frets at cross Accidents, and says that by reason of great Prudence one man is fitter to give Advice then another, and admits of the Distinction which is made between Counsels and Commands, with many other such like pronuntiations; which being mingled with his assertion of the extrinsecal Pre-determination of all Actions and Events, are Argu∣ments against the Liberty of the Will, compos'd much after the manner of those Horns which Mahomet saw upon the heads of some of his Monster-Angels, which, as he says, were made of Snow and Fire.

Mens particular Natures being thus represented, you will expect that he should appoint strange Rules to govern them when they are joyn'd in Society. They would be excellent, if they were proportionable to that great Conceit which he hath of his own Ability in this, kind: for before his time, he saith, the Doctrine of Civil Government was unknown; and that his Prescriptions are far above any

Comparison with what hath been deliver'd by the best Le∣gislatours in the World, in that the better sorts of Beasts have a more prudent Politie then Men, and could promul∣gate better Laws if they would please to speak in such a language as we understand. But some which have consi∣der'd his new Modell affirm it to be only a fictitious sup∣posal of a state of Humanity that never was or will be, and that his several Dictates are useless Consequences drawn from false Principles, and perversly applied to the Conditi∣on of Mankind, which doth not only reject them as imperti∣nent, but abhor them as mischievous to the Nature and Happiness of Men. Some of his Orders suppose men to be Autochthones, Intelligent Mushromes, or else Pre-Ada∣mites born before the Moon upon some Arcadian Hill; others are fitted well enough for the Serpentine Brood of Cadmus, or for a barbarous 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of Men degenerated into Beasts: but they agree not with the nobler state of Mankind, which by the prudent appointment of our great Creatour is derived from our Common Parents Adam and Eve, whose state was never Anarchical, for their Creator was their King; neither were they at any time without Law, for they came not into the World till God had fix'd the Principles of Reason and the Roots of Love in their Natures, and obliged them by bringing them into Being to observe the Laws which he had written upon their Hearts. Their Liberty was not unlimited, for these Laws bounded it; neither could their condition be a state of War, unless they should fight against themselves: for by an universal Law well known to them all they were oblig'd to love their Neighbours as themselves. They have deserv'd all Com∣mendations who, writing upon this Subject, have not only reduc'd the Civil state of men to right Principles, but re∣presented a better to mens consideration then was yet ever seen but in Books; that so the World might meliorate it self by the just imitation of a noble Example: But Antitheus hath so far encourag'd the World to Degenerate, that he hath made the Nature of Men worse in his picture then ever it was in it self. For he hath presented the first state

of Rational Beings as a War of all men against all men; that is, a Commonwealth wherein every man is his Neighbour's Enemy, and in which every one may justly doe what he will; where the use of Force and Fraud is lawful; where every man having a Right to every thing may get Possession of it as he can, by enslaving or destroying not on∣ly what doth hurt him, but also that which he imagines able to annoy him; every man's Appetite being the Rule of what he may desire, and his own Apprehension the sole Judge of the best Means to attain his Ends. He affirms sometimes, and it is correspondent to the foremention'd Principles, that Cain did no wrong to Abel, since he only took out of the way one that was offensive to him; and as it was no Inju∣stice to kill his Brother, so it was but Wisdom to tempt him into the Field that he might have an opportunity fit for his purpose. Antitheus thinks it was no just Reason to move him not to doe it to his Brother because he would not have had his Brother done it to him; and that Cain was punish'd by God unjustly, since he had done nothing but what he could justifie by the Law of his Nature, being to give no accompt of his Brother, no not to God, since he was not his Keeper. He slights the Foundation of Hap∣piness which God had laid in Civil Society, pretending that Reason and Love will not hinder men from doing harm to others. But then he should have put some better Princi∣ples then what we have yet seen, for Fear and Hatred will not doe it; and if he thinks that they are the only means of Self-preservation, it is a weak thought: For though Rea∣son and Love did require men to doe only good to others, yet they did not forbid them to defend themselves against such as should transgress the just bounds of Common Good. But his own Reasons are good enough for him, who supposeth neither Abel to have been Cain's Brother, nor Adam, to have been their Common Father; and so excu∣seth Cain from any Obligation to Fraternal Love, and makes him unaccomptable to Adam, though he depriv'd him of a Son without his leave. By this you may perceive that his Doctrine is not agreeable with the first state of Nature, but

only a false Imagination of his own, and useful nowhere ex∣cept the barbarous Regions of Cyclopia.

Antitheus having bountifully allow'd this strange Liberty to Men in the state of Nature, hath taken what care he can to assure it to them in all states, and let them know that it is incapable of receiving prejudice from any thing, not exclu∣ding those limitations which they themselves shall set to it by voluntary Promises; declaring to them that they are not bound to keep any Covenants made in the state of Na∣ture: and hath added, that no Promises are at any time to be thought inviolable for any Reasons taken from the nature of Honesty, which make them sacred Bonds, since Words are but Wind; but that men ought to perform what they have said for fear of Evil Consequences which may happen upon the breach of their Promises. Men in his Opinion either not being under the force of a Divine Law; or that continuing no longer in force to oblige men to their Duty, then till they have opportunity to neglect it without Dan∣ger from their Neighbours.

