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

(Book 6)

THE SIXTH BOOK: OR, ELENCHUS. (Book 6)

THe second day after King Alethion and his Companions departed from Misopseudes his House, they arrived upon the Borders of Theoprepia. They were forc'd to lodge one Night in a Desert peopled only with wild Beasts, and to guard themselves a∣gainst their harmful Approches by en∣compassing themselves with Fires. This Wilderness was made horrid upon one side with the dark shades of old Trees, and on the other with vast Precipices, and the Noise of a Roaring Sea which doth perpetually beat upon the Rocks with mighty Waves. Here they reliev'd themselves with Meat and Wine which they carried with them. The next day about Noon they came to the famous Cave Phy∣lace, situate not far from the Sea-side. Alethion having heard strange things related concerning it, did much desire to see if the Truth was answerable to the Report. The Mouth of this Den open'd into a passage so full of Horror and Darkners, that they durst not resolve presently to make an entrance into it. Whilst they remain'd in Doubt, an Old man, who got a small living by guiding Strangers through the Meanders of that Vault, came toward them with a Dark Lantern and some Torches, offering them his Assistance; and having lighted his Tapers, and distributed them according to the Number of those who were to go in,

he led them the way: They follow'd, being encourag'd by the boldness of their Guide; and he was not afraid, having made the Danger familiar by Custom. The Passages were rough, and much like to those broken Stairs which are usu∣ally seen in the ruinous Walls of an old Castle. When they had gone about a hundred paces, sometimes climbing up∣ward, sometimes creeping downward, and often winding about; they came to a place which had the Resemblance of a large Hall, and seem'd to be hollow'd out of the Rock, whose Roof was supported with Natural Arches and Pil∣lars. Through this they came to another Room which had the fashion of an old Chappel: upon the sides of it they saw many Images of Living Creatures rudely em∣boss'd, and in the middle some hung down being fastned to the Roof; which whether they were of moist Earth pe∣trefied or Water congeal'd to Stone, they were an Orna∣ment not unsuitable to the Place. The Horror of this dark Solitude was much encreas'd by the murmuring Noise of a River, whose Stream passing under many hollow Ca∣verns through streight places where it was 〈◊〉〈◊〉 up by too narrow a Chanel, made a sound not altogether unlike to grones: The water, as far as they could discern by their Torch-light, was of the same colour with Iron. Alethion and his friends were struck with no small Admiration at this strange sight; and whilst every one was conjecturing at the Design of this Disconsolate Mansion, I think, said Ale∣thion, that it hath been an under-ground Temple consecra∣ted to Melancholy, or some Hermitage where Despair hath us'd to dwell, or else a dark Prison where guilty Souls have been shut up and made to endure a kind of Hell. You would more confidently pronounce what you say, replied the Old man who was their Guide, if you knew what I have seen in a remote corner of this Vault. What have you observ'd? said Alethion. Things so extraordinary, said the Guide, that I am afraid you will hardly give credit to the report when I tell you. Possibly, answer'd the King, you may bring us to the place, and then our Eyes will take away our Unbelief. No, replied the Old man; if I could, I durst

not: for I was soundly beaten for my boldness, and charg'd no more to disturb the privacy of the Mysteries which were perform'd in that Place: but as one who not long since would needs venture the same way told me, a great part of a Rock is fallen down, and hath stopt the Pas∣sage which led to that Dungeon, by which means for some years none have been able to see or hear any thing. Then let us understand what we may by your Relation, said the King. I shall obey your Command in that, said the Old man, and proceeded after this manner. As I often came into this Place to conduct those who desired to see it, so I went sometimes alone into the innermost Hollowness of the Vault, to satisfie my own Curiosity: and coming one day by a troublesome Descent to a low Grate, I saw by the light of a small Lamp a Spectacle so miserable, that I can never think upon it without Dread: and as your Eyes tell you that I am but too lively an Image of one that hath been affrighted, so by my discourse you will understand the rea∣son of my wan looks. Through Iron Bars which denied all other entrance but of mine Eyes, I beheld such Objects as I never desire to see again, Men and Women whose Flesh was so wasted and their Skin so discoloured, that their Bo∣dies seem'd to be only dry Bones inclos'd in black Sack∣cloth. Their Eyes were sunk into their Heads, and stared wildly; their Faces were pale like those which are mace∣rated with want of Meat; some with their Teeth tore from their Arms those small parcels of Flesh which were yet remaining upon them: and they perform'd this after such a desperate manner, that it was manifest they endea∣vour'd rather to express a Rage then to satisfie Hunger. Some lay upon the Dirty ground tied back to back, others were chain'd to Posts with heavy Fetters; some were stretch∣ed upon painful Racks, and others laid upon hot Gridirons: Some made me Weep to hear their Sighs; All forc'd me to Sigh to see their Tears. I turn'd my Eye no where but I saw fresh occasions to excite an unspeakable Compassion. Some ran up and down distracted, and talk'd of Honour; Some struck their Heads against the sides of the Rock, and

curs'd their Riches; Some had Books of Accompts recited and deliver'd to them, which they threw away with a thou∣sand Expressions of Despair and Wrath. Some sate upon the ground with their Arms a-cross, and seem'd to be in∣finitely amaz'd when they were told what pains they had taken to bring themselves to this Misery; and others, who were near them, tore wider the Wounds which bled already, by reproching them as Causes of their Unhappiness too. In other places I saw some hang down their Heads and Curse their mad Obstinacy, and after a howling manner say, What? could nothing but Hell make us believe that there is a God? Are these intolerable pains the price of our Sins? Lord! at how dear a rate have we bought a little plea∣sure? Did those who yet see the Light of the Sun but know to what a filthy Dungeon we are confin'd, they would no longer live in a Voluptuous carelesness, trifling away their Time, as we did; nor think any thing too great to doe, or too hard to suffer, to secure themselves from falling into this Infernal Pit, where old Mother Night, Original Darkness, Darkness that may be felt, dwells. Sure it was out of this Magazine of cursed Shades that the Afflicting Angel borrow'd that Pitchy Mist which blinded and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the Egyptians, and here in this Store-house of Plagues he repos'd it again to our Unspeakable Torment. Is there no Hope for the Damned? Did those who dispute so ea∣gerly concerning the Duration of our Miseries feel what we suffer, they would think every Day a Year, a Year an Age, an Age Eternity. O Annihilation! how desirable art thou to such as are oppress'd with a Being unsufferably tormented? We have heard some say, That they had ra∣ther be any thing then Nothing: A short stay in this place would make them change their Opinion. Would to God we had never been, or could yet cease to be. But we wish Impossibilities, being condemn'd to live an Immortal Death.

I will trouble you no further, said the good Old man, with a Repetition of calamitous Words, only before you return I will shew you the outermost Passage which led to∣wards

that Mournful place. It is barr'd up, as I told you, upon the In-side with the Ruines of a Rock. Whilst they were viewing the out-side of it, Alethion spied an Inscripti∣on over the Door, and causing his Attendants to advance their Lights, he read these following Verses.

This is the Prison of Apostate Souls. Within this Iron Grate Vengeance controuls The Pride of Rebels, fetter'd in such Chains As Justice makes by linking Sins to Pains. Accompts are justed Here: Bold Debtours Now Are forc'd to pay, and say, 'Tis what they owe. Here God's at last acknowledg'd, and Men see That Sin is something, Hell a Verity. Here late Repentance dwells. Here Hopeless Spirits Hate their own Being loaden with their Merits. Where a tormenting Darkness clearly shews What God will doe when Patience Fury grows.

Alethion and his Companions having entertain'd them∣selves awhile with the Contemplation of this strange House built by Nature under ground, return'd to the Lightsome Air, and designing nothing now but to see Theoprepia, he made such a good progress in his Journey, that about the time when the Sun went down he came to Xenodochium, the chief City of Philadelphia. The Governour having understood that some were come to Town who by their garb and deportment appear'd to be no ordinary Per∣sons, sent two Gentlemen according to their Custom to offer what Accommodation could be had in Xenodochium. Alethion's present condition forc'd him to stand in need of their Courtesie, and the Nobleness of his Soul taught him to accept it with such an excellent Grace, that they found themselves requited where they endeavour'd to oblige. They brought him and his Company to the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 House, who, though he had been us'd to Conversation with generous Persons, was something surpriz'd with the Pre∣sence of these Guests, especially of Alethion; but having

quickly setled himself, he made the Reasons of his Wonder Motives to a more exact observation of such Rules as the present Accident made necessary to be practis'd. He brought the Prince into Lodgings which were nobly fur∣nished, and presented all supplies after so handsome a fashi∣on, that Alethion could not but judge the Philadelphians the most civil people in the World. And when he perceived, by the excellent discourse of those Gentlemen who attended him, from how great a knowledge their Courtesie did pro∣ceed, he had no way to relieve his admiration, but by sup∣posing that the Philadelphians were priviledged with an ex∣traordinary temper of Soul, and by calling to mind, that they were governed according to most excellent Rules by the best of Princes. Which made him think to what a rais'd height of Goodness brave Kings may elevate their Subjects by making themselves great Examples: And how severe a Sentence they may justly expect from God, when he shall call them to account for teaching their people to degenerate into a low nature by their own ignoble Acti∣ons. And he was apt to determine in his thoughts, That the chief hope of the emendation of humane nature, which all good men pray for, doth much depend upon God's be∣stowing vast measures of a divine spirit upon Princes.

Though Alethion had given order to his Servants to con∣ceal his name, and to allow no other notice of his quality or companions, but that they were strangers, who travel∣ling to see the World desired before their return home to visit Theoprepia; yet his attempt to conceal himself proved ineffectual: For the glory of great Souls, not capable of being hid behind the thin veil of this flesh, breaks through their bodies with illustrious Rayes, and commands Honour suitable to their Worth. Thus the Philadelphians were as∣sured that they had the happiness to entertain one of the bravest persons in the World, though they knew not that he 〈◊〉〈◊〉 call'd Alethion. The Governour was but young, and had either not been in the Wars of Theromachia, where Alethion did nobly assist Theosebius; or else had forgotten the features of his face, and other Characters of his person.

But the Prince, thinking it a necessary piece of just Civility to let him know whom he had obliged, told him his Name. Alethion resolving to stay here one day, both to see the City, and to return his acknowledgments to the Philadelphians, sent one of his Gentlemen to Theosebius, to give notice of his arrival in Theoprepia; and to 〈◊〉〈◊〉, that he would wait upon him at his Court, when He should please to give him leave. This Messenger carried news so unexpectedly good, that it was above the faith of those who heard it. The King would have punished him as an Impostor, if he had not produced a Letter written by Alethion, whose hand he very well knew. Theosebius immediately communica∣ted this news to Phronesia and Agape, who were at that time together lamenting the unfortunate Death of Alethion, of which they had heard two dayes before. This contrary report brought so sudden an alteration upon their Passions, that had not Incredulity stopt the working of their spirits for a while, and made this cross motion more gentle, it had wrought some such dangerous effect upon their health, especially in Agape, as frozen people find when they are ha∣stily removed out of cold snow to an hot fire. But when they were not only assured that Alethion was alive, by read∣ing his Letter, but understood also at how small a distance he was absent from them, they could not but permit themselves to a pleasing Transport of Affection, and ante∣dated the joyes of his Presence with the contentment which they took in the knowledge of his Safety, and revenged themselves upon their Grief by increasing the sweetness of their present satisfaction with the remembrance of their former tears.

Theosebius sent presently for Lysander, the General of his Army, and having acquainted him that the Prince of The∣riagene was arrived at Philadelphia, he commanded him to go thither immediately; and taking his Coach and Life-Guard to conduct him with all care and honour to Phronesia. Alethion having received this noble invitation by Lysander, rose up early the next morning, and before it was twelve of the clock came to Kepanactus, one of the King's Houses,

which was within a League of Phronesia, where Theosebius intended to dine with the Prince of Theriagene. When Ale∣thion was now about a quarter of a mile from Kepa∣nactus, Lysander's Lieutenant retiring from the head of his Troop, came to the Coach side, and acquainted his Gene∣ral, that Theosebius at a very small distance was upon his march towards them. Alethion, impatient of any further delay, stept out of the Coach, and went speedily to the first rank of the Guard; where Theosebius seeing him attended by Lysander and his own Servants, alighted from his horse, hastning to imbrace one who had already opened his arms for him, and assoon as he could obtain a power to speak from the vehemency of his passions, saluted him in these Words. Most Dear Prince, the joyes which the sight of you produce in my Soul are so great, that I am not able to let you know them, they are too big for words. That delightful original from whence they are derived is such an unexpected Felicity, that I can scarce think you here, though I see you. Most Excellent Prince, replied Alethion, I al∣wayes made my self believe that I had lodged you in the best place of my Soul; and I have now received an infal∣lible proof that I was not mistaken, since in your own name you have exprest the thoughts which I formed there. Al∣though I know I can never equal your noble Love with worthy Affection, yet I am sure my joy exceeds all that was ever produced by the encounter of any other friends. But is it you, Alethion? said Theosebius interrupting him: My Dearest Brother, is it you? And are you come from the grave to revive those who were ready to die of grief for your Death? You might very truly think that I was not alive, replied Alethion; for I esteem'd it a cruel death to be so long separated from you, my Dearest Theosebius: And now I am restor'd to life, now I live, whilst I see my self so near to the King of Theoprepia. We can never be too near, said Theo∣sebius, and then renewed his imbraces; which Alethion re∣ceiv'd, and made reciprocal with such passionate endear∣ments, that all the Company fixt in a delightful amazement were forc'd to shed tears in sympathy with such a moving sight.

While the Princes were thus lockt in each others arms, the Queen's Coach came up, and Phronesia with the young Princess, perceiving that Theosebius had made a stop, alight∣ed to come towards them; which put Alethion into new rap∣tures of joy: For Theosebius took him by the left hand, and presenting him to the Queen and Agape, said, Dear Mother and Sister, receive the best of Princes, and our Dearest friend, Alethion. It is possible to imagine some∣thing of those Passions which were rais'd by this second en∣counter: But all that I am able to relate would be so far short of that which was then experimented, that I think I can doe them right only by Silence. Who can expresse the Ecstatical joyes which possessed the mind of Phronesia, when she now receiv'd a Prince from death, who saved her Son's life? How could she love him too much, who thought he did never love Theosebius enough? Agape could not but be transported more then the rest, because she seem'd to her self to have the greatest share in this happiness. How wel∣come this confirmation of Alethion's life was to that fair Princesse, none but she her self can tell, who had lamented his supposed death with so many tears, that never was any real death deplor'd with more. Though her modesty would not give leave that she should make the deep sense of her Soul publick, yet she forc'd her self to make those signi∣fications of affection which Alethion took for more then or∣dinary good will: And as he was best able to make a judg∣ment of such indications, so she the more confidently al∣lowed her self to give them, because she was assured of their approbation to whom she was accountable for her carriage.

The true Friends of both the Princes could not but take their parts in this solemn Joy, which flow'd from the hap∣piness of those who were dearer to them then themselves: And the felicity which attended this accident was so gene∣ral, that no by-stander thought himself unconcern'd in it. As many little rivulets fill'd with a land-floud, and meeting in some wider chanel, swell the waters which they find there into so great a River, that they overflow their usual

bounds, and uniting those little rills with themselves, carry them all along in one mighty stream: So the particular joyes which seized upon all that beheld this glorious sight, joyn'd themselves into one vast body of unspeakable Con∣tentment, in which every one found his private satisfacti∣ons doubled by union with those of others. The Princes would have continu'd longer in this pleasing entercourse, but that Phronesia, considering how far Alethion had travell'd, desir'd Theosebius to break it off till they came into the house; where having perform'd the Civility which was due to the Prince, they might afterwards re-assume their delightful conversation. When they had dined, they diverted them∣selves in the Gardens which belonged to that pleasant house for an hour or two. Theosebius desiring to return into the City before it was dark, placed Alethion with the Queen and the Princess in his own Coach, which being open on all sides did not withhold their sight from the greedy eyes of the People, through whose chearful Acclamations, echoing to the louder noise of great Guns, they passed all the way till they came to the Royal Palace.

In the mean while Bentivolio and his Fellow-Travellers arriv'd at Polistherion. Having stay'd there one day he en∣quir'd of his Host concerning the way to Sigalium, a place not far from the City, where Eugenius, a friend to Philale∣thes, and one who was worthy of the best Friendship, had a pleasant Retirement, and where by Silence and a seeming Unconcernedness in the present Affairs, he obtain'd a Protection from the Observation of his Enemies. Bentivolio and Amyntor made a Visit to him, both that they might know that good Gentleman, and by his means inform themselves more fully concerning those things which were requisite to their present condition. They told him, that as Strangers travelling through the Country, they could not but desire to see the most considerable Places, and to enjoy Converse with worthy Persons; but that they came to him upon the friendly recommendation of Philalethes, who, a∣mongst those many Civilities which they had receiv'd from him, had given them, as one of the greatest of them, such a

notice of Eugenius as had made 'em bold to put him to this trouble. Eugenius, whose Temper was to be civil to all, but very obliging where he saw great reasons of endear∣ment, soon perceiving that they were no ordinary Persons, gave them a most affectionate Welcom, and desired them to make his House their own whilst they should have occasion to stay in those parts of the Country. Bentivolio refus'd that offer, alleging that he could not accept this great Fa∣vour without a prejudice to them both; it being impossible that Antitheus should be long ignorant of their arrival in his Country, or that he should not suspect some Design in his enter course with Eugenius, if he did not first make known to him such reasons of his coming to Polistherion as might prevent those Jealous Apprehensions which are naturally apt to possesse the Minds of Usurpers: and therefore he re∣quested Eugenius at present only to assist him with his ad∣vice, and to direct him how he might seasonably appear in Polistherion, and discover himself to Antitheus with some fair Advantage. Sir, said Eugenius, to morrow Antitheus makes a great Feast for his Courtiers, and in the Afternoon, to di∣vert the Polistherians from the Contemplation of the late un∣pleasing Accidents, he hath appointed some young Gentle∣men upon Horse-back to run at a Ring, and hath given leave that whosoever pleaseth may be admitted Competi∣tors; and hath declar'd that he who first carries the Ring three times, shall receive for a Prize liberty to ask what he will of Antitheus. If you have a mind to engage in this Exercise, I will go to Court, being invited yesterday, and as opportunity requires will doe you any service which shall be in my power. Bentivolio, who very well knew the Rites of this Undertaking, was glad of such a happy occasion to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 his Acquaintance with Antitheus, and taking his leave of Eugenius with all due Acknowledgments, he re∣turn'd to his Lodging in Polistherion.