These are his Sentiments concerning those mutual Du∣ties which Men owe to one another in general: what his Opinions are concerning them as they are under Govern∣ment, you shall soon know whilst I tell you what Power he assignes to the Magistrate, how he determines the People's Right, and how he takes from them both what he had for∣merly allow'd to them by cross Grants. He hath gratified the Supreme Magistrate with a Power of Creating Good and Evil, and pronounc'd that his Absolute Will is Divine and Humane Law, and would have his People to believe every thing to be Just which he Commands, and that what∣soever he forbids is for that Reason Evil, and that no Laws made by him can be unjust: That Subjects have no Pro∣priety in whatsoever they possesse, and hold their Lives merely at the Will of their Prince, who without doing any injustice may take away the Life or confiscate the Estate of his most innocent Subject; and that all things are his in such an unlimited sense, that if he please he may justly give away or sell the Sovereign Power. Having consider'd

that the Vulgar, which are almost all the World, are easily taken with specious Pretences, he exhorts Princes to learn the Art of Dissimulation, and to esteem it a most necessary part of Royal Accomplishment to be able to Counterfeit all plausible Vertues, especially Piety; that is, prostitute the sacred Notion of a Deity to Worldly Interest: and remem∣bring that so long as men continue Bad, as they do yet, to be truly Good will sometimes prove dangerous; he says they ought to know also how to make a profitable Use of being not Good, though they seem so at all other times: and be∣cause it is accompted a Point of Honour in a Prince to ve∣rifie his Word, he adviseth him, when it is his Interest to break his Promises, to colour the Action with pretences of Urgent Reasons, that the Common people may think he was necessitated to violate his Faith.

At other times reflecting upon that boundless Power which he had bestow'd upon Princes, and fearing that the People would think him guilty of Adulation, and say that he had misinform'd Princes in point of their Right to gratifie their Ambition, he hath made a Compensation for his Er∣rour by granting unreasonable Allowances to Subjects: For, to make the Possession of Royal Power insecure in Princes hands, he hath given the People leave when they can to take it from them; and when they are put to suffer Wounds or Death, though never so justly, he hath authoriz'd them to resist: and lest they should doubt that they are obliged to the contrary, he hath told them that Pacts made in the condition of Nature do not bind; that is, Subjects when they can may absolve themselves from those Oaths by which they have sworn Fealty to the Sovereign Power; and that in all Cases the longest Sword is the true Measure of Right, and the strongest Arm the only Infallible Judge of Wrong.

But I will trouble you no longer, added Philalethes, with the repetition of such Doctrines by which the state of Rea∣sonable Nature is mis-represented and Men unhappily directed, and which would quickly destroy all that Felicity which depends upon Civil Policy, if they were entertain'd

in the World. Here Philalethes ended his Discourse; and as Bentivolio was about to make an Apology for having put him to so much trouble, and to give him thanks that for his and Amyntor's Satisfaction he was willing to spend so much time in the Report of such unacceptable Matters, one of Philalethes his servants whom he had sent to Polisthe∣rion was return'd, and came into the Room to give him no∣tice how things went there. Ha! Kalodulus, said Philale∣thes, I have expected you these two dayes; but it seems your entertainment was so good in Polistherion, that you could not get away suddenly. Polistherion is at this time such an undesirable place, replied his Servant, that if it had not been in Obedience to your Commands, I would not have stay'd there one day. I gave thanks to God a hundred times as I was upon my way home, that you were banish'd from such a forlorn City, which I can compare to nothing but Hell. You dwell in Heaven here, Dear Master, and do singly en∣joy that Happiness which for any thing that I could discern is not to be found in all Polistherion. I met nothing but Discontent wheresoever I came: the Streets are fill'd with Cries, the Houses echo Complaints; the Exchange is spoil'd with Fraud, the Courts are become a prey to Injustice. All Relations have abandon'd those Vertues upon which their mutual Happiness was founded. Fathers have given up all Studies but their Pleasures, and their Children imi∣tate them. What Errours the Women commit I dare not say, but they defend them by the Examples which they re∣ceive from Men. Friends undermine each others Interests, and yet complain against one another. Fidelity is grown so rare, that Masters are insecure as to their Domestick Ser∣vants, and men have as many Adversaries as Neighbours. In short, they live after such a fashion as if Wickedness were licens'd amongst them; but I believe that they will soon grow weary of this false Liberty, and be glad to return to their former state. For Unhappiness seems to have made a perfect Conquest of Polistherion, and having broken those Holy Links of Justice and Love by which Prosperity is 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to Humane Society, doth make them drag one

another with chains of Oppression to suffer the torments of Disorder which they mutually inflict upon those whom they should love and serve.

I will only trouble you further with the hearing of one or two strange Accidents which happen'd whilst I was in Polistherion. I came one Evening (for I durst not be seen in the Day-time, being known to belong to you) where a multitude of People were gathered together; and staying to enquire the Cause, I perceiv'd that a Child was unmerci∣fully expos'd in the Street, and that the Dogs had kill'd it and eaten half of it. The Mother being discover'd to be the Author of this Cruelty, the Father, not a little displeas'd with what was done, was going to have kill'd her, but was interrupted by the coming of a Judge who was returning from the Castle of Antitheus to his own House. He com∣plain'd to this Judge of the barbarous Fact committed by his Wife, and demanded Justice against her. The Judge ask'd if his Wife was the Child's Mother; and the Father an∣swering, Yes, Then, said the Judge, she hath only kill'd her own: but that you have any reason to complain as a Fa∣ther is uncertain, and you do only believe it because former∣ly she told you so; but this is plain, that by the Right of Nature the Dominion over the Infant did belong first to her, because she had it first in her Power: and as to the Child he determin'd, that it was mere Courtesie that she did not kill it sooner, and so went away.

My other story is of a Servant who kill'd his Master, call'd Streblodespotes, who had possess'd his mind with large opinions concerning the extent of his own Authority, and would often say that a Master could doe no Wrong to his Servants, because they are suppos'd by the Nature of their Condition to have subjected their Wills to their Masters Commands without Reserve. The frequent Repetition of such Speeches induc'd one of his Servants, who presum'd to understand his Master's Power better then he himself did, to dispute with one of his fellow-servants concerning the Un∣limitedness of Magisterial Authority, and to urge against it that no Master could justly claim such an absolute Com∣mand;

but that if he requir'd of his Servant any thing which was inconsistent with his Obedience to God or Alle∣giance to his Prince, he might think himself greatly wrong'd, and ought not to doe what was commanded, and yet have a sufficient Warrant for his Disobedience. Stre∣blodespotes being acquainted with this Discourse resolved to kill his Servant; but he understanding his Master's purpose by one whom he had spoken to for his assistance in the Execution of it, ran away to prevent his Danger. One Caco∣dulus, another of his Men, who had as extravagant Princi∣ples for a Servant as Streblodespotes had for a Master, did not only justifie the Prudence of his Fellow-servant that was gone, but protested, if it had been his Case, he would have stay'd and taken another course. How do you prove that to be lawful? said one of Streblodespotes his slaves which stood by. Thus, answer'd Cacodulus; We were taken Captives, and because our Master might have kill'd us if he had pleas'd, we promis'd to serve him whilst we liv'd if he would not put us to death: But since he hath entertain'd us he both makes us perform very hard service, and sometimes puts us in Chains; and therefore I suppose we are free from any Obligation to our Promise. I think so too, said the other slave; and since we have no hopes of Freedom till our Master be dead, let us redeem our selves with his Life. Both agreeing in this Resolution, they watch'd a fit Op∣portunity, and kill'd him. Some, which saw what was done, endeavour'd to apprehend them; they did what they could to defend themselves. Whilst the Contest lasted, a Captain of a Galley happen'd to come by who was a friend to Streblodespotes, and having demanded of the slaves a Rea∣son of their Action, one of them replied, Our Master was in∣finitely severe in his Commands, and said he could doe us no wrong what tasks soever he set us, or what Punishments soever he inflicted, because his Dominion over us was gain'd after the same manner by which Men subdue Beasts; and we thought we might, as soon as we could, re-gain our Liberty, Right according to his own Law depending mere∣ly upon greater Strength. It may be so, said the Captain;

and since I have more Power then you, I will take punish∣ment of you for the Death of my friend; and immediately commanded his Servants to kill them.

Here Philalethes interrupting his Servant, and turning to Bentivolio and Amyntor, said, I did easily foresee that such as these or worse Mischiefs would soon happen under the for∣lorn Government of Antitheus; and ask'd his Servant if he did not see Antitheus. Only once as he pass'd by in a Coach I saw him through the Glass of my Chamber-Window, re∣plied his Servant; for he doth seldom go abroad, and never without a very strong Guard, alwayes fearing lest some of Alethion's friends should stab him. Philalethes ask'd him how he was reported to spend his time. He answer'd, Much after that manner which Sardanapalus us'd in 〈◊〉〈◊〉. Who are his usual Companions? said Philalethes. As I was inform'd I will acquaint you, replied his Servant, for I durst not venture into the Castle. He hath made Pasenantius and Antholkes his Principal Secretaries, Dogmapornes is his Fa∣vorite, Panthnetus is the Steward of his House, Philedones his Treasurer, Asynetus his Chief Justice, Autautus is the Captain of his Guard, and his Brother Proselenus is his Lieutenant: Psychopannyx, Saprobius, and Udemellon are of his Bed-chamber: Medenarete is his Minion, Astromantis with his inseparable Companion Thaumaturgus are his Physicians; Scepticus, Hyp∣sagoras and Antigraphus are generall Buffoons to them all. I hear also that one Hieromimus lately come to town hopes, by the Intercession of Hypsagoras, to be entertain'd by Anti∣theus, and that Anopheles doth much favour him. Gastri∣margus, Cantharus and Aphrodisius are all preferr'd by Philedo∣nes. This is all that I could learn in Polistherion. Philale∣thes said nothing, only shak'd his head, and bade his servant withdraw. When he was gone, Bentivolio desired Philalethes that besides his pardon for their former troublesomeness, he would please to oblige himself and Amyntor with a short Character of the foremention'd Persons, adding, that up∣on the hearing of their odde Names he could not but ima∣gine that they were observable for some singular Qualities.

I shall willingly doe it, said Philalethes. Pasenantius is a man

of a most perverse Disposition, and so is Antholkes: they both take a great delight in contradicting what others assert, and think nothing well said or done but by Antitheus and them∣selves: they are very agreeable to his Humour, because they have a rare faculty in minting new Words and Phrases, of which Antitheus makes no small use; for by expunging all known Terms, he hopes to extinguish all receiv'd Opi∣nions, and to introduce his new Philosophy into the World. But his Expectations have a very weak Foundation; for it is observ'd that after he hath taken much pains to divulge some hidden Mystery in strange Sentences, he hath been found only to have wrapp'd up a Falshood in unusual Terms, or to have obscur'd some common Notion which every Novice understood as soon as he had enter'd the first confines of Study, and could have express'd in better Words. Shall I give you a taste of his Variations by which he hath advanc'd a Philosophical Ignorance? For God, he hath put Nature; for Providence, Chance; for Creation, Eternal Vi∣cissitude; for Prescience, Fate; for Liberty, Omnipotence; for Contingency, Necessity; for Possible, Future; for History, Mystery; for Cruelty, Justice; for Discourse, Contradiction; for Philosopher, Dictator; for Hypocrisie, Wisdom; for Re∣ligion, Mockery; for Theology, Atheism.

Of Dogmapornes you have heard something already, and of his Unworthy Opinions concerning the Divine Providence, in the story of Apronaeus: he hath many more of the same nature, for which, as being very fit to be entertain'd in Bro∣thel-Houses, but worthy to be banish'd from all Civil So∣cieties, because they send down a mischievous influence up∣on Humane Life, he was call'd Dogmapornes. I have often fansied that his Countenance doth very much resemble the Air of the rebellious Giants, and that he is much of that Disposition which did so corrupt the Manners of the old World, that Almighty God was provok'd to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 them with a Deluge. If ever Apostate Angels begot Children upon Lascivious Women, he may well be thought to have come of that Race.