When the time was come which was appointed for the Celebration of this Sport, Antitheus appear'd upon a Scaf∣fold attended with his chief Courtiers, and accompanied with many Ladies enrich'd with greatness of Beauty and

embellish'd with fair Jewels. Ten young Gentlemen shewing themselves upon stately Horses ready to perform the design'd Action, Bentivolio advanc'd towards them: His Horse was black all over, except one little Star in his forehead, which being vigorous and of a proud carriage added Grace to his Rider; and he managing his activity with a dextrous skill gave life to that Grace. The Rivals entertain'd him civilly, not being able to disdain a Gentle∣man of such a goodly Presence. Orders being given for the first Course, they finish'd it to the great contentment of the Spectatours; but the praise of the Action fell only to Bentivolio and two more, Proselenes, and Alcinous the Son of Eugenius; for the rest miss'd the Ring. The next Course was perform'd much after the same manner, only Proselenes miss'd the Ring, which Bentivolio and Alcinous carried the second time. In the third Bentivolio and Alcinous succeeded as formerly, also Autautus the Brother of Proselenes had the good luck to carry the Ring upon his Lance; the rest, ei∣ther by the unmanageableness of their Horses, or want of Experience in that Exercise, missing it. The three Courses being finish'd, Victory, which had denied all her other Vo∣taries, hover'd at an equal distance between Bentivolio and Alcinous. As soon as Alcinous saw the Event of the third Course, moved not only with those singular respects which he had entertain'd for Bentivolio, whom he had opportunity to know at his Father's House, but much pleas'd with his own Good Fortune to be match'd with such a Competitor, that it must needs be to his Honour which way soever Victory should at last dispose the Prize, rode up close to Bentivolio, and accosting him with a serene chearfulness, said, Sir, I am very glad that my contest happens to be with such a gallant Adversary. Though I should miss the 〈◊〉〈◊〉, I shall not be pitied, having been worsted by one whom none can overcome; but since our Fortune is yet doubtful, if you please let us decide it with the repetition of three Cour∣ses more. Bentivolio being willing to avoid the Envy which might accrue to him from the Victory, and doe him some disservice in the time of his abode amongst such as

could not be well contented to be overcome by a Stranger, turning himself toward Alcinous, told him that it was not fit for him to dispute the Prize further with one whom he could not but judge to have wone it already; alleging that though he himself had carried the Ring thrice, yet he ex∣pected no advantage from that performance, since Alcinous had done it before him. No, replied Alcinous, you must not be Judg'd not to have done it first, because we could not both run at once; my order in the Courses was a thing of Chance, and can give me no pretence to Victory, since I was equall'd by you as soon as your Turn came: although I am not unsensible of your Civility, yet I had rather lose any Prize then receive it dishonourably. After some other words Bentivolio was forced to condescend to his Proposal, and both agreed that the next Miss upon whomsoever it should happen should end the Controversie. For two Courses they were equal; at the third Alcinous having the Ill luck to strike the Ring upon the ground, Bentivolio put∣ting spurs to his Horse quickly took off the other which was plac'd in the room of it, and took up also that which Alci∣nous had let fall upon the point of his Lance. Whilst all the Spectatours, struck with the Admiration of Bentivolio's Action, accompanied his Victory with a general Shout, Antitheus, though he was of a proud Temper, and utterly indispos'd to like any thing which was Excellent in ano∣ther, could not but enquire who he was; and being told by Eugenius that he was a Gentleman who came lately to Po∣listherton, having a desire to see the Country, he sent for him. When he was come, the Beauty of his Person, the Graceful∣ness of his Deportment, and the Power of Universal Ap∣plause made Antitheus condescend to personate Civility, and accost him thus: Generous Stranger, said he, whoever you are, and whatever your Design be, you are Welcom; if you had not merited it by your late Performance, yet I esteem it but a due Civility to your Person to grant you whatsoever you can ask in Theriagene. Bentivolio receiv'd this great fa∣vour with much Modesty, and making that Obeisance which is due to a Crown'd Head, only desired that himself

and two Gentlemen who travell'd in his Company might with his good leave stay awhile in his Country, and that he might have liberty to divert himself sometimes at Sigalium with Eugenius, to whom he was obliged for the notice of this Opportunity, by which he had the happy advantage of coming so soon into the King's Presence. Antitheus, sur∣priz'd with this incomparable Modesty, by which Bentivolio both shew'd the Generosity of his Temper and warily avoided the Envy of the Courtiers, replied, that instead of granting this as Bentivolio's Request, he would make it his own, and entreat him to stay in Theriagene; adding, that he should look upon it as a great Accession to his Prosperity, if in Sigalium, Polistherion, or any other place in his Kingdom he could find any thing to make his stay not unpleasant. Ben∣tivolio having made Answer to his obliging Discourse with many thankful Acknowledgments, Alcinous, Proselenes, Au∣tautus and their Companions pass'd many Complements upon him, and profess'd that they esteem'd it as a great Prize, that by their Foiles they had gain'd the knowledge of a Person that was so worthy to overcome. Whilst Ben∣tivolio was making many Civil Returns, Antitheus took him away, and entertain'd him and his Companions with a Noble Collation and various Discourses, and offer'd him Lodgings in his own Palace; which Bentivolio thankfully refus'd, and after Supper retir'd with Eugenius and his friends to Sigalium. Whilst Bentivolio stay'd at Sigalium, Pa∣senantius, Antholkes, Autautus, and many others of the Court, sometimes by order of Antitheus, and sometimes for their own pleasure, visited him. From these he gain'd a full In∣telligence concerning the Affairs of Theriagene, and by ma∣ny Discourses understood plainly by what false Principles they govern'd their Lives, and offer'd at a Rectification of their Errours: which though he could accomplish but in a few, the Dominion which Passion usurps over Reason be∣ing almost invincible when it is confirm'd by Custom, yet it was some satisfaction to his mind to have done that Duty which Charity enjoyn'd; though it was some grief to him to see the Accompt which he had receiv'd from Philalethes

so fully verified. Sometimes he and Eugenius went to Po∣listherion to visit Antitheus, where he had no content but to see how lovely Vertue is by comparing it with the ugliness of Vice, which was there represented to the Life. At other times he and his friends, under the Conduct of Eugenius, tra∣vell'd into the Country to see the most remarkable places in that Kingdom.

After Antitheus by many Converses understood that Bentivolio's Principles were contrary to his, and the manner of his Life quite different from that of his Court, he began to suspect that his coming to Theriagene was upon some ill Design; which to prevent, he caress'd him more then he had done formerly, and offer'd him very honourable Com∣mands: which Bentivolio could not accept, being very much wearied with the Unpleasing conversation of the Antitheans, and hating those Actions which had made the Usurper able to offer entertainment to Persons of Quality. But to make his Refusal plausible, & to hinder Antitheus from discovering the Truth of his Purposes, he said (which was most true) that he had strong desires to return home, and also preten∣ded himself necessitated by very great Obligations to serve a Friend of his, whose condition, as he lately understood, did much require his Assistance. Indeed his purpose was to go into Theoprepia, where he heard that Alethion, the lawful Prince of Theriagene, did at present sojourn, to whose Re∣stauration he thought he should be able to contribute some∣thing from what he had observ'd in Theriagene. He was the more encourag'd in these Hopes, because the time of the Year began to be seasonable for Armies to take the Field; and he made no doubt that Theosebius would supply him with store of men, or that Heaven would second them with good success. Before he took his leave, he acquaint∣ed Eugenius with his Intentions, whom he perceiv'd to be no great friend to Antitheus, and who promis'd him, if ever oc∣casion serv'd, to further what he design'd, and entreated him in the mean while to assure Alethion of his Loyalty.

Antitheus his Jealousies being increas'd with the Intelli∣gence that he receiv'd from one of his Spies, who knew

Sympathus, That Bentivolio and Amyntor had correspon∣dence with Philalethes, and were entertain'd at his house, he design'd to murther them both. But one of Philalethes his Kinsmen having notice of his purpose, discovered it to Eugenius, by which means Bentivolio and Amyntor went away privately to Misopseudes his house, and sent a Messenger to Philalethes to meet them there; from whence they went away all together to Theoprepia. Only Bentivolio, according to his promise, sent Nicomachus to his Brother Panaretus, to ac∣quaint him and his Sister with what had hapned already, and to desire him and Sympathus to meet him at the Court of the Prince of Theoprepia, where they should understand what was design'd further.

Theonoe, Urania, and all the Company which were left at Theander's house, rejoyced exceedingly at the sight of Nicomachus, hoping also that Bentivolio was not far off: And though they found themselves deceiv'd, they were not much displeas'd. For Nicomachus told them he was well, and that he and Amyntor were gone to Phronesium, and did intreat Panaretus and Sympathus to meet them there, whither he also himself was to accompany them. They guessed at the design, and could not but approve it: Only they in∣treated their friends to stay with them a day or two, that so before their departure they might understand the State of Theriagene by Nicomachus. Their desire was granted, and having pleas'd themselves with the news of Alethion's escape, though it was but a repetition of what they heard before from one that came from Theosebius his Court, they conju∣red Nicomachus to inform them concerning Bentivolio's en∣tertainment in Theriagene. Nicomachus obeyed their com∣mand, and when they had dispos'd themselves to hearken to his relation, he acquainted them with what had hapned in the way to Philalethes his house, and his entertainment there; and made them know the manner of the Prince's escape. Then he told them of their journey to Polistherion, and of their retiring to Eugenius his house, and let them un∣derstand how Bentivolio made himself known to Antitheus, and with what Complements he was receiv'd by his Cour∣tiers.

Urania knowing that Bentivolio did not use to spend his time only in Eating and Drinking, making and recei∣ving Visits, ask'd Nicomachus as soon as they had supp'd, if they did not sometimes meet with such persons as gave an oc∣casion for more then ordinary discourse. Yes, said Nicoma∣chus; and their Principles being very contrary to those of Bentivolio, caus'd various disputes between him and those with whom he hapned to converse. I beseech you, replied Urania, if you and this good Company give me leave to make such a request, let us know of what they talked. With all my heart, answer'd Nicomachus, if you'l grant me pardon for the wrong which I shall doe to Bentivolio by for∣getting many Excellent parts of his Discourse, and for the offence which I must needs give you by the imperfect reci∣tal of what I can remember. You need not make so many excuses, said Theonoe, to those who will confess themselves obliged to you for a great favour; and Bentivolio's honour must needs be secured, since if your memory should fail, of which we have no fear, you are furnish'd with a ready sup∣ply from your own judicious wit. If I could receive this Complement without blushing, replied Nicomachus, and might lawfully erre of choice, I would sin again by making some new pretence of silence, that I might be once more so obligingly reprov'd for not speaking. Pray, good Nico∣machus, said the sweet Irene, put us not upon any further loss of an opportunity, which we have destin'd to know Bentivolio's and your last Adventure. I will be obedient, answer'd Nicomachus, and began thus.

The chief of our Visitants was Pasenantius, who com∣monly brought with him an obstinate Gentleman call'd 〈◊〉〈◊〉. When they came first, Bentivolio and Eugenius were engag'd in a Discourse concerning the rational belief of a Deity: And Bentivolio affirming, that he could not but be astonish'd that any man should so far degenerate from Reason, or apostatize from Ingenuity; as not to acknow∣ledge so great a Benefactour, or forget so known a Friend; their entrance into the room made him break off his speech. Which Pasenantius perceiving, after he and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 had

perform'd those Salutes which are usual at the meeting of friends, he crav'd pardon for the interruption of their Conference. To which Eugenius answer'd, Let us not leave off our talk, Bentivolio, for these Gentlemen are Philoso∣phers, and friends of mine. Yes, said Autautus, and will not only think that we have wrong'd you, but that we our selves are depriv'd of a great benefit, if you judge us unwor∣thy of your Conversation. We will go on then, said Ben∣tivolio; and since we are engag'd in an important discourse, we shall be glad of your assistance to help us, as the difficul∣ty of the matter shall require; and turning to Eugenius, proceeded thus. You demanded last, as I remember, the Reasons which made me so confidently 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the Being of a Supreme God.

My first Argument is the inbred Notion of a God; which as it shines in my particular Mind with bright Rayes of truth, so I find that in all Ages it hath been universally ac∣knowledg'd by Mankind. This receives strength from the contemplation of the Nature of things: for I am forc'd to confess a first Cause by the very Existence of the World; much more when I consider both the Beautiful Order of the Systeme, and infinite Variety of Excellent Beings which makes up this noble Frame. I am convinc'd further of the truth of this perswasion, when I behold the vast num∣ber of those horrid Absurdities which flow from Atheism; and consider how easily all those Objections may be con∣futed which are oppos'd to the assertion of a Deity.

I like the method which you propound for your Dis∣course, said Eugenius; and if you will doe us the favour to declare in order what you have to say for the confirma∣tion of the aforemention'd Reasons, I will desire Pasenantius (for he is vers'd in this Controversie) after each Argument to put those Objections which are properly opposite. Since you judge them all easily answerable, you will be put to no great trouble for their confutation; and we shall be more methodically resolved in our Doubts. I shall take what course you please, said Bentivolio, either by a continu∣ed speech, or else by making frequent pauses to allow a li∣berty

for alternate Answers. For since our Design is only to apprehend that lurking Errour which troubles those Cry∣stal streams wherein Truth is represented; it is all one to me, either by insisting upon particular Arguments to fish with a single Line, or else by putting them all together to make useof a Net: But since you like the first way better, I do so too. When I say the Notion of God, I mean that Conception which we form of him in our minds when we think of him; as, That he is the First Cause, the Maker of the World, the Governour of all things; That he is an All-wise, most Good, All-powerful, and absolutely Perfect Being, and so necessarily and eternally Existing; and consequently to be Worshipped, not only for the Excellency of his Nature, but as the benign Parent of all things, and great Benefactour of Mankind.

This Notion is natural, that is, imprest upon our Souls by that God whose Idea it is; men having not learn'd it by Custom, or been forced to the belief of it by any Law. It is a Truth profest by all Nations, who, notwithstanding the difference of their Customs, the variety of their Laws, di∣versity of Dispositions, and hostility of their Practices, have universally agreed in this, as a thing that naturally results from the use of Reason; and which even by such as have not spoken very honourably of God, hath been acknow∣ledg'd as a common Prolepsis, that is, a connate Informa∣tion. Of this I think my self the more assured, because no beginning of time can be assign'd when the World enter∣tain'd this belief; but that the common Parent of Man∣kind, who was made with it, and to whom it was con∣firm'd by conversation with God, taught it his Children; who easily receiv'd it, because when they were arriv'd to that age in which they were capable of being taught by others, they plainly perceiv'd that it did naturally spring from the free exercise of their own understandings. If this were not true, I can give no rational account how it came to be generally receiv'd by the World; it being im∣possible that by Force or Fraud any contract should have been made to necessitate such a common Faith. For what Prince had ever power to enact such a constitution? or what

Oecumenical Sanhedrim ever met to consult about such a business? It is also manifest, That this is an everlasting. Truth deeply engrav'd in humane Souls, since no successi∣ons of time have been able to wear it out. Though Fals∣hood steal the Mantle of Truth, yet it cannot so conceal it self long; for Time will pull it off, and discover the Cheat. If it had been unnatural, men would long before this time have rejected it; and, being alwayes impatient of yokes, they would not so long have born this, which doth oblige them to the strictness of Religious observances. But they have been so far from abandoning this Truth, that they have not subjected it to be dishonour'd with Disputes, and so have declared, That this is that great Article of their Common Faith in which they all agree. If this which I have said be not enough to justifie the Reality of this Truth, and to free it from all suspicion of Fictitiousness, we must confess that, notwithstanding our best Faculties, which are appointed for our guides, we are capable of being at a loss, when we have good reason to think our selves most sure of our way: and being bestow'd upon us to such mean purposes, we may justly cast this 〈◊〉〈◊〉 slur upon Nature, (to speak in the language of Atheists) that she hath made one of her best works in vain, having given men Rational Faculties without any possibility of being assur'd what is Truth by the use of them; and so hath expos'd them to a necessity of being deceiv'd, notwithstanding the pretence of a rare Criterion; and so hath not only made a snare of the best of Notions, but also having put us into a strong pro∣pensity towards the Divine Nature, and made us think our selves happy in that noble Love, hath abus'd us with a vain affection which hath no real object, and rendred us Fools by making us Religious. Which is so absurd to imagine, that it is not more incredible to say, That wise men build great Ships only to lie at hull, and drive up and down with every wind. Since then the evidence of Reason is so great, that it hath led all men to an ingenuous Acknowledgment of God, I cannot think that it is only a wildness of phansie, but a perverse disposition in men who have us'd themselves

to resist known Truths, that enables them to deny him: But that it is unreasonable to suppose it true of any, I should think them the only persons in whom Nature hath implant∣ed Errour.

When Bentivolio had thus declar'd the sense of his first Argument, Pasenantius was about to frame an answer; but Eugenius desiring his patience for awhile, intreated Bentivo∣lio to explain himself more fully: For by that which you have affirm'd, said he, you seem to believe, that the Minds of new-born Infants are possest with a Notion of God, and that such as scarce know any thing have an actual sense of the Divine Being. I would not have you understand me after any such manner, replied Bentivolio: For when I say, That the Notion of God is inbred, I mean, That the Soul is principled with a natural sagacity, by which she is apt up∣on the first occasions which are administred to her after she is out of her Nonage, and admitted to the free exercise of her Rational powers, to make a clear acknowledgment of a Deity. The Energy of Nature being excited by outward Objects, there is form'd in our minds an Image of the Su∣preme God; this Effect notwithstanding being due to the innate virtue of our Soul as the principal Cause, and which doth owe to the Impulse of the foremention'd Objects only for the assistance of an Extrinsecal occasion. The Seed which is sown under ground awaits the warmth of the Spring to make it bud; but the blossoms and fruits which it sends forth are chiefly to be attributed to the Plastick power of the seed, not to the heat of the outward air. Humane Souls have many natural Ideas imprest upon them, for which they were never indebted to Matter; of which that of the Cause and Effect is one: which being awaken'd in the Understanding by the Consideration of such a noble Being as the World is, hath present recourse to some excel∣lent Nature as the Cause of so great an Effect. This ratio∣nal capacity is plac'd in our Souls as an Antecedent Princi∣ple of 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Knowledge, and it improves and ripens it self into an actual apprehension of God by time and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 I understand now what you mean, said Eugenius

to Bentivolio and if you please (added he, turning towards Pasenantius) you may let us see, if you can disprove what he hath said.

You have put a fair colour of verisimilitude upon this Notion, said Pasenantius to Bentivolio, by the greatness of your Eloquence; but the truth of what you affert lies so open to the mercy of powerful Objections, that it is no hard matter (as I think) to dispute probably against it, and to allege various reasons which disturb the belief of what you have said. That this universal acknowledgment signifies not so much as you would make us believe, seems to be evi∣dent from this, That you all confess the God of whom you speak so confidently to be Incomprehensible; that is, nei∣ther perceiveable by our Senses, because he is Spiritual, nor to be comprehended by our Mind, because he is Infi∣nite. The weight of that allegation which you make of numerous witnesses seems to be lessen'd in that the greater part of them are Fools, and you despise them when you please for their Ignorance. Their folly is but too apparent in those ridiculous Explications which they have given of the Deity; and you your selves confess them worthy to be abhorr'd: For there is nothing so contemptible but the rude Heathen adored it for a God. This testimony is not Universal neither; for many Nations never heard of God, and in those which did many have profess'd Atheism, and there is no doubt but many more did think there is no God, who durst not express the sense of their minds in words. Those which were seduc'd into this belief may well be sup∣pos'd to have been out-witted by Politicians, who cunning∣ly invented, and afterwards made use of, the Notion of a Deity. But if it had not taken its Rise from them, yet the fears which vulgar minds unacquainted with natural Cau∣ses are apt to entertain upon extraordinary Accidents would incline them to think, that God was the Author of that which they did not understand possible to be produc'd any other way; and it was easie to propagate such a vain be∣lief by Tradition. For such as had been deluded first, would be apt to transmit it to successive Generations, and

spread the Infection from one Country to another. Be∣sides this, it is manifest enough that those great Deists who concern themselves as great Patrons of this Faith, and seek applause by endeavouring to make Proselytes, do believe no such thing themselves; being guilty of those enormous crimes which nothing but the Disbelief of a Just 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Po∣tent God could make them commit.

I did expect some such Objections, replied Bentivolio; for that dull Principle Atheism hath not been able for many hundreds of years to improve the Minds of those who en∣tertain it, or teach them for its defence to adde any conside∣rable thing to the boldness of their few Predecessours: and by discovering the falshood of each Allegation in order as you have recited them, I will shew you with how little rea∣son they magnifie themselves against the Truth.

As to your first Exception, I grant, That because God is Spiritual, we cannot perceive him by any of our external Senses, nor paint his sublime Nature to our selves in Cor∣poreal Images; but since he hath given us divers Facul∣ties, which are so many distinct wayes of perception, we can no more justly conclude that he is not Knowable by our Understanding, since he doth not fall under the notice of our outward Senses, then we can infer that there is no such thing as Sound, since we cannot hear it with our Eyes. When we see a Ship under sail, we often discern no Pilot with our Eye, yet we know that he is at the Helm, because the Vessel escapes the circumjacent Rocks. But whereas you say, That we do not perceive God by our Understand∣ings because he is Infinite; I must take a larger compass to give you satisfaction, and convince you that we do. I grant that it were too great a presumption to hope to bring down that Excellent Being, God, to a just equality with our Un∣derstanding; since we are inform'd by our own Reason, that he is rais'd far above the highest reach of our Imagi∣nation. The Nature of the Godhead must be Infinite, be∣cause if it had bounds it would be imperfect: and though we conceive this Immensity rather in respect of those degrees of Virtue and Power and Duration which are contain'd in his

great Being, then by Extension of Figure or Unlimitedness of Space; yet those Degrees being unmeasurable, when we conceive of God as the most Perfect Being, we always grant that he doth incomparably exceed our best Conceptions. Yet our Assurance of his Existence is not hurt by the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of our Intuitive Knowledge of his Essence. To say that because we comprehend not the Divine Being, whose Nature we know to be Incomprehensible, therefore we have no Reason to think that it doth Exist; or because we understand him not perfectly, therefore we know him not at all; is no more reasonable then to affirm, That there is no Sea, or that we do not see it in part, because we cannot grasp its vast compass in one look. For though we are not able to frame a complete Image of the great God in our confined Minds, yet the power of our Reason compells us by the force of strong Arguments to acknowledge the truth of his Existence, and assures us concerning the properties of his Nature by rational consequences; and we do most di∣stinctly apprehend the Divine Perfections when we do en∣deavour to entertain our selves with the Contemplation of them, because they do more fill our thoughts with the greatness of their Essential Worth, then any bodily thing can doe; neither are our minds troubled with those Limi∣tations and Littlenesses which we meet with in our percep∣tion of other things.