Autautus would have us believe that the World made it,

self, or at least did of it self Eternally exist in loose Atoms, and that after many wild encounters the jumbled particles, as if they were playing at the ancient sport of Oscillation, did at last luckily throw themselves into that infinite num∣ber of rare figures of which this World consists. Proselenus is of the same opinion, and is usually very troublesome to the Company where he happens to be, with strange stories of Men whom he affirms to have been fifty thousand years older then the Moon; and hath fram'd many fabulous Tales of Eve's Great Grand-mother, whose Father, as he says, was call'd Praeadamita. He affirms also, almost in the same words with the Atheist of Florence, that we should have certainly known the Customs and Accidents of the former World, but that a great Deluge happen'd in Adam's time, by which all the Records of the foregoing Ages were destroy'd, and no Persons preserv'd but Adam and his Wife, two Mountainous Shepherds; and that Adam, to gain the Glo∣ry of being reputed the first Father of a new World (a strange Ambition to seize upon the thoughts of a poor Shepherd) agreed with his Wife to conceal the knowledge of that which was destroy'd from their Children: by which means it came to pass, as he guesses, that we have only the notice of about five or six thousand years time; but sup∣poses that Adam's Posterity did find some Remembrances of another State, yet, to support the Honour of their Family, reckon'd them but Fabulous Devices made by some of their Predecessours.

Philedones is one wholly devoted to a Voluptuous Life, of which he hath made choice as his only Happiness, as he saith, merely in Imitation of the Exemplary Vertues of the Epicurean Gods, who rejecting the troublesome Cares of this lower World, doe nothing but feast themselves in Hea∣ven. He was inclin'd to Sensuality by his Natural Com∣plexion; but when he doubted a Man was made for more noble purposes then those of which a Swine is capable, he was confirm'd in his way by two of his Companions, Panthnetus and Udemellon, who made him believe that Men have no Souls, but that as they are born and grow like

Beasts, so they wax old and die as they do, and are not ac∣comptable in another World for what they doe in this. When he put this scruple to them, But what if the Soul should be Immortal? You need not fear that, said they; for if Souls, supposing that there are such things, did not pe∣rish with their Bodies, they would be so thick crowded together in the other World, that some of them would have been glad of the Errand to come and tell Atheists of their Errour, and reprove them for speaking against their Exi∣stence. With such foolish Arguments they have perswaded poor Philedones to believe that all Felicity is in Pleasure, and that only to be measur'd by the Belly; and with the help of Gastrimargus, Cantharus and Aphrodisius, whom he hath made Purveyours for his inordinate Appetites, he is so improv'd in Luxury, that he will not eat without a Deaths-Head hung over the Table, nor drink but in a Priapus, and will have none to present his Ambrosia but a Ganymede. He re∣pents of nothing but the Time which when he was young he lost in serious Studies; and to signifie to the World that he is a real Convert, he hath declar'd that he will have no Remembrance after Death, but a Monument made after the fashion of that Statue which Sardanapalus had at Anchia∣la, and this Epitaph upon his Tomb, HERE LIES ALL PHILEDONES.

Psychopannyx creates his Companions some disturbance, for he contends that the Soul is a substance distinct from the Body, and shall awake again, though it sleep a while in the state of Separation, being not able to live out of the Body: but because he was in some doubt whether the Soul, having snor'd many hundreds or thousands of years with∣out so much as any Dream of Life or Sense, will not after∣wards be unable to know it self again, they were content to take him into their Company as an Honest Heretick: but of late Udemellon hath made him much more acceptable, for, as the only way to make him hope to escape the Punish∣ment of a Wicked Life, he hath perswaded him to be of his Opinion, That there is no Judgment to come, and that the Resurrection is a mere Fable.

Asynetus is one whose part in this Infernal Tragedy is, with a scurrilous boldness to traduce the notion of Con∣science; and he hath acted it so to the Life, that those which have seen him have imagin'd that he hath often stab'd that tender part of his Soul: But some that know his Constituti∣on say, that such a callous Matter is grown round about his heart, that no Dagger will pierce it. He doth teach Men to take off the sense of Sin by committing it often; that is, to contract an Habitual Impenitency by a frequent Repeti∣tion of Wicked Actions, and to rifle the Native Modesty of their Souls, by adding greater Crimes to smaller Sins: herein following the damn'd Example of those Traitours who make it their Excuse for committing the highest Vil∣lanies, that they have already done such as can be defended by no other Means. He hath utterly spoil'd a young Gen∣tleman call'd Saprobius, whom he hath made a miserable Spectacle of a Vicious Life; Sin hath done its utmost upon him, having now left him nothing but a despairing Soul in a putrid Body. I look at him as irrecoverably lost, because he is mortified to all sense of Ingenuous Principles; by which means he hath broken off from himself those Han∣dles by which God doth take hold of us, and seems to have murther'd those friendly Guardians which God hath ap∣pointed to reduce such as think to free themselves from their Obedience by a rebellious Flight.