I grant it is ordinarily said, That the Divine Nature cannot be known; but we must distinguish between that which subtil Atheists pronounce upon Design, the unwary Rhetorick of foolish Oratours, and the well-weighed Asser∣tions of considerate Philosophers. For many speak of Knowledge who know not what it is to know; and so be∣ing ignorant, that all the knowledge of which we are ca∣pable is only to understand the Properties of things by their Effects, they puzzle the weak, make sport to Atheists, and are pitied by the Ingenuous for their Ridiculous Philoso∣phy. We are not allow'd such intimacy with any created Be∣ing as to see its naked Essence; that is hid from mortal eyes; Nature in all her converses with Men keeps her veil on,

which none yet have been able to pull off. Therefore I infer, That the Properties of the Divine Nature are as per∣ceivable as those which belong to any other Subject: The virtue of the First Cause being as manifest in its Effects, as the Powers of any which are Secondary, whose Properties we know only by their Effects.

These things being consider'd, I know no reason why we should not think the Godhead understandable, except we judge it good sense to say, that because we cannot look di∣rectly upon the Sun with our weak eyes, therefore we do not perceive its glorious Light when it is reflected: For God is re∣presented by his works as it were in bright Looking-glasses. Or if, because some things in the Divine Nature do tran∣scend the power of our Perception, we ought to think that we are not sufficiently assured of its Being; why do Atheists grant so freely the Existence of Matter, and talking confidently of its Nature make no doubt but it is Quantita∣tive, and yet cannot tell whether it be divisible into Finite or Infinite Parts? Those who argue after this manner do only take a poor Sanctuary in a Sceptical device, and say, Wel know nothing, because we know not all things; or, which is all one, because we are not able curiously to ex∣plain the Modus of every thing, therefore we are not sure of the Existence of any thing; and that we ought to reject the most known Truths, because we cannot give a Reason for all particular Effects. But will any rational man give cre∣d't to those who deny the Being of God, and do not believe what they themselves speak when they say so? Those great Philosophers, who well knew that Modesty doth alwayes become us, and especially in Divine Enquiries, have confest that, considering the great nature of the Object, they thought themselves more happy in that little knowledge which they had of God, then in the most perfect under∣standing of less worthy things.

But because this Notion will receive a clearer Explicati∣on, and so a fuller proof, from the Arguments which I am to produce, I will at present confine my Discourse to answer your other Objections. You said, That a great part of

those who are concern'd in this universal confession of a God are Fools, and thence deduce the invalidity of their testimony. Really, Sir, if the opinion of Fools is to be despis'd, I might very well except against the Objections of Atheists: For they disbelieve, or at least deny, what we say concerning God without any Reason. They object we never saw God: It is true; but affirming his Existence, we shew them his Works as a testimony of his Being. They never saw any thing to the contrary, yet say there is none. But since the case admits of no proofs by Eye witnesses, this advantage lies on our side; We give a good reason for what we say, whilst they have none but the sullen obstinacy of a perverse Will.

But since the evidence of this Notion depends upon uni∣versal acknowledgment, and the World is divided into two parts, the Wise, and those that are of Weaker understand∣ings; we ought not to think its truth disparag'd because men of slower parts receive it; but rather 〈◊〉〈◊〉 that it is a natural Verity, since the dullest do so easily understand it. That it is no Artifice in them is manifest, because they are weaker then that they can hope to deceive: and that they are not out-witted by others for want of ability appears by this, that Wise men, who are not easily impos'd on, profess that they cannot but believe it.

Whereas you say, That it is an Argument that many Na∣tions did not understand what they spoke when they talk'd of a God, because they gave so many absurd Explications of his Nature; and that we cannot rationally think our selves oblig'd to believe that there is a Deity, because of their te∣stimony who have also told us that every thing is a God: I desire you, Pasenantius, to consider whether if the simple No∣tion of a Godhead had not been natural, it could have been possible that men should have attempted to have made any particular Explications of it. The truth in general is con∣firm'd by these mistakes: except we think that the making of a false description, or putting a wrong name upon any man, destroyes his Existence; or that there is no Sun, be∣cause some have imagin'd it to be only a burning stone,

and others have taken it for a shining Torch. But as their speaking of God, though they said what was unworthy of his Nature, supposeth his Existence; so the Reason of their Errour in the misapprehension of his Nature was only a shortness of Reason which disenabled them to explain a great Truth, and they mistook by endeavouring to deduce a false Conclusion from true Premisses. For having under∣stood not only that there was a God, but that he was uni∣versally acknowledg'd to be Good, they inferr'd weakly that every Goodthing was God. We must pity them in their Errour, but not deny Truth, because they misunder∣stood it. It is a great want of 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to conclude that no good thing is God, because they judg'd every good thing to be so. Whilst they knowing that the Divine Nature was infinitely good, took every good thing for a Deity, and bestow'd that incommunicable name upon all Beneficial Creatures; some say, and that not without reason, That though the vulgar suppos'd the Divine Power to be spread through the Nature of all things, yet Wise men were not wanting amongst them, who taught them that it was but one great Mind, which was also the first Cause of Being, and exhorted them to worship him as their Creatour. By which you may see, good Pasenantius, that you have no rea∣son to conclude that there is no God from what they said of him, and possibly that they did not mean so unworthily as they seem'd to speak.

You do well, said Pasenantius, to make your Party as con∣siderable as you can; but since your Argument supposes the acknowledgment of this Notion to be universal, what say you to that which I objected against their Numerous∣ness? I remember what you said, replied Bentivolio: for to perswade us to believe that the number of those which are on our side is not so very great, you told us that many Na∣tions, whom we think to be for us, did never hear of God, and that in those which did, many have profest Atheism, and more would doe so, but that they dare not. To which I reply, That any whole Nation was ever so barbarous as not to acknowledge a God, is a saying for whose truth we

have no evidence. In ancient times no such people were known, and the late discoveries of Countries formerly un∣known have assured us that they have not been so Atheisti∣cal as to deny a Deity; but by reason of a fatal Ignorance, whose Cause peradventure is not so easily discoverable, were guilty of some gross mistakes concerning it. Such as have travell'd into those parts which we have most suspect∣ed for Irreligion, have convinc'd us of that Errour, by gi∣ving us an account both of the names of their Gods, and the manner of their Worship. As to others, who would make us believe that they are Atheists by speaking against a Dei∣ty, I answer, That they have been but few in comparison of the rest of Mankind; and that you prove no more by this Argument then that which none ever denied, that it is possi∣ble there should be Monsters. Some few minute Philoso∣phers have been registred by Antiquity as blots in the Hi∣story of the World for entertaining such an absurd perswa∣sion; and some such have been produc'd of late years, and with their Atheism they have patroniz'd other opinions so Monstrous, that Humane Nature is astonish'd at the re∣hearsal of them: As for example, That what they say a∣gainst God's Existence may be both true and false, or nei∣ther; and That there may be a God who at the same time also may not be. But suppose that some of these Gigan∣tick Philosophers should happen to have six fingers upon an hand, or six toes upon a foot, would that enforce us to conclude, that it is natural for all men to have as many? If some be blind, or deaf, or want any usual member of the body, will they make us believe that those defects are not Monstrous and Irregular? How small is the number of these obstinate dissenters in comparison of those who as∣sert us this great Truth? If we think it reasonable that all the World should conform to their opinion, why may we not as well allow authority to two or three Mad-men to give Laws to the sober part of Mankind? God hath im∣prest this Character upon mens Souls, and there is no more reason that he should lose his right in them when they have blurr'd it with foolish imaginations, and made it less legible

to themselves by the effects of their ingrateful disobedience, then that true owners should forfeit their just pretensions to their Plate, when Thieves have endeavour'd to deface their Arms, and cut their marks out of it.

You dispute plausibly, said Pasenantius; but why may not we think that Politicians, as I told you, invented this Noti∣on, since we commonly see the good use which they make of it? You might have done a courtesie to your Cause, said Bentivolio, if you had not mention'd this Objection: For the great advantage which Politicians make of it proves that it's natural. How could they have made use of the Divine Name, and by it put an awe upon people, but that they were acquainted with it and dreaded it before? How could they have perswaded valiant men to venture their lives for their Country, by promising they should be Gods if they died in the attempt, if they had not been pre∣possest with venerable thoughts of Deities? The Impositi∣on of counterfeit Money doth suppose the use of good Coin. It's true, that cunning States-men feign'd many things un∣der pretence of Divine Authority; but what would that have signified if the notice of God had not been more an∣cient then their fictions? They abus'd Mankind with fa∣bulous Narrations of Celestial Visions, fill'd Religion with Superstitious Rites, and pretended to have receiv'd from God as Divine Laws those Rules by which they serv'd their particular designs; but they could not have perverted Religion by such undertakings, if the people had not ac∣knowledg'd a God by their own natural instinct.

But as it hath been said of old, replied Pasenantius, why may we not think that Panick fear brought in this terrible Notion of a Deity? It is not imaginable, said Bentivolio, that men should entertain the fear of a God in their Souls, but that they knew there was one. Nothing can be more foolish then to honour a God whom we our selves make; but it is rational to adore him that made us. Great acci∣dents in Nature giving fresh testimonies of the Divine Power, awaken in us apprehensions of God's Presence, and the Conscience of our own guiltiness may very well make

us fear; when we know that we do not only deserve pu∣nishment, but that he whom we have offended is Just and very Able to inflict it. I will no longer dispute against this Phantasie.

Whereas you mention Tradition, by which (as you say) men seem to have receiv'd this Opinion, and afterwards to have communicated it successively as they do other Opini∣ons and Customs: If I grant that it was spread by Tradi∣tion, my Concession would be little to your advantage; for I mean that it was deriv'd first from God, who implanted it in Humane Nature, nourish'd it by a Converse with the first Man whom he made, and with many others, who af∣terwards convey'd it successively from one generation to another: and thus the Objection is no more destructive to the Natural Verity of this Divine Notion, then it is unde∣cent for a Man to stand upon two Feet. But since you al∣low not that it was Traditional in this sense, I must crave leave to ask whence this Tradition had its Original. If it had no Beginning, it was an Eternal Falshood; and as I shall have occasion to prove in my following Discourse that this supposition is impossible, so for the present I must tell you, it is not good sense to say that a Tradition was Eternal; for all Traditions, being Opinions or Modes of Action receiv'd from some first Author, must have a beginning. It is a bold Arrogance to say that there was any Age in which Mankind liv'd without the acknowledgment of a God; since there is no foot-steep in History to lead us to such an Imagination, nor any Writer that tells us who did first per∣swade men to believe that there was a God, or mentions the time when men quitted the contrary Opinion of their Fore-Fathers, of which they are usually very tenacious. If the World was generally Atheistical, how was it possible to eradicate that Faith out of their minds, and to intro∣duce into the Catholick Creed a new Article which is so troublesome, that Atheists have confest that it is one of the most vexatious Opinions in the World to suppose an Om∣niscient God set over us as a watchful inspectour of all our Actions? Though the Notion be useful even to Atheists

themselves now it is receiv'd, yet it is not to be apprehend∣ed by what Artifice any Anti-atheist should perswade Man∣kind to imbrace such a belief, but that it was correspondent to the natural sense of their Souls: And it is very difficult to imagine how men should think of it, but that it is a com∣mon Dictate of reasonable Nature.

Well, well, said Pasenantius, I am too apt to think that you have a devout regard to this Deity of which you speak, because you have taken so much pains to enable your self to defend his Interest in the World: though I see that many who pretend themselves to be Patrons of this Faith, and endeavour to propagate it in the Minds of others, do not believe any such thing themselves; because they do as ma∣nifestly deny that there is a God by their guilty lives, as Common Atheists do in their blasphemous Words; so that this verbal acknowledgment of a Deity only shews that some men would have us think that they believe what indeed they do not.

The power of this Objection will easily vanish, replied Bentivolio, if you will please to give me leave to shew you, That to have the Notion of a Deity in our Minds, and to adore it with a submissive Will, are not only two things; but that it is too possible to know that there is a God, and yet not to correspond with that knowledge by an Obedient deportment. The truth of this will easily ap∣pear from the Observation of our common practice in o∣ther things. Who knows not that Health is one of the greatest Felicities of humane life, and that an universal Temperance is the most assured Method by which it may be preserv'd? and yet how many by an irregular Mode of life throw away this inestimable blessing? What? Shall we say that there is no such thing as Health, or that it is not infinitely more eligible then Sickness, or that men do not know it, because they sometimes make themselves sick? No, no, it requires more to cure the Gout, then to know that it is a Disease which affects the joynts; and the pain of it is no less great, because men do not take that care which they ought to avoid it. Do not men perceive in

their Souls a Natural Obligation to the practice of Justice, and know certainly they should not invade the Rights of others, because they would not be disturb'd in their own possessions? and yet how frequently Wrong is done ap∣pears but too evidently by the complaints of the opprest: so that the enormity of the impious is no Argument against the Existence of God, neither doth it prove that they have no knowledge of him in their Souls; but rather declares that they are Apostatiz'd from God, and as a punishment of their Revolt are fallen into a double mischief, that is, the perverse obstinacy of an irregular Will, which is the root of the unlucky strife between the Rational and Sensitive ap∣petites; and also into a defect in their Judgment, which doth not with a sufficient constancy bear up against the rebellion of 〈◊〉〈◊〉 desire, and make that which is truly good alwayes more visible then those false Appea∣rances which do so easily catch their Passions.

This is enough to demonstrate, that the strength of the Argument is not weaken'd, though the right use of this excellent Notion be perverted, Men being not necessitated to improve it to the utmost advantage, though God has en∣abl'd them and exceedingly oblig'd them to doe it. I might also tell you, Pasenantius, that besides an ingrateful Pervers∣ness men have a wild Phantasie, which helps them when they endeavour to evade the suggestions of their better In∣tellect; and though they are not able to rub out of their Souls this well-fix'd Notion of a Deity, yet they may draw a false picture of the Divine Nature, and make bold to misinterpret the Declarations of God's Will, and so per∣swade themselves that his Commandments may be neg∣lected without Sin in some cases; or phansie that there are fond Indulgences which God hath for some persons, into which number they will be sure to thrust themselves; and, it may be, suppose, when the sense of their guilt haunts them, that they may easily make amends for the offences of their Life by a Repentance at their Death. So foolishly cunning is Humane Nature to cheat it self.

Here Bentivolio making a Pause, Eugenius and Pasenantius

gave him thanks for the patience with which he receiv'd the trouble of this Entercourse, and desir'd him if he pleas'd to proceed to his other Arguments. With all my heart, said Bentivolio, since I perceive you are not yet wearied, and went on after this manner.

The truth of the fore-mention'd Notion shines more brightly in my Mind, both when considering my own Exi∣stence I find there no small Arguments of its Divine Au∣thor, and also when I perceive my self placed so advantagi∣ously in Being, that, as from a convenient station in a noble Theatre, I am able to contemplate the admirable Schemes of those Magnificent Works which the Divine Nature hath set round about me. When I consider the Greatness of the Universe, the Variety of its Excellent Parts, and the beautiful Order which appears in their accurate Connexi-I am forc'd to acknowledge an Almighty Skill: When I behold that innumerable Multitude of Illustrious Balls which shine round about me, see them rank'd in such fit distances, and consider their Regular Motions; whilst I take notice of that useful Vicissitude which returns so con∣stantly in the seasons of the Year, the alternate succession of Night and Day; and find the Reason of every Appoint∣ment so great, that nothing could have either been con∣triv'd better at first, or can be alter'd yet, but it would be so much for the worse, that it would prove like the dislocation of a joynt: I cannot but behold the Omnipotent Wisdom of the great Creatour, except I should think my self blinded with too much Light, and am forc'd to conclude, that a Di∣vine Power is the Author of this Excellent Machin, in which Infinite Wisdom is so visible; unless I should be so unworthy as not to allow that just acknowledgment to God, which all the World doth grant to the wit of every Artificer, who is alwayes magnified according to the Skill which he expresses in any curious Work.

When I see the Sun, that Glorious Prince of the Stars, by the help of his own Rayes, and think with my self what wonderful Effects are produc'd by his warm Influences; may I not as rationally make a Question whether I see it or

no, as doubt that a God made it? Who chalk'd out the ob∣lique Rode of the Zodiack, and taught him to withdraw so far in Winter as to give the over-heated Earth leave to cool it self; and yet made him come nearer in Summer, be∣cause then it wants his Presence to ripen its Fruits? Who commissionated the Moon to be a Deputy-Sun, and gave her Order to supply his place in the Night, and command∣ed her to step a little beyond the Sun's Walk to take away the Horrours of Darkness, and by a moist warmth to ad∣vance the Generation and Growth of Vegetable Beings? Who appointed them both to guide men in the reckoning of Time, not only to measure Solar Years by the Annual Motion of the Sun, but to calculate Lunar Months by the Phases of the Moon, and to tell Hours by the help of Diur∣nal and Nocturnal Dials? Who adorn'd the Heavens with those glistring Stars which dance so orderly above our Heads, and carrying about such multitudes of bright Torches make up the want of one Great Light with many Little ones? These tell poor Sailors where they are when they have lost their way; whilst they are visible, by them∣selves, and when they are hidden, by the Load-stone, which is order'd to correspond with the Poles, and so lets them know how far they have made their Voyage Northward or Southward, in which they cannot fail, the Axis of the Earth being directed to keep a perpetual Parallelism.

From hence I am transported into the Contemplation of the neighbouring Air, that transparent Vehicle of Light, destinated by the Benigne Creator for the large Aviary of all sorts of Birds, and where those which are Musical do continually sing their Maker's Praises. God hath made this the great Treasury which supplies all living Creatures with Vital Breath, and hung it up as a great Spunge to en∣tertain the Vapours which are exhal'd by the Earth and Sea in Clouds, out of which they are squeez'd into Showres, and rain'd down upon such Places as could hardly be wa∣ter'd with any other Buckets. He made this the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of those Winds which not only dissipate putrid Exhalations with a clenfing Fan, and check the violence of immoderate

Heats with fresh Briezes, but attend seasonably in all Quar∣ters, and with strong Blasts swell the Sails of deep-loaden Ships, and relieve the necessities of useful Mills, which without their aid would be becalm'd at Land; and which do not only grind our Corn, but winnow it first that it may be fit for Meal; which also draw our Water, saw our Wood, and blow our Fire.

Now I have nam'd Fire, how can I forbear to mention the Virtue which Almighty Goodness hath prudently be∣stow'd upon it for our Benefit? What rare Effects doth it produce in the common Kitchin, in the Chymist's Shop, and in the Miner's Fornace? In all which it dissolves, coa∣gulates, concocts, and, in short, assists all Artists so many several wayes, that it may be truly call'd A Generall Ser∣vant to Mankind. If after the Fire I should speak of Water, how visible is Divinity upon the Sea to any that consider the vast Bounds of the deep Ocean, that see how it carries our Ships upon its smooth Back, and so is made a rare In∣strument of universal Commerce, and advanceth the Profit and Pleasure of every Country by Correspondence with others which are extremely distant? It is a plentiful Nur∣sery of delicate Fishes, and out of its inexhaustible Treasu∣ry of Waters sends forth useful Streams into the Earth through divers Holes which are bor'd deep at convenient Distances, and forceth them to climb up to the Tops of Mountains, not only that they may be able to run down again with ease, but also to carry themselves to such Heights afterward as mens Necessities require.

After this I view the neighbouring Earth, which chec∣quers it self with the Sea to make one Globe of both. I esteem it no small occasion for Admiration to see that which is heavier fall under the lighter Water only in some places. How could it have been, but that the All-know∣ing Creator having priviledg'd some Spots, charg'd the Sea not to molest them with Water, lest there should be wanting a convenient Habitation for many sorts of living Creatures which cannot subsist but upon dry Ground? It is a great pleasure to me to see it emboss'd with goodly

Mountains which by their Height defie the proud Flouds, and oppose the barrenness which seems to reproch their scorch'd Out-sides with their full Veins of rich Minerals, and the Quarries of noble Marble which they contain in their great Bellies. But this is nothing in comparison of that Admirable Position by which the Earth is made a pleasant Habitation, capable of all possible Advantages from Heat and Light: For its Axis keeping parallel to its self, and inclining in so fit a Proportion to a Plane going through the Centre of the Sun, frees those who dwell upon it from the tedious Darkness of too long Nights, and the trouble of over-hot Dayes. Sure the dull Earth was not so discreet as to make this Order, nor the rambling Atoms so lucky as to execute it in their fortuitous Concourse.