Medenarete is a She-Philosopher, and so in many respects acceptable to Antitheus. Her Opinions are very conforma∣ble to Saprobius his Practices: She esteems Vertue nothing but Words, Laws the Opinions of Men in Power; She de∣nies that there are any Eternal Rules of Righteousness, which took their Original only from God, or that there are any Indispensable Principles of Good and Evil, or that God hath written any Laws upon Humane Nature in any other sense, but that Vertue and Vice are determinable by the Customs of divers Countries, and Holy Rules variable according to different Fancies of several Ages or Persons: That Religious Constitutions are only founded in the Wills of Princes, and Piety supported by the Credulity of the Ig∣norant

Vulgar, and the Obedience of such as are forc'd to doe what they are commanded. She doth boldly affirm that it is only a Rustick Bashfulness, or else a Cowardly Fear, that hinders Men and Women from saying or doing any thing when they are out of the reach of the Law; and that what is abhorr'd by all the World as most Evil, would become Good if it pleas'd those who have Authority to de∣termine so; and that what is generally embrac'd as natu∣rally Good because it agrees with the Common Principles of all Mankind, would become Evil, and ought to be reject∣ed as Wicked, if the Laws of Men did appoint so. This is that brave Medenarete with whom Antitheus is infinitely inamour'd.

What Astromant is is you may partly guesse by those wild Notions of Fantastical Astrology, of which you have heard something in the Prince's Discourse with Diaporon. His Custom is to tell strange Stories, and to pretend an extraordi∣nary Ability to doe great Matters by reason of his peculiar acquaintance with the Stars; which he esteems the princi∣pal Ability of a Physician, and absolutely necessary to one that hopes to be successful. Thaumaturgus is a Jack-pudding to the Mountebank, and goes along in his Company much∣what with the same Grace that the Monkey doth with the Bears. I will not trouble you with any longer Descripti∣on of him, you will quickly hear of him in Polistherion. Ano∣pheles is an intimate friend of Astromantis: he is wholly ta∣ken up with making of Talismans, i.e. useless Images im∣boss'd or ingraven in Stone, Wood or Metall, under certain Constellations, made to represent some Celestial Planet or Conjunction of Stars; that is, bearing the Figure of those living Creatures which are describ'd in the Heavens, and especially in the Zodiack, which hath its name from them. These being thus compos'd, as he saith, receive a Power from above; for the Stars being much taken with the Re∣semblance of their Figures, send down potent Influences up∣on those small pieces of Stone, Wood or Metall, which they not only retain themselves, but are also able to impart to o∣ther Matters of the same Figure, as to a piece of Clay or Wax

taking an Impression from them. His Talismans thus made doe, as he would make us to believe, in a natural and constant way strange Wonders: as for Example, They drive away Serpents and Rats from Cities, cure those which are bitten by mad Dogs or stung by Scorpions, chase away hurtful Insects out of Fields, as Locusts and Caterpillars, and deliver people from the Pestilence and all Contagions of the Air; nothing of all this depending upon any Conver∣sation with Spirits, which he esteems Fancies.

Thus, as he says, he hath reviv'd the old Art by which the Jews made Teraphims, and the Arabians and Egyptians fram'd Statues according to the Rules of Astrology and Na∣tural Magick, and having fetch'd down the Spirits of the Stars, imprison'd them in these Shrines much after the same manner that Daemons are said to be included in Humane Bo∣dies, by which means their Talismans of Brasse and Stone do move and speak, and resolve those Questions which are propounded to them: I suppose Roger Bacon's Brazen head was some such thing. By this Art the Brachmans, whom we must not think to have been Magicians, made Boys of Brass, which serv'd in their Meat, and fill'd Wine to the Table when they entertain'd Apollonius. It may be that by a Re∣semblance of this rare Philosophy the Laplanders make Iron Frogs, which hop upon a little Drum whose Head is fill'd with many barbarous Characters drawn with bloud, and as they rest upon different Figures enable those which look upon them to divine concerning Wind and Weather, and direct them concerning Fishing and Hunting. Why may not the Laplanders fansy some of the Figures in 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Zodiack to be Frogs, as easily as others can see Fishes there? Who knows but the Piper of Halberstade was of this Profession, and had some Talismans in his Pocket when he drove the Rats into the River and the Boys into the Hill? Thus Nectanabo, a glorious Instance of this Heavenly Skill, made Ships of Wax, no doubt under the Influences of Argo, and then drown'd them, by which means he sunk those of his Enemies; as Witches make Images of wax under some Malignant Aspect, and then prick them with Pins or melt

them, when they would afflict or destroy those persons which are represented by them.

As Experience doth manifest the Truth of these Effects, so he says the Reason is evident from the Nature of Re∣semblance, which draws the Power of the Stars to Bodies which are imprinted with like Figures to themselves; ima∣gining vainly that, because some Inanimate things do bear the Images of others that have Life, that the Figure doth both form the Matter, because Toads are sometimes found in the midst of a firm stone, and give it Operation, because Plants are sometimes Medicinal to that Member of Hu∣mane Bodies which they resemble: not considering that those small particles of Matter which have a Vegetative Power are also endued with a plastick Virtue, by which they form themselves into those Figures which are suitable to their Natures. So the Seminal Atoms which are pre∣serv'd in the Ashes of a Rose in a Glass, are rais'd through the assistance of Fire into the colour and figure which the Flower had before it was reduc'd to Powder. He doth not mind also that many things which are mark'd have no Operation upon those living Creatures to which they are like; and that where they have, it is God's care of our Good, who by these external Signatures hath given us notice of the Virtue which he hath put into the Nature of things: as by the red Drops which are visible in the Stone call'd Heliotropium, he hath shew'd us with what we may stop bloud, and without which Natural power the Figure which he talks of would doe no more good, then soft Butter will stab a man being made up in the Figure of a Dagger. But that which he says concerning their deriving a power from above by the similitude which they have of some Celestial Figure, is most ridiculous; for who knows not, that hath ever look'd upon the face of the Heavens, that the Scorpion in the Zodiack is no more like the Scorpion in the Earth then a Cat; and that the sign call'd Aries resembles a Bull as much as a Ram? And what thing is so different from an∣other, but they will be able to reconcile it in their great Fancy, who imagine the Seven Stars to be a good picture of

a Bear? So a Jewish Astrologer pretending to reade the Destinies of Kingdoms in the position of the Stars, form'd each Star into such a Character as fitted the Notions which he would have express'd by the word which was to be made up of them; and another possess'd with a different Imagi∣nation makes other Figures of them, and so spells the same Stars into other Syllables, and at last reads them into a quite contrary sense to the former.