I should be in danger of losing my self, if I venture to lead you through those infinite Wonders which Divine Skill hath shewn in those different Orders of Being with which this small Globe is grac'd. God hath made the Earth an Archetypal Patern of a natural Embroidery border'd with Water-work; but it is so inimitably perfect, that the best Workmen have sought praise only by coming near it in some faint Resemblances. He hath made the Bottom (as all Artists use to employ their courser Stuff) because it is not seen, of Rubbish, common Earth, Clay, Sand, Coals or Stones. To raise plain Being to the order of growing Life, he hath adorn'd the Ground-work with green Grass. The colour being chosen with much Pru∣dence, for it is so convenient to our Eyes, that they are not hurt with looking upon that which they must often see. Above these we may discern the most proper Artifice of Forest-Work, but not only done better to the Life, but more profitably for use then that in Arras: For the great Trees, appointed for other Designs then to grace the Picture, sup∣ply us with Timber, which is one of the chief Materials re∣quisite to build stately Houses, magnificent Ships, and Sa∣cred Temples. Whilst they stand, they have real Shades, which please more senses then the Eye; and when they are cut down, lest the Work should be defac'd, others by a na∣tural

Art are made to grow up in their room. Because Trees cannot remove from their places to fetch Provision, they are made with their Heads downward, and being fasten'd to the Earth they have their Mouths alwayes in their Meat; and though they cannot make themselves Cloths, they have no reason to complain, because God hath inclos'd them in Bark, and arm'd them against Injuries with Prickles, and taught the weaker Branches to clasp about stronger Boughs and the Trunks of more robust Trees, and so to support themselves by laying their feeble Arms upon Crutches. He hath beautified them also with broad Leaves, fair Blossoms, and delicious Fruits, and plac'd them to a great advantage of his Work among infinite Va∣rieties of sweet-smelling Herbs and rare-colour'd Flowers, useful for Diet and Medicine, and mark'd with Signatures which give notice of their Virtues, and teach those who need them their particular Uses: and before they go from their places, which many of them can hold but for a Year, they leave Seeds which grow up and supply their Vacan∣cies.

That this Divine piece might not want any proper Or∣nament, God hath beautifi'd it with such Imagery as is not to be found any where else; for by an excellent Dispositi∣on of rare parts visible in the Composition of all sorts of living Creatures, as by a pleasant admirableness of Experi∣ment, God hath shewn there how many wayes they may be made, bred, fed, and taught to defend themselves. Mo∣tion also is there represented to the Beholder's Eye; for the Universal Parent having made Life to move, gave his Crea∣tures leave to go whither they please, and hath also assisted their Motion with Sense, that the walking Animals might know where it was best to bestow themselves, and, as oc∣casion requir'd, provide supplies necessary to maintain their Life. Thus he instructed Birds to make proper Nests for their Young, and to hide them in Bushes; and those which are destitute of these Accommodations he hath furnish'd with as proper securities, instructing them to lay their Young in warm Sand or in the clefts of Rocks, and order'd

them to feed them there till they are able to work for their own Living. Whilst such Impotent things relieve their weakness with so much Discretion, it is a rare Document that they are taught by a Nature which is more wise then they. Amongst these Considerations I cannot forget the Earth's Fruitfulness, which being appointed for a ge∣neral Magazine of Provisions, doth not only satisfie the Necessity of its Numerous Inhabitants, but support their Delight with supernumerary Additions: Indeed hereby shewing not so much its own inexhaustible Fecundity, as God's equal Liberality. Thus the World is made a most com∣modious Habitation furnish'd with all Necessaries, set off with all pleasant Ornaments, peopl'd with variety of noble Inhabitants, and, in short, is such a perfect Contrivance, that nothing could have been more specious for Beauty or fit for Use. Yet I do not wonder that many men are not much affected with the Glory of the Divine Works, because they have seen them long; for it is well known that Fools are more apt to be taken with the sight of things which happen seldom, then of others far more admirable which have been long before their Eyes. It is another piece of their Folly also, that when any new thing is shewn to them, they al∣wayes look over that which is most to be wonder'd at; of which none can make any doubt who doth remember what ill luck poor Zeuxis had when he expos'd that In∣comparable Picture of his Centaures to the view of the dull Athenians.

If I had time, continued Bentivolio, to shew you the prin∣cipal Jewel which God hath lock'd up in this fair Cabinet, whose outward Case is seen by many, its self but, by very few; it would not only perfect my Argument, but, as I think, make it impossible to doubt who was its Author. But since my Discourse hath been too prolix already, I will break it off here, not doubting but that if it hath been tedious to be heard, yet it is as difficult to be an∣swer'd.

Do not you believe, said Eugenius with an obliging Air, that any in this Company can be tired with hearing, whilst

you are willing to speak. We have time enough, and shall never think it capable of better improvement then by con∣versing with you; and since the Subject is Noble, pray do not wrong it by omitting any thing which, if it were not for your courteous regard of our Patience, you would say concerning it. I do not know, replied Bentivolio, how far your Civility may occasion your trouble, but respecting your Commands I will go on. That which I have ever look'd upon since I could distinguish one thing from ano∣ther, as the most admirable Work of knowing Nature, is the most perfect of all living Creatures, a Man; whom as God hath made a rare Instrument of his own Happiness, so I cannot but think that he design'd him for an unanswer∣able Proof of the Divine Skill, and intended that he should alwayes have as near him as he is to himself a lively De∣monstration of the God whom he is to adore. Here I know not which to admire most, the orderly Progress of his Wisdom in forming the Parts, or the rare Contexture of the Whole when it is finish'd. How would it transport you, Eugenius, if you could perceive the successive Methods of Generation by which the Embryo is fram'd in the Womb, as plainly as you can see the regular endeavours of prudent Bees, when they raise their waxen Cells, through Glasse∣windows made in the sides of their Hives? Would it not astonish you to discern busie Nature laying the first Designs of a Foetus in its warm Receptacle impregnated with the Prolifick Virtue of both Sexes; and having fill'd the Cell with a Crystalline Liquor, as a proper material to work upon, in the midst whereof the early bud of young Life first appears in a salient Motion, then for the inclosing thereof in a fit Mansion see her invelop it with a thin Membrane, and afterward observe how she draws from this Centre the various lines of Life which complete the whole Circumfe∣rence, whilst she carefully stretcheth some small Fibres from one side of this narrow Work-house to another, not much unlike the manner of the subtle Spider, when she fastens the slight Beams of her pendulous House to the walls of the Room where she dwells; and when this rude Draught

is to be brought towards a more perfect Form, to see how judiciously she selects one of the longest Threds, which be∣ing appointed for the back-bone she extends like the Keel of a Bark, raising from each side proportionable Ribs, and ma∣king them to meet in the middle at some small distance a∣bove it frames the Hull of this little Vessel; and having prepar'd so much room, to see with what care she begins to furnish it with agreeable Utensils, as the Heart, Lungs, Li∣ver, and many others, which to keep safe she covers with the Thorax and Abdomen like the upper Decks? Designing a Head to these, and having provided a small Mass of pul∣pous substance for the Brain, she forms it into a round Tower for the principal Residence of the Soul, and after∣wards walls the Acropolis with a Skull: having appoint∣ed the Inferiour parts for considerable services, she propor∣tionably strengthens the Members with hard Bones, and, that they might not be wearied with the burthen which they are to carry, makes them insensible, and tiesthem to∣gether with Muscles entred into the bone upon both sides of every joynt, which are intended for Pullies of rare Motion not yet experimented: and that as occasion requires there may be a communication of Sense through all the parts, she unites the whole frame with Nerves, which take their Ori∣ginal from the Brain. Having bestow'd a small quantity of spirituous bloud upon the Heart as a stock to begin the Trade of life, she also gives it Ventricles to receive it, and convenient Doors through which it passes for the relief of its indigent Neighbours; and by a perpetual Motion through Arteries and Veins both preserves and increases it self, and walking its daily Rounds about the Body, be∣stows upon every part the same food by which it self is nou∣rish'd, warming them all with a vital dew.

Whilst these things are doing, and one that warily ob∣serves stands by, and perceives how many dissimilar parts a∣rise out of a little soft Glue, and sees them put together with an accurate symmetry without any visible Artist attend∣ing to perform these excellent Operations; what can he imagin but that a God is near, who says, Grow there a Bone,

here a Vein; Let this be an Head, and that an Heart? It is also an evident testimony of the Divine Wisdom, when after a few Months the just configuration of all the Parts being finish'd, and they fenc'd with Skin, the Medal of a little Man appears swimming in watry Milk, that is, en∣compass'd with Nourishment, which now he needs to pre∣serve his young life, and to augment the Body to a just pro∣portion; where it also learns to suck before-hand, and to prepare it self betimes for the Course of its after-life, which is to suck still; the same sort of Nourishmentbeing provi∣ded in the Breasts of the Mother, that when the nine Months stock is spent or grown unfit for use, it may not want something to live upon when it comes into the World. When the Plastick virtue of the Soul hath dis∣charg'd its duty, and the Embryo out-grows his lodging, Time having so matur'd its life, that it is ready to fall from the Tree like ripe fruit, that which was destin'd to live, is born; but that so feeble a thing as an Infant should so easily break its prison or open so many Doors, can be re∣solv'd into nothing but the never-failing Skill which ever attends upon all Divine Operations.

Since Eternal Wisdom does take so much pains in form∣ing of a Creature, you will expect that when it appears, we should see something correspondent to the Divine care, and really we may. For if we consider the Organs of Sense which beautifie it externally, and the Faculties of the Soul with which it is accomplish'd within, we must confess that the vigorous spirit of warm bloud, or the Plastick power of a Rational Soul, which have been imploy'd in this Work, were only instruments to some nobler Agent: and that it is infinitely above the Ability of our nature to produce such an excellent effect of it self, is manifest in this, that by the repetition of most watchful observations we are not able to understand how it is done. When we consider the exter∣nal Instruments of Sense, we find them put by an ineffable skill in most useful places and just numbers, and contriv'd with Accuracy of Proportion to their different Uses, which is that they might be Avenues by which the Soul may sally

forth of its close Cittadel into the open Campania of the great World; by which means the Soul is completely fitted for a correspondence with all sensible Objects, and so is both enabled to administer to its own necessities, and made a rare Engine of Pleasure to it self, being accomplish'd for many excellent Operations.

By the Eye our Mind grows acquainted with Light and beauty, and through transparent Tunicles receives the de∣lightful mixtures of Colours, the symmetry of well-cut Fi∣gures, with the variety of graceful Postures and Motion, which she represents to her self by a Convex glass made in an Oval form. In the Ear she lies Perdue making Obser∣vations of Noise, whilst all sorts of Sounds beat upon her Drum as they march through those hollow Caverns in which is plac'd the rarest Echo in the World. She useth the Nose not only as a Sluce to drein the Head, but hath made it also an In-let to the pleasure of sweet Odours. By the power of Feeling, which is spread over all the Body, she sits like an Arachne in the midst of her Loom, and is well aware of all Motions which are made in it, and is awaken'd by every new impulse to stand upon her Guard. She hath bestow'd the office of Taster upon the Palate; and because it is not fit that any hurtful thing should enter into the Sto∣mach, she hath assisted it with three other Senses in the per∣formance of its duty. Lest the stock of life should fail, Nature being at a continual expence to maintain it, she hath appointed two faithful Monitors, Hunger and Thirst, who in due seasons forget not to call for fresh supplies. In the Mouth, which is the first room where her Provisions are bestow'd, she hath appointed two rows of Teeth to rough-grind the Meat, that it might be the more easily di∣gestable; and put an Epiglottis to cover the passage which leads to the Lungs, lest when we drink, the Liquor should mistake its way, and go into them. Prudent Nature knowing to what narrow limits of Duration we are de∣stin'd, to prevent a general decay which Mortality threa∣tens, hath commanded the Individuals to propagate their kind, and to make it possible, hath contriv'd a proper di∣stinction

of Sexes, and render'd the Obedience desirable by a love of Posterity and other sensible endearments.

It were too tedious to discourse of that amicable con∣junction of Heat and Moisture, by which Life is preserv'd in the Body, like Light by Oil inflam'd in a bright lamp; or to detain you any longer in the Contemplation of other parts of the Body, and to speak of the Offices of the Sto∣mach, Liver, Lungs, Diaphragm, Spleen, Gall, and Reins, and to shew how fitly every Vessel is plac'd for its use; be∣cause I design not to reade an Anatomy-Lecture. The wis∣dom which appears in the least member is so great, that the Dissection of a Finger or a Toe hath discourse enough in it to convert an Atheist, but that for his disingenuous obstina∣cy he is condemn'd to continue such as he is. Though I pos∣sibly have wrong'd my Argument by making no better an explication of Mysteries, which you cannot but perceive to be so great that they are no proper subject for an ordinary Eloquence; yet by that which I have discours'd you may imagine what those rare Anatomists would have said, who have often taken this excellent Machine in pieces, that they might more fully discover the Divine Artifice by which it is put together.

But having said thus much of the Organs of Sense which appear in the Body, I will also adde a short Discourse con∣cerning the Nature of the Inward Faculties of the Soul, and so conclude this Argument. God in all his works doth usu∣ally perform more then that which ought to be esteem'd enough, that we might not be able to make the least pre∣tence that he comes short in any thing. This is so mani∣fest in those rare Powers which he hath bestow'd upon the Soul, that we need no further proof. The chief of these noble Faculties is our Understanding, by which the Soul both takes notice of it self, and so enjoys the great pleasure of a reflexion upon its own Being, and is admitted to the Pri∣vilege of knowing its own and the World's Creator, and honour'd with the Contemplation of all things, and, when it pleaseth, views their Properties, Repugnancies, Agree∣ments, Symmetries, and Disproportions; by an active

Reason discourseth it self into great perfections of Know∣ledge, and by a sagacious Collection of various Rules en∣tertains it self with the Invention of profitable and delight∣ful Arts. By Liberty of Will a man is made Master of his Actions, and put into an honourable capacity of offering to his Maker voluntary Sacrifices, and enabled by the choice of his Duties to please that God who values none but wil∣ling Obedience. That we might be well guided in the choice of fit means for the attainment of that last End which is the chief Good of our Souls, God hath written practical Rules on our Hearts, and set that tender Principle, Consci∣ence, as a constant Spie upon our actions to attend us in all places, and hath made it so much his Care to hinder us from Sinning, that he hath constituted us Witnesses, Ac∣cusers, and Judges to our selves. God did not think it fit to make us immutable: yet lest we should fall into errour by too sudden resolutions, he made us able to Deliberate; and since usually we doe nothing so well but it may be mended, he gave us the power of Animadversion, that by re∣flecting upon our selves we might recal what we had mis∣taken by Second thoughts, and meliorate that which was not so well done at first by after-endeavours. We arrive at Knowledge but by degrees, and therefore ought not to forget what we have learn'd: in reference to this necessity God hath bestow'd upon us Memory, as a faithful Secretary, who lays up our Notions in safe Custody, and brings them forth as we have occasion to use them. By due improve∣ment of these Faculties God hath enabled us to furnish our selves with store of useful Observations, and so make our selves possessours of Prudence, that great Directress of Hu∣mane affairs, by which we are taught to govern our selves in all conditions of Life, to respect Time, Place and Persons in our Deportment, and to keep a decorous Correspon∣dence with all Circumstances of Action. I should adde to these the power of Imagination, which really is of such a strange Nature, that it is an hard matter to tell you what it is: only thus much I may say, that when the Soul is dis∣pos'd to take pleasure in a free Air, she is carried by quick

Phansie as in a light Chariot over the tops of highest Moun∣tains, cuts the Clouds, wanders amongst the Stars, and traversing a course downwards on a sudden ranges through Forests, alights upon the Sea-shore, dives into the Abysses of the Ocean; and, not being satisfied with the various shapes of Real Beings, makes as many more Fantastical Forms of her own. The Imagination pleasing her self ve∣ry much that she is able to lead the Mind such a wild Dance, till the Understanding wearied with her toying, commands her to return, and having got her home, fetters her restless Activity with the drowsiness of Sleep, which yet is able to hold her but a little while. Besides all these Gifts, to complete the Dowry God hath given a Power to the Spiritual part to move the Material, by which it is made a rare Engine of Spontaneous Motion and the noblest Automaton in the World, not only moving the whole Body at once, but directing the Spirits into what Muscles it plea∣seth, puts only such parts into Motion as serve the present Design. How brave a faculty this is, appears in those pro∣digious Dances of a Lutenists fingers, which vary Harmo∣ny through so many Notes in a Minute, that the quickest Ear can scarce hearken so fast as he playes. To this I might adde another Excellent Product of this Power, which is Speech, by which the Soul puts Conceptions into Words, and makes her Apprehensions audible. By this we learn our selves hearing others speak, and teach others speaking our selves. By this when it is perfected into Eloquence we convince the Erroneous, reconcile the Obstinate to their Duties and allure the Afflicted from their oppressive Medi∣tations. I cannot but take notice also how the Voice, by the help of those Natural Bellows the Lungs, and the Mu∣sical Larynx, fitted with Muscles to further its Modulation, enables us to entertain our selves and others with one of the best Recreations, Vocall Musick; which is advanc'd also by the Concent of others who sing the same Air in other well∣agreeing Notes, especially being accompanied with an Or∣gan, which Art having conform'd to the nature of Humane Voice, doth not only assist, but imitate us whilst we sing.

He that is deaf to the Voice of Divine Wisdom, and doth not admire it whilst it expresseth it self so harmoniously, may well be wondred at himself for an Unparallel'd Stu∣pidity.

The best of the old Philosophers, who were the Glory of their times, could not behold the curious structure of this noble Machine which I have describ'd, nor look upon the strange usefulness of its well-fitted Parts, without making Hymns and offering Hecatombs as their humble acknow∣ledgment of the Unspeakable Wisdom of that All powerful Mind which compos'd it. How could they doe less? For, seeing all the Pieces, not of this, but all the Divine Works put into such exact order that all Wise men must needs ap∣prove it, perceiving the Method according to which they were contriv'd of so deep a reach that none but great Minds can fathom it, and observing the whole System to be so perfect that nothing can be desir'd towards its emendati∣on, but that which is impossible; they justly concluded that it was the effect of no meaner a Cause then an Omni∣potent and All-knowing Principle. But here I must again entreat you, most worthy Friends, continued Bentivolio, to pardon the tedious length of this Addition to my former Discourse, which I make no doubt but you will doe both of your own Goodness, and also considering that it is hardly possible to speak briefly of such a vast Subject.

It is easier for you to obtain our Thanks then our Par∣don, replied Eugenius, since you have put an Obligation up∣on us by your Narrative of the Creation, and presented to our view those various pulchritudes which adorn the Nature of things; which for my own part I esteem a most Excellent Contemplation, and worthy of the expence not of a few Hours, but our whole Life. And so do I, said Pasenantius; and should easily grant that your Argu∣ment did prove the Existence of a God, because he made such a World, but that we are told by such as pretend to know very much, That it was not contriv'd by the Skill of any Artist, but was Eternally such as it is now; or if it did not alwayes exist in this Form, yet they say that there is no

necessity to suppose that some God fram'd it, since it might be made by Nature; and some affirm very confidently that it was produc'd by a Fortuitous concourse of small Parti∣cles of Matter, which having mov'd up and down a good while in an infinite Space, did at last stumble upon this form of things: and they want not other Hypotheses be∣side this of which they make use to evade the force of your Argument: for without that Method which you so mag∣nifie in the contrivance and production of living Crea∣tures, they suppose that Men and Women sprung at first from the Earth of themselves.

I did expect some such Answers, replied Bentivolio, for I have often heard such things quoted by the Patrons of A∣theism, when they have been put to streights for the defence of their absurd Opinion; but I never wonder'd at it: For since the acknowledgment of a Creator would bring them under Obligations to a Religious Observance of him, they endeavour to invent many things to undermine that Be∣lief, and grant any thing which can be suppos'd, though never so vainly, if it do but seem useful to that Design. I think those Objections which you have mention'd as frivo∣lous as the rest; and as they all come far short of a just Ac∣compt of the World's Original, so some of them are ex∣tremely ridiculous. Your First Objectors pronounce the World Eternal, and say that it did alwayes exist in such a Form as appears to us now, and that there hath ever been a Sun and a Moon, a Sea and Earth, and that they were al∣wayes inhabited as they are at present, and that Men and Women and other living Creatures, having a Natural Pow∣er of Generation, did from Eternity propagate their kind; and by saying this they suppose they have sufficiently dis∣charg'd themselves of a God. But how vainly they think so, and how weak this pretence is, will soon appear, if you will give me leave to shew you with what insupportable Absurdities it is clogg'd.

I might here take a just occasion to urge Atheists with the Unreasonableness of their Incredulity, since they give an Historical Faith to most ordinary Writers, and deny it to

the most faith-worthy Book that ever was written; in which we have receiv'd a clear Accompt of the Beginning of the World, and where God is positively asserted to be the Creator of all things. But because your Sect, pretending only to Reason, useth to disparage such Arguments under the Name of Rumours, I shall endeavour to demonstrate otherwise how rational it is to believe that Report. The disacknowledgment of God as the First cause of Being, and the denial of him as the Creator of the Universe, do utterly bereave us of all Hope ever to arrive at any knowledge of Truth, which we both naturally desire with a strong Pas∣sion, and are fully assur'd that we can never attain it till we find out the First Cause of all things. For plunging our selves into the deep Study of Nature, and strictly examining every effect which we see, & following it home to its Cause, in the pursuit we over-take many Mediate Causes which divert our course awhile, and requite our labour in part by the knowledge which we receive of them; but upon In∣quiry finding them to be only Effects of other Causes, we are forc'd into this Thought, That though the Chain of Cau∣ses and Effects may be drawn out into a long Series by ma∣ny successive Links, yet there must be in the World some Great Cause of which there is no former, eternally existing of it self, from which all others derive their Beginning; and having found out this, we rest very well satisfied. So the Traveller being instructed by the purling water which runs along by him in a little chanel, that there is a Foun∣tain from whence it springs, guides himself by the win∣dings of the Stream which threds the Medows, and as by a Clue leads him to the Rock out of which it bubbles, and there he sits down and drinks. This Hypothesis of a First Cause is a Principle so necessary to Contemplation, that all Philosophers have look'd upon an infinite Series of Causes as an intricate Labyrinth of 〈◊〉〈◊〉 out of which there is no Egress, and have avoided it with the same wary care which they would take not to fall into a bottomless Pit. Some also of them have said, whom it is not easie to confute, That if they should admit this absurd supposal of the World's

Eternity, they would be forc'd to grant that there are more Infinites then one, and that one of them may be greater then another, or that one of them may be a Part of another, and yet equal to the Whole; which are Assertions hard to be swallow'd or digested by a rational Belief. If this World had no Beginning, you can assign no Time in the Duration of it but an Infinite number of years went before it; one Infinite number finish'd a hundred years since must needs be shorter then that to which another Century is ad∣ded, and so one Infinite is bigger then another: or if you say that they are equal, because both are Infinite; then the first being but a part of the second, it will follow that a Part is equal to the Whole; and we must be content to grant too that there have pass'd as many Years as Hours in this feign'd succession: For Infinite Years having pass'd, the number of Hours, though there be some thousands of them in one Year, cannot exceed them, for it is but Infinite. If these things contain an inexplicable Darkness, then this Notion of an Infinite Succession of Generations, which is brought in to take off the Dependence of the World from a First Cause, signifies no more but this, That Atheists de∣siring to reject a great Truth under pretence that it is hard to be Believ'd, are able to find nothing to avoid it but an Hypothesis which cannot be Understood.

I confess, said Eugenius, I am not well able to dive into mysterious Arguments, but I have thought sometimes as I have walk'd upon the Banks of a River, that if the World had been Eternal, those great Hills which I have seen plea∣santly situated upon it would have been worn away before this time with the constant beating of mighty Waters, and that their high Tops would have been levell'd by the un∣dermining Streams. And when I see those dreadful Rocks which stand in the Sea, and raising their Heads above the Waves threaten the fearful Sailours to dash their Ships in pieces if they come near them, I am apt to think that if they had been plac'd there from Eternity, the rough Waves would have wash'd them quite away long ago: For though Stones do grow, yet it is easie to observe that what the Sea

devours in a Year is not to be repair'd in an Age, and that growing more greedy after it hath swallow'd a Part, it doth with more facility prey upon the Whole. But I have not said this to interrupt you, added Eugenius to Bentivolio, and therefore I desire you to proceed. It is no Interruption of my Discourse, but, as I think, a Confirmation of the Truth which I defend, replied Bentivolio: however I will goon; and as I think that which hath been said sufficient to prove that the World did not eternally subsist in this order which is now visible; so I think that the other Objections which are gather'd together to cloud this Truth may as easily be blown away.

Your Second Disputers possibly doubting the Truth of the former Assertion, and being willing to find out some other Subterfuge, have affirm'd that Nature made all things. These seem to have had such an eager desire to say something, that they resolv'd to speak, though what they said was as ill directed to the purpose as the Speech of the blind Senator to the Turbat. The truth is, the Ob∣jection is so foolish that it scarce deserves to be confuted; but because some Atheists play so low, I think it not amiss to shew in a few words that those who use this Argument either do not care what they say, or know not what they mean. For by Nature they would signifie either a Dull Principle, which having neither Reason nor Sense, hath brought forth all things, and dispos'd them in so good order that no Art can correct it; which is an absurd Imagination, as will appear by and by: or else by Nature they mean a knowing Power, which having made the World, and well understanding the distinct Properties of all things, assign'd them convenient stations according to the Direction of an excellent Wisdom; and so they confess a God, only they will not call him by that Name.

If this answer satisfie not, we must ask them whe∣ther by Nature they mean Particular or Generall Nature. If they say that some Particular Nature made all the rest; which is it? That of Men or Beasts, Sun or Moon? If any of these be quoted, the Doubt remains still; for we shall ask

who made that: which will be hard to answer, except they say, That things made one another by turns. If they say, It was General Nature; that is nothing but all the Particulars which we put together in our Conception, or, if you will, the Universe: And then the sense of the Objection will be, That the World made it self, and so was both before and after it self. Or if by Nature they understand some other substance distinct from created Beings diffus'd through the Universe, which doth sustain all things by a mighty Pow∣er, and direct them to their respective ends with an uner∣ring Knowledge; they grant that there is a God, but they know not what they say.

Others, which think themselves more Ingenious, to mend the matter, have made a Conjecture which they e∣steem very plausible, and imagine that the World was pro∣bably sometimes adorn'd with this form of Being in which we behold it at present, and afterwards possibly fell from it into a shapeless Chaos, and was resolv'd into innumerable multitudes of Atoms, which fluctuating for many years, and justling one another, thrust things into that Order which they now have; taking it for granted that Matter and Moti∣on were sufficiently able to produce the World without any knowing Directour. But the insufficiency of this device discovers it self in that it doth shamefully beg those things which ought to be prov'd as Foundations for what is asser∣ted, and they superstruct upon it such an heavy Fabrick of wild Consequences, that it is not able to sustain them. They talk of little Particles of divided Matter, by whose various contextures all things are suppos'd to be made, to such as allow not that Matter can exist at all without a God. They take it also for granted that this Matter is mov'd too with∣out the acknowledgment of a Divine Motour, to them who can believe no such thing, because they know that Mat∣ter is a stupid Principle and of it self unactive; but they supposing that it doth exist of it self, might very easily be∣stow an eternal Motion upon it. Hoping to obtain of us a belief of these fictions, with a growing presumption they precariously imagine that all things were made up by the

conjunction of these Particles as things pre-existent to their being, and that the most perfect of living Creatures, Men and Women, are but heaps of fine Atoms thrown together: When as by the most strict observance of the Generation of Animals which are bred continually, it cannot be perceiv'd that any are produc'd by the commixture of such antecedent Misci∣bles; daily experience witnessing that their bodies are form'd out of an Homogeneous Principle, and do exist before those Epicurean Atoms or Aristotelean Elements. But if we grant that there was Matter and Motion, and that Bodies are made by the jumbling of these Atoms, and that the composition of various Forms is nothing else but the con∣nexion of loose Particles; yet it is most absurd to think that this great Machine, the Universe, consisting of so many excellent Parts, could have been fram'd by unguided Motion.

For the Atoms mov'd in the infinite Space, which is sup∣pos'd, either in Parallel Lines, or Obliquely. If they march'd on directly, they could never meet to compose so many bo∣dies by their Union. The Inventors of this Notion per∣ceiving this inconvenience, affirm them to decline a little, that so by their interfering Motion the jagg'd Particles might catch hold of one another. And they are also forc'd to say that they decline variously; for if all declin'd one way, none would meet. But though we grant that the rambling Atoms take different courses in their Motions of Declinati∣on, and so may possibly meet the sooner, and also suppose that whilst they wander up and down without a guide they may sometimes shew us by a few rude Compositions that they had united, and form'd themselves into inconsiderable lumps of different sizes and Figures; yet to believe that so many varieties of such noble Works as I have before reci∣ted, should rise out of Matter by a blind scuffle of indiscer∣ning Principles, is both an Absurd Phancy, and the height of foolish Credulity. Things of Nature are better then those of Art, and yet this can doe nothing but by the appli∣cation of an industrious skill; what then but Madness can make us think that Nature is Irrational? When was any rare thing done by Chance? What though Apelles struck

the Image of Foame upon his Table by an angry cast of his Pencil? could he with such another, nay a thousand such rude throws, have form'd a Bucephalus or a Stratonica? If we could see these lawless Atoms meet by accident in the form of a Tree, and grow into an Organ, the branches shaping themselves into tunable Pipes, and varying Notes according to bigness and length, the upper part doing the duty of a Sound-board, and the lower fram'd into a pair of Bel∣lows, which fill'd and mov'd with wind give us the pleasure to hear excellent Airs; we should be apt to think that Chance is no contemptible Principle, and we should abate our estimation of Knowledge; such an Instrument equal∣ling and very much exceeding those which being made with great care must be play'd upon by one who under∣stands Musick as well as he that fram'd it. This also would be more admirable then those Instruments, which being contriv'd with much pains to play as it were a few lessons of themselves, are then help'd with a wheel fill'd with Pins orderly plac'd with an Artificial Skill and regu∣lar supplies of Wind. I suppose we may chance to see an Organ rise out of the Ground after the fore-mention'd manner, when we shall happen to hear twenty Mad-men singing together, all their wild Notes falling of themselves into one Harmonious sound. These are the only Voices which will fit such an Instrument.

But if it be too much to expect that a Plant should grow so Musically, why do not these numerous Atoms conspire together after their fortuitous manner, some to make an heap of Letters, others Paper, some a Press, and all to place themselves as well as Printers use to do, and put out some Book, which men seeing might cease to magnifie their own Industry? But the Atoms are grown sullen: for though they have done these and greater Matters of old, (for they have produc'd Men and Women) yet they will doe so no more; or it may be they were tir'd long ago, and when they began to be weary, by chance form'd the Sexes which were not known before, that Men and Women might be made without their help. If the Model of the

Universe had been fram'd by Chance, it is rational to think that instead of those beautiful contrivances and lovely Sym∣metries which appear in the Works of All-knowing Nature, we should have seen the World fill'd with mis-shapen Ani∣mals, as Men with three Feet, and Beasts with five, and ma∣ny other such sights ugly by reason of Disproportion. But now Monsters are rare, we see only a few whose under∣standings are so distorted, that seeing the World peopled with such well-compos'd inhabitants, perversly imagine that formerly there were such as I have nam'd and worse, but that they being not well able to defend themselves, were destroy'd by others who did not like them.

If these things did not cast a sufficient disparagement upon this Principle, yet the permanency of the well-order'd World for so many Ages would discharge it from any such mean Dependence as the fortuitous concatenation of Atoms; those little bodies would not have been able so long to hold together by their forked tails; they are not so fast tied in their present configurations that they cannot get loose; neither are they so constantly repercuss'd when they offer to move out of their places, that for fear of blows from their Neighbours they dare not stir and fetch their usual walks. They may remove at their pleasure; for all things being mingled with a generally-dispread vacuity, those which are contiguous to emptiness may move, and then the next to them in order, and so the whole Nation of Atoms change their posture, if nothing else do stop their course, and hinder them from leaving those bodies which are made up only by an aggregation of Particles.

It is true, we see there are solid Bodies in the World as well as fluid; but we can imagine no better reason of their Solidity, then the united Rest of those contiguous parts whereof they do consist: and since some Bodies are harder then others, those which have greater firmness may easily justle the weaker out of their places, and clashing continu∣ally in as great a variety of contrary Motions as there are cross lines upon a Globe, if some Potent God did not inter∣pose, the Forms of Matter by the dissolution of their Parts

would be continually alter'd, as Wrinkles are upon the face of water by a ruffling Wind. The Nature of things being thus constituted, can we imagine that the Permanency of the World should be resolv'd into no other Principle then the fore-mention'd Hypothesis; or that Chance is the glue which hath united its parts so long, and lock'd the Sun and Moon in their whirle-pools? We may as rationally sup∣pose that Astronomers have made a league with these wan∣dring Atoms, that for some certain time they should not desert their stations, hired some to watch others, or at least have agreed with them that they should appear in set places and postures at appointed seasons, and make good their Predictions: how else could they foretell the Eclipses of the Sun and Moon many years before-hand? By which we may perceive that, though such as say the World did exist of it self, do conformably to their own Opinion affirm that it is its own preserver, and hangs together by the power of its own Nature, not of God, and subsists without the help of any Extrinsecal Principle, yet they have no firm ground for their Assertion; but it is very rational to say, that he who made Motion, and continues it still because it is useful, hath given it Laws, & doth so regulate it whilst it rebounds from one thing to another, that the World is no more disturb'd from persevering in that Rest which enables it to resist those Motions which would change its Form, then the Sea is per∣mitted to overflow the whole Earth. Yes, yes; If that Omnipresent Goodness which is spread through the Crea∣tion did not sustain the whole, it would fall in pieces; for all things knocking rudely against one another must needs break themselves, as blind-men arm'd with bows and ar∣rows and shooting at Rovers would kill one another. If the Government of the World were permitted to blind Chance, or the turbulent humours of Degenerate men, it is not to be imagin'd how it should be tolerably habitable. The wheels of Humane affairs would soon be taken off, or broken, if created Beings were not guided by an 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Power, which both directs them in the Road, and stops their extravagant Motions as it pleaseth, and so preserves

the great Chariot of the World from being overturn'd. The wisest of men have thought it more rational to sup∣pose that a Ship without a Pilot may live at Sea in a tempest when it is toss'd with waves among Rocks, then that Man∣kind, which is often miss-led with dangerous Errours, and is usually hurried with violent Passions, should not quickly bring the World to a miserable end by mad practices, if there were not a God who, to preserve the Order which he hath constituted, keeps up those Banks, which if they were once broken would drown the World with a Deluge of in∣expressible Calamity. As God is the Founder of Order, so prudent men in all Ages have look'd upon Religion, which is a just Observance of him, as one of the chief Principles by which the Happiness of the World is supported, and which being destroy'd would necessarily infer the ruine of all ci∣vil Societies: They have esteem'd it that sacred Knot, which being cut in pieces lets loose Disorder, accompanied with Contempt of Law and subversion of Right, and fol∣low'd with common Destruction.

I cannot but wonder that some who pretend to Philoso∣phy have thought that excellent Order, which is manifest in the Regular Motions of the Celestial Orbs and the Vicisi∣tudes of Seasons, which are admirable by reason of those Advantages which they produce, may be resolv'd into the disposal of an undiscerning Principle, because the Sea ebbs and flows at set times, and because they observe that Agues have Periodical Fits. Those that argue after this manner seem to challenge God at his own weapons; and we may guesse at their Success by their Folly. Is it fit to be quoted as an Argument against him, that he hath made that great Body of Navigable Waters, and subjected it to the influen∣ces of the Moon, which at certain seasons doth make con∣stant Tides, which are not more useful to Merchants, and so to all men, by Importing and Exporting Materials of Trade, then they are applicable to the Proof of a Deity, whose Skill by such an Excellent Work is clearly demon∣strated? Or, if we must think that there is no God, because one who is sick of a Quartan Ague is troubled with Perio∣dical

Fits, why may we not as well say that there is no God, because two Armies do sometimes make a Truce and cease fighting? No, you say that is done by the Appointment of humane Discretion. Well, but is it not in the power of Divine Prudence to appoint a neighbouring Enomy to in∣fest us at set times? If a Disease be a conflict of our Nature with that which infests us, it is a Courtesie that we are not put to the trouble of fighting continually for our lives, but have time allotted to recruit our spent Forces, and are taught in those Intervalls to provide against the next ap∣proch of our Enemy. Is it an Argument against God, that he hath made a creature which cannot fight alwayes with∣out weariness? Besides, that the Paroxysms are exactly con∣stant in their returns, is false; for they change in time and operation according to the variety of many Accidents, and return oftner and stay longer, as the Body in which they lodge is differently indispos'd.

The Objection which you cited last of all is so extrava∣gant, that no Fable is more incredible, and we may justly wonder what should bring it into any mans mind. You would have said, if you had explain'd your self a little fur∣ther, that our Grand-mother Earth cast out of her bowels Bags like Wombs, (I think you might more properly have said Secundines) and these breaking by degrees, Children came forth at last, who were nourish'd by a kind of Milky Juice till they became great Boys and Girles, and so made a shift to live upon herbs, and, when they could catch them, upon their fellow-Animals. The consideration of this Poetical phancy assures us how those who disown a God, are distress'd for want of ability to give any tolerable ac∣count of the Production of living Creatures; and withall shews us the Disingenuity of 〈◊〉〈◊〉, who not believing a Truth so naturally plain, admit things which are not only very improbable, but highly absurd; and indeed are well content that any thing should be impos'd upon them, though never so unlikely, if it do but absolve them from the belief of a Deity. How else could it be possible that they should reject the most credible story of the Creation,

and believe that men grew out of the ground like Mush∣romes; or that Stars did sow the Earth with a Celestial Sperm, which afterwards grew up into Men and Women; or, rather then fail, that at first Stones were transubstantia∣ted into Rational Creatures, being cast over the shoulders of Deucalion and Pyrrha; or, at least, that Prometheus made them of Clay, and enliven'd them with Fire which he stole from Hea∣ven; or possibly, that long ago Men were Ants, and were afterward transformed by AEacus? These Fictions are as passable as your Wind Eggs.

The disingenuity of Atheists will be more manifest, if we consider how unwilling they are to allow an Eternity to God, and yet bestow it upon such a contemptible thing as Matter, and whose Notion they know to be clogg'd with inexplicable difficulties; and obstinately deny the Infinity of a Divine Being, and yet grant it both to Space, and also to the Succession of Ages; and affirm that, because Matter and Motion are in the World, therefore there is nothing else; or that there is no God, because an account may be gi∣ven of some of his Works by Matter and Motion; and grant that Wood, Stones, Nails and Tools, may make themselves, and, which is somewhat an easier Task, build an House without an Architect; and so rather then ac∣knowledge the World to be the Effect of a First Cause, assert it to be its own Builder, House, and Inhabitant. Those who form their Speeches by these Rules, need not make any scruple to say that a Watch may make it self, and winding it self up by Chance move so regularly as to shew the Day of the Month, the Hour of the Day, the Age of the Moon, and the Time of the Tide. Who but a Fool could ever think that the Eye was not made to see, the Ear to hear, or the Hands to take hold of things, but that each of them being accidentally fitted for such purposes, we apply them accordingly? Such as talk at this rate, whilst they bid o∣thers hearken to the voice of Nature, do certainly stop their own Ears against it; and may truly be said not to argue from the Dictates of Reason, but rather, being at a loss, to cast Lots what they shall say next: and we can no more

reasonably expect satisfaction from their discourses, then hope to reade our Destiny in the first place which acciden∣tally opens in Virgil or Homer.

Is this all the Courtesie that we are to expect from Phi∣losophy, to be levell'd with the ignorance of the rude Vul∣gar, who wonder at the brass or gaze upon the gilded wood of a noble Sphere, & brutishly neglect the rare Moti∣ons of it, and take no notice of his Art who made it such an Excellent Machine? Or are we grown so perverse, that we confess that Art is now in the World, but deny that there was any at the first; and say that great Skill is manifested in the imitation of Nature's Works, but that there was none in the Designation of the Original; and so equal the Casts of senseless Chance to the contrivances of the best Skill, and esteem blind men as able to give a judgment of Colours as those who have the clearest sight?

Those who can digest the fore-mention'd Absurdities of which the Atheistical Hypothesis is undoubtedly guilty, may safely swallow Iron, and not only with ease deny that there is a God, but without any difficulty believe what they will. But it is rational to think, that God will have satisfaction from those unworthy Persons who obscure the Glory of his Divinity with such mis-reports; especially since he hath both made them his Creatures, given them leave to contemplate his Works themselves, and commanded them to reveal their Excellency to others.

I could not but suppose, replied Pasenantius, that you would endeavour to fortifie your Opinion with probable Arguments, and embellish the Notion of a Deity with all specious Allegations, and therefore expected that you would also load the contrary Opinion with all imaginable Absurdities. But we are told by others, that your Hypo∣thesis is not free from considerable Objections: For if a God made the World, as you say, he seems to them not to have been Good, because he made it no better; for many things are but of little use, and some very hurtful.