But Anopheles supplying the Defect of Real similitude with Imaginary, is so abus'd with this idle Fancy, that he thinks those men to have but a weak Faith and small Lear∣ning, that do not believe that all such as are born under the sign of the Ram will be meek like Sheep, and those which had the Lion for their sign will be valiant. So all that had the ill luck to be born under the Dart of Sagittarius must be kill'd; and all those suffer Shipwreck whose Nativity was so dispos'd by the Bucket of Aquarius. He tells the World that all and only such as receive influence from Virgo in their Birth, shall have disshevel'd Hair, be Beautiful and Modest, and have no Children; giving us leave to infer that no Ethiopian, no Mother, no Whore ever had the Virgin in their Horoscope.

I should have wonder'd that any man could found a Be∣lief of such strange things upon so weak Principles, but that I remember how this vain Resemblance fansied a∣gainst all sober Reason hath abus'd conceited people in o∣ther Cases. So Ananias Jerancurius thought he could ex∣plain the Prophecies of Daniel and St. John by the Figures of two Fishes which were taken up not very long since, one upon the Coast of Norway, the other of Pomerania; which he might undertaken as rationally, as another could perswade himself that we are to reckon just so many years from the Death of our Saviour to the World's End, as there are Verses in David's Psalter. Thus some have pretended under a pleasant Influence from some jocund Constellation, to frame a piece of Iron which should make a Woman that pass'd over it to laugh and sing; and have boasted that from a sad Planet, I suppose it must be Saturn, they will draw such a

Melancholick influence into a Load-stone, that being laid under the bed of a Woman that is not Chaste, it will make her talk in her sleep and confess her sins, or fall out of her bed, especially if she put off her left shoe before her right.

I am glad, said Philalethes continuing his Discourse, that these Fancies make you merry; (for Bentivolio and Amyntor could not forbear laughing) I was afraid you would have been wearied, for I made my story the longer because Ano∣pheles will not converse freely with such as you are, and takes a great pride in concealing the Mysteries of his Admi∣rable Art, and will by no means profane them or expose them to Contempt by Communication: for the supposeth they are Curiosities unheard∣of before his time, and which none knows but himself. But since your Patience holds out so well, I will also give you an accompt of Scepticus. He is one of the Buffoons general to this wild Company, and hath accustomed himself so long to believe or dis-believe any thing, that he is now not much unlike those people who, having lost their Palate by the Malignity of some Disease, are not able to distinguish the various Relishes of good or bad Meat. His chief Employment is to make a strange kind of Balance according to some Rules which he hath receiv'd from one Pyrrho, and his hopes are, that when it is finish'd he shall by this rare Instrument be able to bring Truth and Falshood to an AEquilibrium. He is assisted in this Design by Hypsagoras and Antigraphus. He hath lately open'd a new Academy, in which he reads weekly Lectures out of three Books which he hath written (call'd Laby∣rinths) concerning the Art of Dis-believing all things. In the First he asserts, That there is Nothing: In the Second, That though there be something, yet it is not Comprehen∣sible by men: In the Third, That though we do under∣stand some things, yet we cannot explain them to others. He hath two Orders of Scholars: those which are of a lower Rank he calls Degrues, which are such weak Wits that they doubt concerning most things which others assent to. Upon the other which are of a higher Form he hath be∣stow'd the Title of Forts Esprits, whom by his Artifices he

hath brought to that Perfection, that they believe Nothing. They are so valiant, that they will talk in Defiance of their own Faculties, and are able to swallow the greatest Contra∣diction as easily as a Hector can drink a Frog in a Glasse of Wine. They make no question but a Part may be as big as the Whole, and that, for any thing we know, Men may be and not be at once; or, which is all one to them, they may be dead when they think themselves alive. Hypsagoras is one of his chief Proselytes, and speaks infinitely in the praise of his Master, preferring him before all the Philoso∣phers that ever were in the World except Pyrrho: despiseth those which say they find in their Souls connate Notions of Truth and Falshood, and a natural sense of Good and Evil; and rejects the most approv'd and general Sentiments of Mankind: says, that all Discourse is but the Sentences of Blind men concerning Colours, and Industry is but mens Inquiry after they know not what; and that it is as certain that men have no Criterion to discern by, as it is a great doubt whether there be any Men or no. He will swear of∣ten (for he accompts Oaths as necessary Ornaments of Gen∣tile Speech) that we cannot distinguish the brightest Day from the darkest Night, and that no man can tell when he is awake. He affirms, that if men do but speak boldly and make a noise with great words, that Nonsense is as good as Sense, and that

The gentle Whale whose Feet so fell Flie o're the Mountains Tops,

is as good a Poem as any Ode in Horace; that Ovid's Meta∣morphoses is as true as Polybius his History, and that Tom Thumb is a Book altogether as useful as Plutarch or Seneca. He supposeth Stones do understand as much as Men, and that pieces of Wood can speak, but they are sullen and will not. In short, he asserts that we ought to believe Nothing, and that he doth not believe himself.

Scepticus hath seduc'd many young Wits into his Acade∣my, and hath gratified the Licentiousness to which their Age is but too prone with such pleasing Principles, that he

hath made himself an absolute Master of their Souls, and they have sworn unreserv'd Obedience to his Orders.

I remember, a Gentleman riding with him upon the Rode, and hearing him often say that we are sure of No∣thing, told him that his words did include a Contra∣diction; for if we know that we know nothing, we are sure that we are Ignorant. This Argument doth not prove what you desire, replied Hypsagoras, for it is but like a Pur∣ging Potion, which expelling many Humours doth withall carry away it self. I rather think, said the Gentleman, that it is a Counter-poison, which freeing the Soul from the dan∣gerous Infection of an irrational Incredulity, restores the Mind as it works to so much health, that it is able to con∣clude that it knows at least its own Ignorance, and so makes an Antidote of Venome: The Argument proving it self by this means of as good Effect to the Soul as our Bodies find of Physick, which when it is purg'd away leaves us in a more healthful condition. But there are better Arguments a∣gainst brutish Unbelief, and I should wonder what hinders their operation in you, said the Gentleman continuing his Discourse; but that I know your Sect is extremely distem∣per'd with a strong Connexion of Ignorance and Pride, which is manifest, besides divers other things, in this, that you would have us believe you that we ought to believe none.

Discreet Persons have left off to dispute with Scepticus and his Disciples, knowing that it is to no purpose to talk to such as obstinately deny the most evident things in the World. Some years since we wondred at a strange story which was told us of a Village in Africk, whose Inhabitants were all said to be petrefied; but now I think it is no such great matter, since I have seen men in our own Country transform'd so far into a degenerous Nature, that they are mortified to Common sense. I will tell you a Trick which was lately put upon Isosthenes, one of Scepticus his Admirers, at a Gentlemans House whose name is Antisthenes, by a witty Youth who waited at the Table where he was at Dinner. The Youth had heard him talk as he thought very absurdly,

That our Knowledge is so imperfect, that we are not assu∣red of any thing; and resolving to venture a beating by making a waggish trial whether Isosthenes did believe what he said, or spoke only in a way of proud contradiction to the sense of all the World, he procur'd two of his Fellow-Servants to assist him in his Design. His Device was this; When Isosthenes call'd for Wine, he gave him a Glasse of Vi∣negar; which when Isosthenes had tasted, What (saith he) dost thou abuse me, Boy? I ask'd for Wine. And I gave you Wine, said the Youth. No, replied Isosthenes, this is Vinegar. Do not believe that, Sir, said the Youth, it is Wine. It is so, said his Associates, for we saw him fill it. Ha! said Isosthenes with a passionate Air, shall I not believe my self? The smell is not that of Wine, the colour is very different, and the taste quite contrary. Sir, replied the Youth, our Senses deceive us; for any thing that I know, Vinegar and Wine are the same, I have no faculty by which I can distinguish one from the other. I beseech you be not displeas'd with me, for it is my unhappiness that I do not know any sign by which I may be assur'd what Liquor is Wine, what is not, or whether there be any Wine or other Liquor in the World. Isosthenes was not a little angry, for he saw himself abus'd, and was the more vex'd because the Company laugh'd at him; for whilst the Youth defended himself by disputing against him with his own Arguments, they were much pleas'd to see how cunningly he had in∣snar'd him, and made him endure the practice of his own Rules. But Antisthenes, to appease the wrath of Isosthenes, prudently told him that it was below him to be angry at a saucy Boy, and order'd the Youth to be carried forth and beaten for his Presumption; though in his Mind he ap∣prov'd his fault, knowing that besides these which his Ser∣vant had us'd, there are no other means to reduce such ob∣stinate Dissemblers to their Right Mind, except burning Coals or good Cudgels. This Isosthenes, amongst his other Fooleries, used to dispute against Motion, and pleas'd him∣self with this trifling Sophism to make good his Opinion; If any thing be in Motion, it must be moved either in the

place where it is, or where it is not. It is not moved in the place where it is, for there it rests: And it cannot move in the place where it is not, for how can any thing act in the place where it is not? It happen'd as he rode one day out of the City he fell from his Horse, and having put his Shoulder out of joynt, he was forc'd to betake himself to Sotericus, a noble Chirurgion, and to desire his help. Sote∣ricus having heard of his Humour, resolv'd to make himself some sport with Isosthenes, and told him that his Shoulder was in the right place, and that it was impossible for his or any other mans to be dislocated; alleging that no bone could be put out of joynt but by moving out of the place in which it was, or in which it was not; neither of which are possible. Isosthenes seeing himself jeer'd, pray'd Sotericus to use no Arguments in that Point with one that was necessi∣tated to dis-believe them by the great Pain which he felt, and also a disability to use his Arm. Very well, replied So∣tericus; since you are convinc'd of your Folly in arguing a∣gainst Motion by the dislocation of a Bone, I will confirm you in your right Mind by putting it into its place again.

I have now, proceeded Philalethes, given you the Cha∣racters of all Antitheus his Companions, except Antigraphus, and I must not omit him; for as he joyns with Scepticus and Hypsagor as in decrying the Conduct of Natural Reason, so he hath a particular delight in vilifying the Assurances of Divine Revelation. His common Sport is to jeer at Reli∣gion, and he thinks they have but a foolish Wit who scru∣ple to make a Jest of any thing. He says that Protagor as was but a Cowardly Fellow, because he did not write more positively, and reviles the Athenians for burning his Books; only he says they did something expiate their Crime by giving Hemlock to that troublesome Moralist Socrates. He is deputed by Antitheus to quarrel with all Books which contradict the Opinions and Practices of his Sect, especially to disparage the Authority of the Holy Gospel: which he endeavours sometimes by taking occasion, where none is gi∣ven, to blame the Matter, sometimes he dislikes the Style;

sometimes he falls foul upon the Author, sometimes reviles his Scribes; sometimes he pretends an incongruity in the Historical Narrations, at other times he vilifies the Ra∣tional sense: Being unable to distinguish between seeming Differences and real Contradictions, or to explain things which are obscurely express'd, he puts the dishonour of his own Imperfections upon others, and accuseth the Holy Writers sometimes of Falshood, alwayes of Ignorance. Sometimes he quotes the personal Infirmities of some Wri∣ters which they have confess'd, and makes what he had ne∣ver known but that they told him, Objections against their Books; expressing Malice where they have only shewn Ingenuity: for it was not Imprudence but Humility in them to acknowledge their own Weaknesses, whose Design was not to doe Honour to themselves, but to serve their Great Master; and made it impossible for generous persons to think that they would lie in his behalf, when they spoke true against their own Interest.