Is this the formidable Difficulty which threatens this great Article of Faith? said Bentivolio smiling: then I per∣ceive

that the number of our Enemies which are yet uncon∣quer'd is but small, and that their strength is less. They seem to march confidently; but in my mind they are arm'd no better then those ridiculous Caulomucetes in Lunia, who are reported to have cover'd themselves with Mushrome∣shields, and to have carried Spears which were only long blades of Asparagus. It is no wonder that such as endea∣vour to grasp Immensity with a Finite understanding, and level God's Wisdom with their own Apprehensions, do ask many ridiculous questions concerning the Divine Operati∣ons; and, besides those which you have nam'd, demand with what Tools he made the World, because they them∣selves cannot work without them; and bid us tell them in what Moulds he cast the Celestial Orbs, because they im∣ploy such utensils when they make Pistol-bullets. Whilst they complain in the behalf of many things created, of some because they are not very good in themselves, and of some because they are hurtful to others; really, Pasenantius, I be∣lieve it is a very hard matter for these Objectours to say what would have pleas'd them: I am apt to think they de∣sire they know not what: some things they grant to be very Excellent, but they would have had all others equal to them. The folly of this desire is manifest if we apply their wish to any particular Phaenomenon. All confess the Sun to be a most noble Being: but will any one that is wise therefore think it fit that every thing should be a Sun? The Humane Body is a rare Machine: but is it then a ble∣mish upon the Creation, that Frogs have not the same parts and figure? Certainly if these men were to give directions for the Design of a Magnificent Picture, they would order it to be drawn without any shadows; and if they were to reform the Laws of Harmony, Half-Notes would be in dan∣ger of banishment out of all Composition. It is not free∣dom from Envy, but want of Art, to make all the Members of a living creature Eyes. These curious people consider not, that such a Frame as the World is must consist of many Parts, and that they have a sufficient use, though one is not equal to another, whilst they help to constitute such a rare

System, and grace it with the delightful variety of Beauty by reason of the different degrees of Being; so that it is only a defect of Knowledge which makes them think that this World can be mended: And we plainly see, that the better which they phansie, if it were made by such Rules which they seem to approve, must of necessity be worse; and that they would deserve the same praise for undertaking to make an alteration, which he merited, who pretending to out-doe all the Pictures which had ever been made of Horses, drew one with hairs upon the lower eye-lid.

There is nothing which you can name as likely to be un∣dervalu'd for its meanness, but a sufficient use may be as∣sign'd to preserve it from contempt. What is more in dan∣ger of Disregard then the loose particles of Sand which lie upon the Sea-shore, or Gravel which is trod upon in High∣wayes? Or what can be thought of less use then Hairs, which are despis'd as Excrescencies of Nature? Yet doth not the Mariner thank God for those Sands, whilst they ballast his Ship? and is not the Traveller glad of that con∣temptible Gravel for making his way more firm? and are not these Philosophers well pleas'd with it in their Gardens, when they see how convenient it is to beautifie their Walks? And those inconsiderable Hairs which seem not only superfluous but prejudicial, do not they warm the cold brain with a natural Peruke, keep sweat from falling upon the delicate Instrument of our Sight, being plac'd pru∣dently upon the Eye-brows; and prove besides that they were not made in vain, since by a seasonable appearance in the Face they give a very useful notice of a different Sex, when the age of a Man begins to be more dangerous to Wo∣men, if they were not so assured with whom they converse?

Whereas you say some things are hurtful; if you under∣stand your own words, you must mean that they are not good for all uses: I shall soon let you see how much you are mistaken in this Phancy. To instance only in one or two things: Will you esteem ill-sented Weeds and vene∣mous Plants mischievous, because they are not good for ordinary food? It is unreasonable; they were not appoint∣ed

for any such end: For the same cause you may as well find fault with Fire and Stones. But if you apply them in medicine, you will perceive that they are singularly bene∣ficial. This may be said also of Poisonous Animals; that they might not hurt us we are guarded with Discretion, and some of them are 〈◊〉〈◊〉 own Antidotes, as is seen in the Oil of Scorpions, and the useful Triacle which is made of Vipers. So that we have no great reason to complain much of that harmfulness which by prudent care we may avoid, and whose cure doth grow so near to it. But to end this conference, Pasenantius, said Bentivolio, I think that you and I should suspect rather that we are unskilful, then that things are useless, when we know not to what purposes they are design'd; and that it is more ingenuous to improve our Understanding by making Experiments, then idlely to en∣deavour to find a Fault where there is none but our Igno∣rance.

Thus, said Nicomachus, did Bentivolio conclude his Dis∣course, which Eugenius entertain'd with great delight: Au∣tautus heard it with a kind of Indifference, because it seem'd to carry a good shadow of Probability: But Pasenantius, according to his obstinate humour, would not believe it to be true, though he was not able to confute it. It grew something late, and therefore Eugenius desir'd Pasenantius and Autautus to stay all night. Pasenantius excus'd himself, pretending that some important business urg'd him to wait upon Antitheus that evening. Autautus accepted the invita∣tion. When Pasenantius was gone, Eugenius desir'd his Guests to leave off their Philosophy for a while, and to re∣fresh themselves with a short Supper, which was now rea∣dy. They walk'd in the Garden till it was set upon the Table. After Supper they took leave of each other for a night; And because it is now late, added Nicomachus, if you please, let us doe so too. The Company having exprest the great content which they took in Bentivolio's Discourses, and having thank'd Nicomachus for making the Rehearsal, Theonoe and Irene conducted Urania to her Repose, and Sym∣pathus accompanied Nicomachus to his Chamber.

The next day as they were walking all together in the Shades of that pleasant Grove which joyns to Theander's Gardens, and diverted themselves with various Entertain∣ments, they sometimes exprest a Resentment of Alethion's condition, and reproch'd Antitheus, and sometimes com∣plain'd of the absence of Bentivolio and Amyntor. Panaretus seeing that they were so much the more griev'd, because they saw this loss ready to be completed with the departure of their remaining Companions, endeavour'd to oppose their disturbance thus: Since you know, said he, that we are so appointed in this World, that our Felicities are often interrupted, let us not be troubled at any thing which hap∣pens, as if we had not foreseen it; neither let us deprive our selves of that Happiness which we may enjoy, by neg∣lecting to improve the advantage of our present Conversati∣on; and by no means let us antedate the Disquiet which will attend our mutual Absence, by allowing Melancholy to seize on us aforehand. And if you think it is a sin in us to leave you, it is just that Nicomachus should suffer the first pu∣nishment of it, since he is come to call us away. If that will give you any satisfaction, replied Nicomachus, I will chear∣fully undergo what such merciful Judges shall please to ap∣point. I think, said Theonoe, we had best take it for grant∣ed that it is a Sin, without disputing the Case; and since Nicomachus is so willing to make amends for doing us this suppos'd injury, if it were not a presumption for me to offer at the pronouncing of his Sentence, I would condemn him to the trouble of perfecting the relation of Bentivolio's Dis∣courses in Theriagene. You have form'd his 〈◊〉〈◊〉 much to our advantage, said Irene; and as by yesterday's experi∣ence we perceive of how faithful a Memory he is Master, we are well assur'd that he is able to discharge this Task. Yes, said Urania, and, if I might take the boldness to speak in all our Names, I should freely declare that Nicomachus shall not only by this means expiate his Fault, but that his Patience will be so highly meritorious that it shall oblige us all. Though I did easily imagine, replied Nicomachus, con∣sidering the just Temper of those who were to appoint

what I should suffer, that I should not be condemn'd to any thing Intolerable; yet I did not expect this kind of Penance, having endur'd it once already, and then discover'd so much of Imperfection, that I thought, if it were only to save your selves from the troublesome exercise of your own Pity, you would not be willing to see me suffer after that manner any more: Therefore I must entreat you to alter my Punish∣ment, lest you afflict your selves, and also become further Witnesses of the Wrongs which you force me to commit against Bentivolio. Do not you think to escape the Law with such Pleas, answer'd Urania; you can commit no Fault against my Brother by failing to recite what he did say for want of Memory; or, if you did, you are able to supply that defect by the Excellency of your Wit: and I am apt to think that you have in several Passages conceal'd his Infirmity, pre∣tending to have receiv'd from him what was your own. I am oblig'd to you for his sake; but, since you promis'd Obe∣dience when you made us your Judges, submit to your Censure, and be assur'd as to the Apprehension which you have for us, that all the Affliction which we shall endure by way of Sympathy will be only to enjoy a great Pleasure whilst we hear you discourse. I should not, replied Nico∣machus, make any more Objections against my Duty, (for such I esteem whatsoever you are pleas'd to command me) but that besides what I have told you already, I can remem∣ber nothing but the story of Anaxanacton, which Eugenius, who had but an impersect notice of it, requested Bentivolio to relate to him: and since you are acquainted with it al∣ready, I 〈◊〉〈◊〉 that I am fairly excus'd from the Rehear∣sal. Do not hope to save your self thus, answer'd Theonoe, nor believe that any Ingenuous Persons can be wearied with a Story which is fill'd with the greatest Accidents that ever happen'd in the World, though they should hear it of∣ten. As no other can equal it in the Importance of the Matter, so I make no doubt but that in Bentivolio's Narra∣tive it is accommodated to a very pleasing Method. I see I gain nothing, said Nicomachus, but loss of Time by the Delay of my Obedience; I might have perform'd a good

part of my Task if I had begun sooner, and therefore I will make no more Excuses. He proceeded thus.

As Bentivolio and Eugenius were walking one day in a Sum∣mer-Gallery, which was built after the manner of the Lycae∣um where Aristotle convers'd with his Peripateticks, Eugenius having heard Bentivolio in several Discourses make an ho∣nourable mention of Anaxanacton, and being not very well acquainted with his story, desir'd Bentivolio to give him a fuller Information concerning the Life of that most Ex∣cellent Person. I would doe it with all my heart, said Ben∣tivolio, if my Power were correspondent to my Desire of your Satisfaction. If Anaxanacton would please to bestow upon me a Volto divino, (a favour which he is reported to have done the Prince of Edessa, when he pitied the disabili∣ty of the Painter whom he sent to take his Picture) it would be easie for me to perform this Task by shewing you his fair Image. Whether it be true or no that the Glo∣ry which ray'd from Anaxanacton's Face dazell'd the fore∣mention'd Painter, I do not know; but I am sure there are none who have seriously contemplated his Incomparable Perfections, that can think they have a sufficient Skill to de∣scribe his just Character. Some things in his Life are so great that they are too big for the Capacity of ordinary Ap∣prehensions, and those Heroical Pieces which do fill it up are so many, that it is difficult to remember them all: But since I have had the Happiness to see some Memoirs of his Life written by his Friends, who knew him by intimate Converse from the time of his publick Actions till his Death, I shall be able to make a Relation by which you will perceive that you never heard such things spoken of any other Person. But because it will be too long, added Bentivolio, to walk till I can finish this Report, we will sit down. Hereupon the Company took their Seats, and Bentivolio began thus.

The History of ANAXANACTON.

I must first acquaint you with the manner of his Birth, which possibly will awake your Admiration, when I tell you that his Mother was a Virgin; it being but fit that he who was Lord of Nature, should be born out of its Ordi∣nary Course. This is something strange, I confess, said Eugenius; for it is a thing which hath no parallel Example. Yes, it is strange, replied Bentivolio, but not at all incredible to you, Eugenius, or any else who acknowledgeth a God. How easily can he who fram'd all things out of Nothing, make the Womb of a Virgin pregnant without the Con∣tact of two prolifick Sexes? or, if Conception be accom∣plish'd according to the more common Hypothesis, it is not unreasonable to suppose that he who appointed such rare effects to be produc'd in a way so unlikely, that none are able to give a rational accompt of what they know to be done by it, can as easily doe it by some other. This Truth was sufficiently justified to all the World. Who should doubt of it? Jews or Gentiles? The Mother was assur'd of it by an Angel, and told how it should be brought to pass, lest her Modesty should afterwards have taken offence at such a strange Accident. Her Country-men the Jews had no Reasons to disbelieve that a Man might be born of a Vir∣gin, who knew by Revelation that the first Woman was made of 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Rib, and whose Fathers saw Aaron's Rod long af∣ter it was cut from the Tree both Blossom and bear Al∣monds; who were told by the Omnipotent God, that the Messiah, whom they had for many years expected, should be the Son of a Virgin; and were further assur'd that Anaxanacton was he by a Quire of Angels, who, to doe Honour to him as soon as he was born, celebrated his Incarnation with holy Carols, and being favour'd of God by an early Information to understand the great Concernments of his Nativity, did not only adore one whom they were commanded to receive as their Prince, but did charitably make known to Men the Happiness which was befallen them by this Divine Off∣spring

of the Virgin-Mother. The Gentiles could not ra∣tionally doubt of this great Truth, for a very considerable part of them who inhabited the Eastern World, by an In∣strument suitable to their way of Life had notice of his Birth; for whilst they were observing the face of the Hea∣vens, by the peculiar Rayes of a new Star devoted to this holy Use they were directed to find him that was so strangely born. As the Divine Benignity did thus take care to let them know the way to that Excellent Person, in whose Appearance all the World was deeply concern'd, so this general notice being given them by such extraordinary means, oblig'd them to believe what was told them particu∣larly concerning the manner of his Birth.

Thus by this first Intelligence given to simple Shep∣heards and the learned Magi God made Anaxanacton known betimes to the weakest and wisest of Men: and yet, lest any Doubts should remain in the minds of the scrupulous World concerning this point, Anaxanacton took away all difficulties from their Belief, exceeding the Wonder of his Nativity by the Miracles which he perform'd after he was born, especially after his Death; and left none but the Ma∣licious so stupid, as that they were not able to conclude that he who could revive the dead with his Word, and raise himself out of a Grave after he had been buried three dayes, might easily begin his Life in the Womb of a Virgin. But since I must discourse to you of that afterwards, I de∣sire you at present only to think with your self whether, since the Heavens were at this time adorn'd with new Luminaries, and the Celestial Inhabitants came down in visible shapes, and express'd the Nobleness of their Ingenui∣ty, congratulating the Prosperity of Men with the sweetest of Harmonies, an Honour never before equall'd was not done to the Nativity of this great Person, and that they were not high Presignifications of the Divine Quality and Excellent Actions of this mighty Prince, and evidences of his Heavenly Extract infinitely more illustrious then those poor Instances which most would have admir'd as indubi∣table Presages, that is, if he had been born smiling, if his

Incarnation had been attended with a Dance of Swans, if Bees had hiv'd themselves in his Lips, or an Halcyon made her nest in his Cradle. I find as much Reason to believe, as before I had to wonder, said Eugenius; only I desire you would let me know who was that Virgin-Mother, for be∣ing honour'd with such an Extraordinary Favour, I cannot but suppose she was some very rare Person. She was, re∣plied Bentivolio; but her Excellency consisted in an humble Piety and unspotted Chastity. It's true, she was lineally deriv'd from a Royal Family: but that Relation was wea∣ken'd by so many Descents, that it was not much more con∣spicuous at such a distance then the Distinction of Waters which proceed from several Rivulets when they are blend∣ed in the Sea; neither did she challenge any greater Ho∣nour from that Original then any poor man may claim as being descended from Noah, nor God make any other use of the Pedigree then to verifie his own Predictions. But this is no wonder; for God having design'd to glorifie Humility by the Incarnation of his Son, and to disparage those vain Estimations which are bottom'd upon High Parentage, Noble Titles and Vast Possessions, he sent him into the World devested of these Ornaments, and obscur'd his truer Greatness with the Meanness of a poor Estate; though indeed that was appointed as a Foil of his after-Glory, which was shut up in this Cloud like the Sun-beams in Curtains of Crystal. For, besides the fore-mention'd Adorations which were pay'd him by Angels, and the Lustre which was added to his Birth by a new-made Star, Almighty God at his Baptism own'd him for his Son by a Voice sounding from Heaven equally loud with Thunder, (which he repea∣ted twice afterward) and commanded the World to obey him as their Universal Lord, the Holy Spirit descending from the Celestial Regions, and resting upon him as the true Lover of Souls, in the Form of a Dove.

What was the meaning of this Solemnity? said Eugenius. I will tell you, answer'd Bentivolio; but to make you under∣stand this Mystery more fully, I must acquaint you with a piece of an ancient Story. When Mankind apostatiz'd from

their Creator, and were afraid of being eternally undone with the Execution of the Punishment which was condi∣tionally threatn'd, the God of Mercy being unwilling that the Folly of his Creatures should be their Ruine, took compassion of their Miseries, and declar'd that he would not pursue his Right to their Destruction; and to support their Life by Hope, he promis'd in due time to send one who should make up the Unhappy Breach, assure his Good-will, and give Men a full knowledge of the Happiness to which they were restor'd. After several Ages had past, in which it pleas'd God to connive at the Sins of the foo∣lish World, for the sake of his Promise, he sent Anaxanacton, born after the manner which I have before describ'd; who when he came did soon approve himself to be that Benign Saviour whom the common Father of the Creation had de∣sign'd to undertake the Restauration of the laps'd World.

I beseech you, said Eugenius, tell us how Anaxanacton veri∣fied that great Title; for as the Appellation is magnificent, so our best Concernments seem to be included in it. You shall understand this presently, answer'd Bentivolio: When that Divine Person, who existed eternally in the Bosom of his Almighty Father, was pleas'd to appear upon this poor Globe for the Accomplishment of the fore-mention'd Pro∣mises, to doe an unspeakable Honour to our forlorn Nature, he cloth'd himself with Humane Flesh, and united that Life to Immortality which was condemn'd to die for Diso∣bedience. When Divinity was thus embodied, he which dwelt before in the Splendors of inaccessible Light, descend∣ed and became visible in the lower Regions, and those who had the Happiness to behold him were struck with the Brightness of his Divine Rayes, by which he was as clearly reveal'd as the frailty of Mortal Eyes could bear; and they perceiv'd that God had now fram'd for himself an Earthen Tabernacle, and disdain'd not to converse familiarly with Men, having veil'd the Majesty of his Glorious Presence in a Body like their own.

Here Eugenius interposing told Bentivolio that this seem'd more strange then the first piece of his Story, and that it

was more difficult to believe that God should become a Man, then that a Virgin should be a Mother. I did sup∣pose, replied Bentivolio, that you would wonder at the My∣stical sense of my last words, neither would I have you think that I am able to give you a full Explication of so deep a Verity: But I must tell you, that though God hath made Religion Venerable by the Incomprehensiblenesse of some pieces of it, yet no Article of our Creed is Incredi∣ble because we do not perfectly understand every Point; it being a rational Satisfaction to our Minds that we believe only what God hath said, and our Faith is as well secur'd in these Instances as our Knowledge is in many things which we take for granted, though we are not able to give an exact account of them to a Curious Enquirer. Who can explain the nature of Time, and resolve all the Doubts which arise from the consideration of Place? Who can shew us the Original Springs of Motion? Why should any man stumble at the Mystical Union of God with Hu∣manity, when he considers the inexplicable Connexion of a Soul with a Body, or the strange Adhesion of Matter to Matter? Since we know not how our Soul doth at pleasure move so distinctly the various parts of this rare Machine our Body, why should we be offended that God, having told us many easie Truths which we are to believe, and given us many plain Precepts whose Obedience is necessa∣ry, should also command us to give credit to some higher Articles, where our Duty is humble Faith and devout Ad∣miration?

I am very well satisfied with this Answer, said Eugenius, neither do I desire rudely to uncover what God hath been pleas'd to hide; but I beseech you to go on, and let us know what this Divine Person was pleas'd to reveal concerning the Design of his Incarnation. I will, replied Bentivolio. The first good news which he publish'd was, That the Merciful Creator was willing to forgive the World that great Debt which they were not able to pay, and that the most Good God, who had been ingratefully abus'd, had of his own benign Disposition sent an Offer of Pardon, and to

shew men the Reality of his Good will had made the Terms of Reconciliation easie; and that they might come to treat he had appointed Anaxanacton to be a Mediator be∣tween Him and Them, who to assure them of his best Assi∣stance told them that he would negotiate the business of their Peace, and both intercede for them with Almighty God, and, since the Divine Authority was notoriously af∣fronted by Mens Transgressions, he would out of his Love to Humanity offer himself as an Expiatory Sacrifice for their Offences, and so prevent their deserv'd Ruine, and as far as it was possible repair the Divine Honour, by putting the highest disparagement upon Sin, whilst he declar'd to all the World that he thought it better that the Lord of Life should die, then such a base thing as Disobedience should not be condemn'd, endeavouring by this means to destroy it, having us'd such a cogent Motive to reduce Sinners to their due Obedience.