Sometimes he abuseth that Holy Book by taking single Words and pieces of Sentences out of several places, and put∣ting them together, as if he were making a Cento Biblicus: by this means forcing them to express a Ridiculous sense, which those Divine Leaves abhor, and endeavouring to make others think that they favour absurd things, though who∣soever turns them over knows that if they mention them in one place, they condemn them in twenty. But such Un∣worthiness doth become one that hath taken some of the Fragments of Celsus, the worst leaves in Lucian, and ha∣ving bound them together with some of the most putrid pieces of Vaninus, Aretine and Rablais, hath made them his Bible.

In the height of his Impudence he forgeth blasphemous Cavils against the Unspotted Innocence, the Perfect Good∣ness and Unparallel'd Prudence of the Great Prince Anax∣anacton, and asperseth his Discipline as a thing founded in Ignorance, and which exposeth those which entertain it to scorn and injury; wilfully neglecting to see that which is visible to all that can reade, That as Anaxanacton was the

Mirrour of absolute Perfection in his own Example, so his Gospel is full of wise Counsels and prudent Rules; that it is adorn'd with the noblest Explications of Vertue, and doth so much tend to the Melioration of the World, that no Me∣thod was before discover'd which in any respect could be equall'd with it; and hath so fully spoken to all important Cases, that nothing can be added to make it more complete or useful; and hath its Credibility so strongly supported, that no other Book can come into Competition, nor any Cavil∣ler be successefully Malicious: Its Divine Authority being first signified by Prophecy and Miracles, and the Truth of what is said in Honour of it confirm'd by Universal Tradition.

One thing I should wonder at, but that I can admire no∣thing which Antigraphus sayes, since I know what he is; which is, that he should prevail with himself to affirm, as he doth in one of his scurrilous Books, That the Foun∣ders of Christian Religion had never establish'd their Do∣ctrines, but that among other Devices they burnt the Books of the Heathen Poets and Historians, and destroy'd the Memorials of the Gentile Theology. Here the Atheist was so unlearn'd that he had never read, or so malicious that he would not remember, that the ancient Patrons of Christianity were Persons accomplish'd with all Humane Literature, and both made use of the Heathen Books as ve∣ry fit Instruments to overthrow their Idolatrous Opinions and Worship, and resented it as a great Oppression when the Doors of those Schools where such Books were taught were shut against their Children; and were so far from en∣deavouring to destroy any Registers of Antiquity, that one of the most Learn'd of all the Heathen Emperours us'd all possible means to be made Master of the Library of a Chri∣stian Bishop after his death, knowing it was well furnish'd with such as he esteem'd Excellent Authors: and that those Fathers of the Christian Church recorded nothing false in their own Histories, is manifest, in that they appeal'd from them in their Apologies to the Annals of their Enemies.

But this Impostor not much caring what he said, having falsly accus'd the Christians of unhandsome Practices, would alleviate it by saying, that the Heathens deserv'd to be so us'd, because the Professours of Gentilism had practis'd the same Arts against the Sect which went before it. Perversly imagining (for he never had any Evidence for his bold Asser∣tion, but good Records of the contrary,) That it could not be otherwise, since, as he suppos'd, the Sects must needs change often in long Periods of time; and those he fansied as long as he pleas'd; and thought he had abundantly pro∣ved what he said by a quotation of a later Date, i. e. That Christianism hath destroy'd Judaism, and the Religion of the Turks hath overthrown Christianity. Which Argument is only a story guilty of manifest Falshood: for Christianity did only reform Judaism, which confess'd it self to be but a Temporary Mode of Worship, and by reason of many Im∣perfections capable of being improv'd; and that Turcism hath vanquish'd Christianity is no more true, then that the Turk is Master of all Christendom.

Here, said Philalethes, I have good reason to make an end of speaking, for I have troubled you with too prolix Descriptions of Unworthy Persons. Bentivolio and Amyntor, sensible of their engagement to Philalethes, gave him thanks, and being much amaz'd at his Report, thought that this Country, if any in the World, deserv'd to be call'd Theria∣gene; but by the Prudence and Civility which they saw in Philalethes, they perceiv'd that the Apostasy was not Gene∣ral, and upon his invitation stay'd at his House a few days, both to relieve the Solitude of such an Excellent Person with their Conversation, and to enjoy that Felicity in his Company which they expected not in any other part of The∣riagene. But the Sympathy which they had with the afflict∣ed state of the most Princely Alethion, and the Misery which the better part of his Kingdom suffered with him, made Ben∣tivolio resolve to depart towards Polistherion, both to satisfie himself as to the extents of a strange Calamity, & to inform himself whether there were yet any Possibilities of Delive∣rance. He thought he might undertake this with less su∣spicion,

since he travell'd through the Country as a mere Stranger: and lest he should make himself a more unfit In∣strument to put his purposes in Execution, he took a more speedy leave of Philalethes, and with his faithful Companion Amyntor begun his Journey towards Polistherion, desiring to know the Persons whom he had already seen in Picture, and to view the Country it self of which Philalethes had given him such an exact Landskip.

The End of the Fifth Book.