This was a noble Undertaking (said Eugenius,) and as I am astonish'd at the Rehearsal of such a strange Affection, so I am surpriz'd with an extraordinary Joy, because I under∣stand by this Relation to whom I am oblig'd for my Hap∣piness. I did ever make my humble Prayers to God as a most Merciful Power, but I knew not till now which way he would express his Benignity. However you have not yet said, continued Eugenius, how far the Divine Goodness was pleas'd to accept this Intercession for the benefit of Sinners. I will tell you, said Bentivolio: This most worthy Mediator obtain'd that Men should neither be denied the Grace of Repentance, nor the Forgiveness of their Sins up∣on their penitent Return to their Duty. This was a high Favour, said Eugenius, and the Condescension as great as Men could desire. It is most just that Sinners should re∣pent, for it is most Irrational to sin; all Disobedience be∣ing rooted in Folly and Ingratitude: but that God would pardon disingenuous persons upon their Repentance, and not inflict Punishment upon such as challeng'd him to doe it, is so rare an Expression of the Divine Clemency, that it was worthy of the Mediation of God's Son to obtain it.

But since we have troubled you so far, said Eugenius, conti∣nuing his Discourse to Bentivolio, I pray you let us under∣stand what Orders Anaxanacton commanded his Subjects to observe, and which he made the Conditions of their Hope, and the Trials of their sincere Submission. I will satisfie your demand, replied Bentivolio; and whilst I do so, I must let you know that Anaxanacton's Institutions are innobled with such a comprehensive Prudence, that they infinitely excell the best Rules which were ever written by the most famous Law-givers. There is no Capacity for the improve∣ment whereof Mankind needs Advice, which he hath not accommodated with an Infallible Guidance. It being the principal Concernment of Rational Creatures to worship their God in such a Mode as is acceptable to the Divine Na∣ture, he hath left us an incomparable Draught of Religion, by which he hath supplied the Defects of all that were be∣fore it, and hath made this so absolutely perfect, that it is not capable of Melioration by any successive Thoughts. It is well known how poor a thing the Pagan Superstition was in the best Pieces of it, and how base in the worst. It pitied Anaxanacton, the true Lover of Humane Souls, to see them adore some things, for which, as being beneficial to Men, they were oblig'd only to give thanks to him which made them Good; and to see them not only prostrate them∣selves before others worse then themselves, but to make Gods of those Creatures which are thrust into the lowest rank of Being; and in many Nations both to offer Prayers and Eucharists to the Names of Men, who were so infa∣mous for bold Wickednesse that they had justified the highest sorts of Villany with barbarous practices, and also to worship malicious Spirits, not only common Enemies to our Nature, but which chiefly express'd their Hatred to it by making that Religion in which they were acknowledg'd the greatest Misery of their Worshippers, both whilst they commanded them to offer their own bloud to appease their devillish wrath, and expos'd them to mutual scorn by ob∣scene Rites, having given them order to celebrate their Festivals with wild Cursitations of naked Women, and im∣modest

Dances of Lascivious persons, and having made their more recluse Mysteries the exercise of all Unnatural Lusts, that is, forc'd Mankind to honour them by doing the greatest Dishonour which was possible to it self. All the Compensation which they receiv'd for these base sub∣missions being only a Mockery of vain Promises deliver'd by abstruse Oracles: and yet they were grown so stupid that they did not think themselves much deluded, because the Falshood was covered with ambiguous Phrases; and they comforted themselves when they were cheated, that they were able to defend their Idol, that is, had so much wit as to construe the Delusion in the contriv'd sense, which was design'd as a cover to their God's Ignorance, and an Instrument of their Abuse.

Anaxanacton utterly abolish'd this rude Heathenism, and deliver'd Humanity from such execrable Observations: and having consider'd also another sort of Religion us'd in one part of the World, which though it was free from such de∣testable Customs, yet perceiving it obscur'd with Shadows, defective in some necessary Rules, redundant in the Ob∣servation of things which are neither good nor bad in their own Natures; that the main sense of its most useful Pre∣cepts was corrupted with false Glosses, and the whole oeco∣nomy so clogg'd with External Rites that it was intolerable to the greatest lovers of Ceremonies that ever were in the World, who at last could not but complain of the Number and Weight of unprofitable Ordinances, being pain'd with Circumcision, exhausted with costly Sacrifices, wearied with long Journeys, troubled with nice Distinctions of Meats, and distracted with curious Modes of bodily Wor∣ship; out of his deep commiseration of their sad Estate he dismiss'd this unuseful trouble, and appointed a most pro∣per Service, commanding Men to offer themselves to God a Reasonable Sacrifice in stead of Bulls and Goats, to make Oblations not of the bloud of dead Beasts, but the obedient Faith of Living Persons, to adore him with the noblest Af∣fections of their Souls, and to lay upon his Altar the Humi∣lity of a Resign'd Will, to make a Holy Mind his Temple,

and to embellish it with rais'd Apprehemsions of his Divine Nature, and deep Resentments of his Omnipresent Good∣ness, and in this sacred Oratory to offer up daily Prayers and thankful Acknowledgments, an Incense most acceptable, being presented by such as he also taught to devote the Se∣ries of their whole Life to the Divine Honour. Thus Anaxanacton having laid aside those meaner Duties which bad men could perform as well as others, and by which they usually endeavour'd to make a Compensation for their Vices, he pluck'd up that Thorny Hedge, which being planted at first only to secure the Jews from the Heathens Sins, was made use of now to exclude all their Neighbours from their Charity; and form'd his Gospel into a Rational Worship, in which having instructed Men to serve God with natural expresses of an Ingenuous Simplicity, he broke that heavy yoke which not only tired Humane Nature with the Portage of an excessive Weight, but pinch'd it also with a disagreeable Form. That which Anaxanacton put into the room of it is so light and well-fitted to our Necks, that Good men take no less pleasure in the bearing of it then a Porter would feel in a convenient Load of Jewels put up∣on his back with this condition, that if he carry them home they shall be his own.

For now Men find themselves not only satisfied by the wise Counsels of Anaxanacton in reference to their Divine Affairs, but also rarely directed in order to their Civil Ne∣gotiations; he having shew'd them by a most compendious, yet very plain, Method, how to secure and advance their private and publick Interests. His Injunctions require the Observation of an exact Righteousness, and he hath made the greatest Charity an indispensable Law to his Subjects. He hath exalted Justice to the highest pitch, for he made mens own Expectations of what they would have done to themselves the only Measure of what they should doe to others in the same Cases. He made the Bounds of Charity so large, that no miserable Person is excluded from the be∣nefit of it. He hath charg'd those who pretend to his Di∣scipline never to hope for that favour with him which they

do not 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to others. And lest the practice of this Divine Vertue should be disturb'd with the Injuries which he knew would await it in the conversation of disingenuous peo∣ple, he forbad them all Revenge except the noblest sort of it, Forgiveness. He guarded the Chastity of Single life with strict Precepts, and permitted not the Honour of Marriage to be sullied with Polygamy, nor defeated with peevish Di∣vorces. In short, he did so fully comprehend all the Of∣fices of Humane Life in the Brevity of his wise Rules, that the Christian Church was the only Example which the World could shew of an excellent Society of men: It be∣ing impossible that by any other Principles there should be such benign Governours, such obedient Subjects, or so lo∣ving Neighbours. None are so powerfully restrain'd from an unjust Invasion of the Rights of others as his Ser∣vants, who are commanded upon many occasions to con∣temn that which they may lawfully call their own. No such care is taken by any other Law-giver of the Reputati∣on upon which Men set so high a value as by Him, for he hath secur'd their Good Names among all his Disciples, which are not false to their Profession, both against open Reproches and secret Calumny. Indeed the Rules of his Politie are so excellently fram'd, that if they were inviola∣bly observ'd, all Orders of Men would contribute to the general Advantages of Humane Society; the Wisdom of God, which seems to be obscur'd in the Unequal Conditions of Men, would be made conspicuous; and that universal Peace, which is now only wish'd, would then be enjoy'd, and secur'd against Intestine Sedition and Forein War.

You will easily imagine, proceeded Bentivolio, that Anaxa∣nacton having made his Subjects truly Religious to their God, and very amicable to all their Relatives, he did not leave them destitute of any particular Accomplishment belonging to the perfection of a private Capacity. He did so plainly teach men to know themselves, and so strictly to regulate the Exorbitancy of their Natural Appetites, that they must wilfully neglect his Directions if they be not highly Prudent, severely Temperate, and truly Modest.

He hath made a strong Defence against the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of Vain∣glory, having taught them no more to regard the trivial Applauses of the World then men value the jingling noise of Childrens Rattles. He hath set them at liberty from the Oppression of anxious Cares, by directing them to place their Treasure in Celestial Hopes, and as to other matters to imitate the thoughtless life of Birds and Flowers. Whilst they entertain their Minds with noble Enquiries, they are rewarded for their hearty endeavours with the possession of Divine Wisdom; and when they do contemplate those noble Victories which by Obedience to Holy Rules they have obtain'd over their sensual Appe∣tites, they please themselves in the Peace which they have made with themselves, and rejoyce in the Testimony of a good Conscience which results from the consideration of a well-govern'd Life; and, to conclude this part of my Sto∣ry, they bestow as much of their time as they can borrow from the preparation of their Souls for an Immortal Hap∣piness, upon such worthy Actions as express the power of their generous Principles, by which the common Interest of Mankind is serv'd, and which deservedly reflect upon their Authors an honourable Reputation. And now by this which I have briefly reported you may perceive, said Bentivolio, that this Great Physician of Souls came not to palliate, but cure, the diseases of Humane Nature; not to cover, but heal, the Infirmities of the Degenerate World; his Doctrines being the Models of such an exalted Vertue, that they make those who entertain them with a sincere Obedience possessours of such Accomplishments as are scarce talk'd of in other Books.

I must confess, replied Eugenius, you have set before us a fair Draught of very noble Institutions: and though I can∣not but perceive that they are accommodated to the univer∣sal Good of Mankind, agreeable to all Places, and at no Time unseasonable; yet they do so far exceed the strict Rigour of Vulgar Laws, and are so far rais'd above the pitch of Hu∣mane Customs, that I wonder they were ever entertain'd in 〈◊〉〈◊〉 World. You will not wonder much, said Bentivolio, if

you will have the Patience to know with what potent Mo∣tives Anaxanacton perswaded their Reception. He made his own Life a just Example of his Rules, demonstrated that he brought his Doctrine from Heaven by the Miracles which he perform'd, promis'd an Eternal Happiness as the Reward of such as would undertake to follow his Foot∣steeps; and being barbarously murther'd by a vile Genera∣tion who were upbraided with his Vertues, he appear'd again in Life within three dayes, and after a while before a great Multitude of Spectatours ascended into the Cele∣stial Regions, to take possession of Immortal Glory in his own and their names. But these things are so considera∣ble (said Bentivolio, making a kind of Interruption to him∣self) that I must crave leave to discourse them in more words.

The most prudent Anaxanacton knowing that the Exam∣ple of Eminent Persons hath a mighty Influence upon all Beholders, and that those Precepts are seldom regarded which are disparag'd by the contradictory Practice of such as give them, did therefore prudently make his own Con∣versation an exact Resemblance of his unparallel'd Rules: Insomuch that whilst he liv'd, Goodness seem'd to have de∣scended from her Heavenly Mansion, and became visible to Mortal Eyes, and by the Lustres of Divinity, which was now Incarnate, they saw Piety re-inthron'd, Righteousness restor'd, Charity glorified, and all the parts of a Holy Life vindicated from the Contempt which was put upon it by the Rudeness of that base Generation with whom he con∣vers'd. And the truth is, Eugenius, he was so lively a Pour∣traiture of the highest Vertue, that he out-shin'd the most Illustrious Heroes that are nam'd in History; and their Actions were so far short of his both in distinction of Quality, and the Number of such as were Excellent, that they appear at the first view to have been only some little things done by men of petty Tempers, when they are put into Comparison with the rare Products of his noble Spi∣rit. He despis'd that poor Glory which many of those so magnified Heroes made the only end of all their Actions.

Anaxanacton being a true Lover of God, and having a per∣fect knowledge of his Infinite Wisdom, depended intirely upon his pleasure, and referr'd his whole Undertaking to his Honour, never relishing that delight which low Souls take in their own Self-will, nor admitting those vain Ap∣plauses by which arrogant persons nourish their Pride. He trampled upon Sensual Pleasures: the dull allurements of Fleshly Lust were not able to take any hold of him, who came to express an Angelical Life in a Humane Body; nei∣ther could the strongest Tentations make the least breach in his Deportment, which was to be the Standard of un∣spotted Purity. He was so carefully Just, that he was ne∣ver accus'd of doing the least Wrong; neither indeed would he ever engage himself in those Affairs of worldly life which usually administer plausible suspicions of Unrighte∣ousness, and of which they are commonly occasions. Co∣vetous Desires could find no Harbour in that Divine Breast, which knew the Contemptibleness of those Trifles by which ordinary Mortals are first blinded and then taken Captives, and for which they stupidly admire their Thral∣dom. Ambition could find nothing to tempt him whom she perceiv'd to devote his whole Life to the Glory of the Eternal Father. You will easily imagine that he had no great Apprehension of those things which vulgar Opinion hath render'd formidable: he contemn'd the despicable∣ness of Poverty; he seem'd not to feel the pain of Fasting; he took in good part the abuses of ingrateful Relatives; he did not much trouble himself to wipe off the slurs of false Accusations which were fram'd to obscure the Lustre of his Sanctity with Imputations of unjust Freedom, and to lessen the Glory of his Miraculous Actions with the pretence of Magical Assistances. As he perpetually contemn'd those worldly Interests which make men unwilling to think of Mortality, so with a most serene Patience be accosted Death, though it met him attended with all unhandsome Circumstances: for after a most opprobrious Trial he was condemn'd to be Crucified between two Thieves; and yet, as if he had been unconcern'd in his own Case, he neither

attempted any Rescue, which could easily have been made, from those who guarded him, nor undertook the defence of his Cause where an Answer was as easie, his Accusers be∣ing destitute of any Testimony against him except their own Malice, and the Judge so satisfied concerning his Inno∣cence, that he was forc'd to absolve him before he con∣demn'd him, and declar'd that he pronounc'd the Sentence against him and his own Conscience both at once. But Anaxanacton, as before he esteem'd it a small matter to be harmless unless he was also beneficial, when he could doe no more service to the World by his Life, he willingly laid it down to become, as I told you before, a Propitiatory Sa∣crifice not only for his Friends, but his Enemies, not excep∣ting his Murtherers; and, mingling his Prayers with his Bloud, besought his Father that his Death might be a means of Eternal Life to those who kill'd him.

Whilst Bentivolio spoke these words, said Nicomachus, I observ'd the Tears run down the cheeks of Eugenius; who, after he had setled his Passion, proceeded thus, turning to Bentivolio: I must confess that I never heard of any other in whom Innocence, Charity and Prudence were so united, whom Fortitude and all the proper Qualities of a Generous Spirit did so innoble; and I cannot but think that those who con∣vers'd with him entertain'd the highest thoughts of his Di∣vine Person, and gave all Reverence to his Heavenly Do∣ctrine: but I must entreat you to let us know what other Assurance he gave that he was sent from God. I was go∣ing to shew you, replied Bentivolio, that his Example was not more Venerable then the Proofs by which he asserted his Authority were unquestionable. As soon as he began to discover himself to the World, he was publickly ho∣nour'd with the Descent of the Holy Spirit, of which I told you before, and as he, being accompanied with some of his Friends, went up one day to a Mountain well known in Palestine, which as I remember is call'd Tabor, he was trans∣figured into a Celestial Form; his Body was so incircl'd with splendid Rayes, that his Vestment shin'd, and Moses and Elias, one the great Minister of the Law, the other the

most famous of the Prophets, came down from their Ethe∣real Habitations to doe Homage to him; and, as they went away, leaving the World to the Conduct of that better Go∣spel which he was to promulgate, a Voice from Heaven now the second time confirm'd his Commission, and re∣quir'd Mankind to obey him as their only Master. Thus nobly was Anaxanacton recommended to the World when he made his first Entries upon a publick life; and as he prose∣cuted the Execution of his holy Office, he was alwayes ac∣companied with a Divine Presence, which put a Majesty in∣to his Discourses far above any thing which his Hearers could observe in their own authentick Doctors; all his Speeches justified themselves and the Speaker: Their Rab∣bies, notwithstanding the deadly hatred which they had for his Person, could not but admire the extraordinary Wis∣dom which shin'd from his Soul whilst he spoke, and which they could no more imitate then a Novice in Letters can equal the Eloquence of Cicero.

The Devil, that grand Patron of Envy, had soon taken notice of this Excellent Person, and was unspeakably vex'd to see Humane Nature rais'd to such a strange height, and he was much afraid that he should no longer be able to keep under those whom he had till now too successefully en∣deavour'd to depress; however, resolving to try his fortune, he presently challeng'd Anaxanacton to a single Combat in a lonesome Wilderness, where he hoped to discourage him with the horrours of Solitude, to affright him with the neighbourhood of Wild Beasts, and to weaken him with the defect of those ordinary Supplies by which our bodily life is supported, and attempted with all his Arts to bring him down from that sacred Rock in which he saw his strength was plac'd, viz. His Hope in God. But when he found him above the Tentation of Sensual Relishes, not ca∣pable of being entangl'd with promises of Riches, nor sub∣ject to the feebleness of an over-weening Phancie, he flung down his Arms & fled, to his shame perceiving that he had been more bold then wise, & was infinitely perplex'd since by a most undesirable Experiment he was assur'd that he

was to expect now another - ghefs Antagonist then the first Adam; and encreas'd his Torments with the Fears which he entertain'd, and by which he too truly presag'd the loss of his Usurp'd Dominion. For this Victory was but a prelude to Anaxanacton's future Suc∣cesses, who had frequent occasions to renew his Quar∣rel with this sort of Adversaries by reason of the con∣stant Residence of Asmodeus and his Complices in the Coun∣try where Anaxanacton was born, which they had in a great measure subdued to their Obedience, and where they gave diligent Attendance lest they should be dispossess'd by this potent Prince. Some of those cruel practices by which they express'd their malicious Power gave a fair opportu∣nity to Anaxanacton to make him self known: For that great Abaddon, and those desperate Legions his Fellow-devils, ha∣ving receiv'd a permission to inflict some sort of Punish∣ments upon apostate Humanity, took a base pleasure in af∣flicting the Bodies of Men and Women with painful Dis∣eases, in disturbing their Understandings by indisposing their Brains, and rendring them ridiculous and troublesome to their Neighbours by extravagant Deportments.

This merciful Prince well knowing the unreasonable Malice of these damn'd Spirits, (for they tormented those whom they had made to sin) and being fairly invited to shew the Authority which was given to him for quite con∣trary uses, as the rightful Lord of the World he command∣ed these impudent Vassals to be gone, to leave off this De∣vilish Trade, and cease in festing those places which the Sa∣viour of Mankind had chosen for his abode. The muttering Fiends obey'd, and trembling at the sight of their Judge, entreated him, that besides this dismission he would not adde to their present or accelerate their future Torments.

Anaxanacton, to shew that he came not into the World only as the Devil's Enemy, but the general Friend of Man∣kind, express'd his affectionate Assistance in reference to all their Necessities, and verified his sacred Office by a constant performance of beneficial Miracles; sometimes feeding ma∣any thousands of hungry people who travell'd far to seek

the Cure of their Diseases, whom whilst he heal'd and nourish'd, he did at once in two Instances shew both his God-like Pity and Divine Power. His Patients (shall I call them, or his Guests?) could not but say, If this be not He, it is in vain to expect any other Saviour; for, when he comes, will he be able to doe more then multiply our Bread with his Word, and to diminish our Pains without any other Medicine? But, as if the curing of the Sick were not a sufficient Demonstration of his Divinity, he rais'd the Dead also, and indeed gave so many satisfactions to Men, that they had no more sorts of Proofs to demand. Which way shall Omnipotent Wisdom give Testimony to the Truth which his Messengers deliver, if Miracles be no As∣surance? And what Wonders would content us, if we think it is but a small matter to create Food, to restore Health, to return Life, only with speaking of a Word? And though the last instance of his Divine Power was liable to be que∣stion'd by those who, being carelesly Incredulous or wilful∣ly Malicious, might pretend to think that no strange thing was perform'd, since they were not assur'd that those Per∣sons were dead whom he was reported to have made to live the second time, he justified this and all his former Miracles, as lesser things, by one so great that it is beyond all Reasonable exception: For when his inveterate Enemies had nail'd him to a Cross, (which they were permitted to accomplish, not for the Satisfaction of their own Cruelty, but for the Reason which I fore-mention'd, and for which Villany they were severely punish'd) his Death was accom∣panied with wonderful Accidents; for the Veil of the Jewish Temple, which guarded the most Holy place from common Eyes, was rent from the Top to the Bottom, and shew'd both that the hidden meaning of the Mosaick Discipline was now reveal'd, and that a free Access into God's Presence was allow'd to Mankind by the Death of this great Media∣tor, who by this Oblation enter'd into the true Heavens as a fore-runner for all good Men. The Earth quak'd, the Rocks were broke in pieces, the Tombs open'd, the Dead came forth of their graves; signifying plainly that the Lord

of Life was Crucified, by whose bloud the Dead should be restor'd to Life. The Sun put on a Robe of Darkness by an Eclipse naturally impossible, and the whole Heavens in just sympathy vested themselves with Sables; whilst observing Astronomers, who knew that this Defect of Light was not caus'd by the ordinary Interposition of the Moon, conclu∣ded that the most noble Luminary suffer'd in Mystical Sympathy with some great Affliction which either Nature or its Author at that time endur'd. And after they had thus taken away the Life which they unjustly hated, and made sure, as they thought, of his dead Body by putting their chief Governour's Seal upon his Tomb-stone, and set a guard of Souldiers to watch his Corps, he rose out of his Coffin, as he promis'd, the third day, roll'd away the Stone which was the Door of his Prison, and went forth with∣out asking leave of Pilate's Goalers, and left his Ministers the good Angels to fright his Keepers from their vain em∣ployment, and to assure his Victory over Death to his old Friends, who he knew would not fail to perform what fur∣ther Obsequies belong'd to his Funeral; to some of which he himself presently appear'd alive, both to requite the Con∣stancy of their Love, and to strengthen the Weakness of their Faith. But judging those few not Witnesses enough of so Important an Action, nor one Visit a sufficient Proof of so great an Accident, he shew'd himself to his Apostles many times, and once made himself visible to five hun∣dred Spectatours, who had no only leave to touch him and to talk with him, but he continued his Converse as long as his being upon Earth was needful to confirm the Belief of his Disciples. Then having other Affairs to negotiate for them in Heaven, he ascended in their sight, to receive that Glory which was the due Reward of his humble Obedi∣ence, and to teach his Followers to aspire after his Presence in those Celestial Regions, where he assur'd them that a place should be provided for all that were obedient to his Counsel.

I must confess now, said Eugenius, you have given such a satisfactory Accompt of this Generous Prince, that in∣stead

of the Doubts which I entertain'd at the beginning of your Discourse, I am surpriz'd with an Admiration of the whole Story, and I think it not more Extraordinary in any part, then Rational in the Contexture of the whole; and the assurance which is produc'd in my Mind concerning the Truth of this Relation, makes me suppose that some strange things happen'd upon Earth after Anaxanacton's As∣cent into Heaven; and but that I have been more then suffi∣ciently troublesome already, I should willingly understand by your means what success his Gospel had in the World. If you had not made this demand, replied Bentivolio, I should have perform'd what you desire, this being a Part of my Story, in which the Accidents are so considerable, that they are very well worth your Knowledge, and bear such an important Relation to the Whole, that they are a clear Demonstration of its Truth. Anaxanacton having at his departure commanded his Servants to stay at Hierusalem, (then one of the most noble Cities in the World) and there to await his further Orders concerning their future Actions, after a few dayes, when they were all Assembled in one large Room, accompanied with many worthy Persons who were true Lovers of this good Prince, Anaxanacton, accor∣ding to the Promise which he made at his Translation, sent a divine Spirit, who descending with a noise much like the blustring of a violent Wind, appear'd in a cloven form of Fiery Tongues, and resting upon them, presently expound∣ed the Mystery of this 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Appearance by in∣spiring them with Ability to speak divers Languages, and so gave them power to teach all Nations in their own Tongues that Holy Gospel which concern'd all the World to know, being the Method of their Eternal Happiness. They being thus appointed, begun presently to execute the Office to which they were deputed by their Master, and ha∣ving dispers'd themselves into many Kingdoms, they rela∣ted the Story of Anaxanacton, publish'd the Gospel which he had made a Catholick Law, & gave them the true meaning of every Precept in plain Interpretations, making known the Promises whose Truth he seal'd with his Bloud; and,

besides the venerable Sanctity of their Lives, verified their Authority, as their Master had done before them, with di∣vine Works: They vanquish'd Devils, silenc'd Oracles, reproch'd Idols, reprov'd Vice, and commanded Men in Anaxanacton's name to amend their Lives, and threatn'd the Disobedient with Eternal Misery if they continu'd in their Impenitence. The Converted World receiv'd their Mes∣sage with a sincere chearfulness; and in a short time a great part of Asia, Europe, and Africk, submitted themselves to the Discipline of Anaxanacton, call'd themselves by his name, chang'd their Religion, abandon'd their Gods, and despis'd all other Interests but His Gospel, and laid down their Lives as Witnesses of their true Faith.

The greatness of this sudden Victory is more admirable, if you consider that the Truth of this Divine Revelation did not only gain Credit with the Common sort of People, but master'd the Reason of most learn'd Philosophers, overcame the Policy of gravest Senatours, conquer'd the Spirit of the most valiant Commanders, out-witted the Cunning of subtle Conjurers, and making Proselytes to it self in all Climates, convinc'd the Pagan Emperour who then rul'd the World by such loud and magnificent Re∣ports, that he would have inroll'd Anaxanacton among his Country Gods; which though it was hindred by Anaxana∣cton, who would not be rank'd with such contemptible Ri∣vals, and oppos'd by his Ministers of State for politick Rea∣sons, yet within a small compass of Years that Empire which gave Laws to all the World submitted it self to his Government, and the greatest Kings esteem'd it their chief Glory to be Subjects of Anaxanacton: and they testified the truth of their Estimations by building magnificent Tem∣ples for the more convenient Reception of his Worship∣pers, bestowing upon his Ministers great Revenues, offering up their daily Prayers to God in his great Name, celebra∣ting his Love to the World with grateful Hymns, conse∣crating much time to the Remembrance of the more ob∣servable Parts of his Life, and making such honourable Commemorations of his Death and Resurrection as were

suitable to the Mystical Import of those noble Accidents; thinking, and that truly, that it was but a just Gratitude to doe all they could to make the Name of Anaxanacton the greatest thing that ever was talk'd of in the World. Though I must tell you, continued Bentivolio, that this was not a more proper expression of deserv'd Love in men then a necessary piece of Divine Providence: for though Anaxana∣cton was veil'd awhile with the contemptibleness of a Low estate; yet it was not fit that the Obedience of his Humility should be unrewarded, nor the Greatness of his Glory long obscur'd: For he was that Prince who not long after the Creation and immediately upon the Apostasy was pro∣mis'd as the Redeemer of Mankind, was the Hope of the Patriarchs, the Theme of the Prophets, the Fulness of the Law, the Substance of all Shadows, the Summe of the Go∣spel, the true Teacher of Wisdom, the Planter of Holy Di∣scipline, the Glory of the Jews, the Morning-Star of the Gentiles, the Joy of Good Angels, the Terrour of Devils, the Lord of both Worlds, the Heir of all things, the Head of the Church; and, to end my Story, that Divine Person in whom the Faith, Love, Hope and Thoughts of all wise and good men did rest satisfied; and for whose more glo∣rious Appearance, which he promis'd at his departure, all good Spirits in Heaven and Earth do continually pray. After Bentivolio had discours'd so far, he took a small Book out of his Pocket written in Greek by four of Anaxanacton's Friends, and gave it to Eugenius, both as a Verification of his own Report, and that by the perusal of it Eugenius might more fully inform himself in the incomparable History of so rare a Person.

Bentivolio holding his peace, Eugenius and all the Com∣pany gave him thanks; only Antigraphus, who came in a little after he had begun to discourse, did it not so heartily as the rest, having possess'd his Mind with Prejudice against ma∣ny parts of the Relation, which he had formerly heard, and alwayes oppos'd. As they walk'd in the Gallery, for they had left their Seats, Eugenius perceiving some disturbance in Antigraphus his Countenance, having civilly express'd his

conjectures, ask'd him the Reason of his Dissatisfaction. — Whilst Nicomachus pronounc'd these words, a Gentle∣man came into the Walk, and having saluted the Company in the name of Theosebius, he deliver'd a Letter from Bentivo∣lio to Urania, and another to Panaretus, wherein he entreated him and Nicomachus to make haste to Phronesium; and ano∣ther to Sympathus from the Prince of Theoprepia, in which he commanded him to invite Theonoe and Irene to come to his Court, and desired them to conduct the Lady Urania thither also with all Respect due to a Person of her Quality. This news was welcome to them all: to the Gentlemen, because they were going to a place where they were sure to enjoy the best Company in the World; and to the La∣dies, because contrary to their Fears they should not be left behind; especially to Urania, who did very passionately de∣sire to see Bentivolio. Whilst they were expressing their mu∣tual Resentments of their common Felicity, one of Theonoe's Servants call'd them in to Dinner. When the Cloth was taken away, Urania began to call to mind that Nicomachus had not quite discharg'd his Task, being interrupted by reading the Letters which they receiv'd from Theosebius, and therefore desired leave of the Company that he might re∣sume it. They consented, and Nicomachus was voted to his Chair again by an unanimous voice of the whole Com∣pany, and, Theonoe having given order that none should interrupt them, Nicomachus proceeded after this manner.

Though I have sufficiently declar'd the Imperfection of my Wit in offering at the Recital of such a noble Story, yet since I sin only because I would be obedient, I will briefly give you the last part of that Discourse; especially because I esteem that which was then said to be very perti∣nent to the Vindication of Anaxanacton's Honour from the foolish Cavils of some Pretenders to Wit, who take it for a great piece of Ability to find faults where there are none, and think they deserve Applause, when they merit only Scorn, for saucily deriding those things which they ought humbly to adore. Antigraphus, as I was going to have told you, being desired by Eugenius to express his Mind, addres∣sing

himself to Bentivolio, began thus: It's true, I am not satisfied with your Discourse: Though you have adorn'd the History of Anaxanacton with plausible Colours, yet I cannot but think that many of them may 〈◊〉〈◊〉 be rubb'd off. I will not trouble you with a punctual Enumeration of all my Doubts, only I shall crave your pardon to touch upon some things which most offend me. What you have said concerning Anaxanacton's Birth, his Miraculous Acti∣ons, his Resurrection and Ascension, is utterly destitute of any known Parallel, and methinks it requires a vast mea∣sure of Credulity to make men believe a Report so strange∣ly incredible. For my own part, I desire to be told how I may assure my self that those parts of your Story are true. That Notion which you put upon the Death of Anaxa∣nacton, whose bloud was shed, as you say, as an Expiation for the Sins of the World, and that he offered himself upon the Cross as a Propitiatory Sacrifice, seems to be clogg'd with so much unreasonableness, that I cannot but disbelieve it. I look upon his Crucifixion as a means both wholly unne∣cessary and altogether useless, and so very unfitly applied to any such purposes. You make use indeed of various Ex∣pressions to magnifie the advantage of his Death, and say the same thing in different words; yet in my mind it fits none of them. Sometimes you fansy his Sufferings as a placatory Oblation, and so make his Cross an Instrument of Atonement between an angry God and trembling Offenders. But with what probability can this be affirm'd? For can he truly be said to be Reconcil'd, who not only was never angry, but whose Divine Nature is utterly incapable of such a low Passion? Sometimes you explain the same point by the Notion of Redemption, and would have us look upon the Life of Anaxanacton as a Price paid down for the re∣infranchising of inslav'd Men. I confess I wonder at this as much as the other; for to whom should this Price be paid? To God? How can that be, since you say that he gave this Anaxanacton, his dear Son, as a Ransome for Men, and so make him the Purchaser? Which cannot be admitted nei∣ther; for to what purpose should he give him, unless it

were to buy what was his own? Men could neither give nor sell themselves from God; if they did, the Deed was Invalid, because he can never lose his Right by any foolish Act of his Creatures. They could not be taken from him by force, because he is Omnipotent. If he receiv'd a Price for them, it seems he did not Redeem, but Sell, them. The Price you speak of could not be paid to the Devil; for God only, whose Law was violated, had Right to take Pu∣nishment of his offending Subjects; and if the Devil had any hand in the Torment, it was but of an Executioner deputed by God. Besides all this, Anaxanacton could not be truly said to have bought Men, for he himself, as I have heard, affirm'd that God gave him freely that part of Mankind in which he claims a peculiar Interest.

The Sense which you would express by using the word Satisfaction is liable to as great Difficulties. If God would not forgive sinners till he had receiv'd Satisfaction, he lessen'd his Goodness, which you say is Infinite. Or if he would needs have Satisfaction, yet why should the most Innocent Anaxanacton be expos'd to scornful Tortures in the stead of such as were notoriously guilty? Although that Generous Prince was so good-natur'd as to offer it, yet it was contrary to God's Justice to receive such a Cruel Compensation; and it seems to have been too excessive an Anger conceiv'd against the Sins of the World, which could not be appeas'd without a Sacrifice of Humane Bloud, the Use whereof you did but now condemn in the Heathen Re∣ligion. What Satisfaction was due I do not know, but it seems to follow from your own Principles, that Anaxanacton could not pay it, for you acknowledge him to be a God: and if you think to take off this Inconvenience by laying it upon his Humane Nature, I must tell you that it could not make Satisfaction for the Defects of others, because all that it could doe was but its own just Duty.

I am confirm'd in this Opinion of Anaxanacton's Death, proceeded Antigraphus, because I perceive but very small Effects which it hath produc'd towards the Melioration of the World since he left it. If he had deliver'd the World

from Ignorance by his Gospel, and redeem'd it, as you say he did, from Sin by his Death; how comes it to pass that many Nations are not acquainted with his Laws, and that most of those Countries which have receiv'd that know∣ledge are as Wicked as those which have not? Some of them complain of Anaxanacton's Discipline as a heavy Yoke, and pretend that their Disobedience is necessitated, because his Commands are so strict that they cannot be observ'd. Whether this be true or no, I know not; but that they are not obey'd is but too evident by their contrary practices. We see also that the World is vex'd with those Afflictions which you call the Punishments of Sin; as Painful Disea∣ses, Devouring Plagues, Bloudy Wars, Intolerable Famine, Implacable Death, and Dissentions Irreconcilable en∣tertain'd by those who, though they glory in the Pretense of being Anaxanacton's Disciples, yet having torn off his known Badge, Mutual Love, and despis'd his gentle Spirit, all the World perceives that they have nothing but his bare Name; and that they have so confounded his Doctrine by quarrelsome Controversies, that they themselves can scarce tell what it is. I doubt concerning the Truth of that Re∣lation which you made of the Success which he had for a while; and if I should grant it to be true, yet I must tell you that it did scarce equal what hath accompanied the Designs of those whom you call Impostors, some of which have gotten Victory over a great part of Anaxanacton's Do∣minions, as is known by the Story of Mahomet.

Bentivolio perceiving that Antigraphus had made an end, replied in these words: Though there are many things in Christian Religion (for that is but another Name of Anaxa∣nacton's Discipline) so Mystical that their full Sense is above the reach of our Apprehension; yet nothing can justly be esteem'd unreasonable because we are not able to fathom it, since we know that Inferiour Beings cannot adequate∣ly comprehend Superiour. Though it is very common with foolish men to quarrel with those Methods by which God prosecutes the Design of their Happiness, and to cavil at those Notions wherein the most important Truths are

contain'd; yet I think those which you have impugn'd so agreeable to right Reason, and that no Instrument could have been more prudently contriv'd to promote the Salva∣tion of Mankind then the Death of Anaxanacton; and that it was not unsuccessefully applied to serve this most noble Design, and that the Effects which were produc'd by it were never equall'd by any other Invention, is the first thing that I will endeavour to shew you, and adde to what I have said already concerning this Matter answers to all your Objections, and afterward I will satisfie you as to the Truth of the whole Story of Anaxanacton.

When Man came first into Being, he was God's Crea∣ture, and so oblig'd by the strongest ties to acknowledge him for his Soveraign Rector, He who made all things ha∣ving an indubitable Right to give them Laws. The universal Creator according to his Divine Prudence in∣scrib'd natural Rules upon Mens Hearts, so making them in part Laws to themselves, and superadded some Positive Commands as further significations of his Will. He know∣ing that he had to doe with considerative Natures, not only engag'd them to observe his Laws by the good Condition into which he put them; but added another strong pre∣servative against Disobedience, by annexing to his Com∣mands Punishments conditionally threatn'd: Which was a rare Expression of the Divine Goodness, for God did so take care that the false Hopes of Impunity might not bring into the World first Sin and then Ruine. But rash Men, slighting their Duty notwithstanding these Obligati∣ons to the contrary, rendred themselves obnoxious to the Punishment of an Ingrateful Rebellion; and it was then just with God, who is the Lord of Punishment, to inflict the Mulcts which were due upon the contempt of his Pre∣cepts. But he considering that it was a thing worthy of the benign Creator rather to repair his work by an After∣provision of his Wisdom, then to desert it to that Ruine which was the effect of its own Folly, determin'd to restore the degenerate World, and upon Terms which were fit for him to propound to admit Offenders to the benefit of Re∣concil'd

Favour. The Sins of the World being an un∣speakable Affront to his just Authority, and an open Scorn put upon his most excellent Laws, he saw it was reasonable that Men ought not to be pardon'd but in a way by which the Divine Honour might be repair'd, his Government ac∣knowledg'd, the Righteousness of his Injunctions vindica∣ted, Obedience restor'd to its due Estimation, Rebellion condemn'd and put to the highest disgrace, and Offenders by the assurance of Forgiveness perswaded to return to their Duty, and so that base thing, Sin, be rooted out of the World.

Now, Antigraphus, if you will give me leave to use a few words more, continued Bentivolio, I will demonstrate to you that these noble Designs could not have been accomplish'd any way so well as by the Obedient Life and Holy Death of Anaxanacton. You must know that he came into the World at such a time when Wickedness had advanc'd it self to a height scarce parallel'd in any Age: and when that Nation which did most of all others pretend, and had the greatest reasons to be Examples of Vertue, had not only dishonour'd it by Vicious Practices, but had slurr'd their Rules with such false Expositions, that they had represented the Observation of their genuine Sense as unnecessary; Anaxanacton appear'd upon this Stage as the Champion of Obedience, and by an unspotted Conversation made a publick Defiance to the prevalence of Vice, subdued the Power of bad Example, and reveal'd a dear Regard of the Divine Will when all the World slighted it, overcame the Temptations of Sin, and condemn'd those Customs which by a continu'd repetition of wicked Actions do propagate hurtful Examples; and having given all sorts of men a full knowledge of their Du∣ties by his Excellent Discourses, and shewn the way to the most noble degree of Vertue, of which (as I told you be∣fore) his own Life was the Beautiful Image, he reprov'd the disobedient World with such Authority, that he amaz'd the most Obstinate, and perfectly reclaim'd the Ingenuous, who wanting good Information sinn'd only of Ignorance, but now reform'd themselves willingly since they knew the danger of their Errours.

Anaxanacton having proceeded so far, his Life was im∣prov'd to the utmost Justification of the Supreme Law∣giver, and now he laid it down, that by his Death he might make a further Reparation of the Divine Honour, and a fuller Expression of his Charity to Humane Nature. His Death was a common Penance of Mankind, in which Di∣vine Justice made the Sins of the World to meet as in an Ex∣piatory Suffering, which his Love made him chearfully en∣dure, having voluntarily put himself into the place of Sin∣ners; and he was not unwilling to bear such shameful Tor∣ments as were ever look'd upon as the Punishments of Sin, and the visible Effects of God's Displeasure. Thus his Cross became a publick Vindication of the Divine Justice to which all the World was obnoxious, and it was a great Augmentation of that Disparagement which he had cast upon Sin by his Holy Life: For none could receive the true knowledge of this wonderful Action, and remain so stupid as to think still that Disobedience is a Trifle which was thus expiated, or so unreasonable as not to conclude, that the Wound was of a most deadly concernment which could not be cured but by a Balsam made of such precious Bloud. How can any man think that it is a cheap thing to sin, when the dearest Son of God was buffeted, crown'd with Thorns, and then nail'd to a Cross for it? The Sa∣viour of the World had reason to expect that when some men saw, and others heard, that the hard Rocks clove and the dull Earth trembled at his Death, and that the dead came out of their Graves, that they would awake out of their deadly slumbers, and not only think of relenting a little, but melting themselves into an ingenuous Sorrow for their former Enormities, now begin a new Life, accor∣ding to his Directions who died for them, and by his Death shew'd them not only the depth of his true Affection, but made it the greatest endearment of Obedience; letting them see that it was so necessary to their Happiness, that it is neither possible nor fit that they should be sav'd with∣out it.

Thus was Sin 〈◊〉〈◊〉 by Anaxanacton's Death; and

when he had discharg'd this Office, Men could not doubt of being pardon'd through his Mediation, for he told them that his Death was a Propitiatory Sacrifice offer'd in the name of Sinners, and that his Bloud was shed as a Fede∣ral Rite by which (according to the known Custom of the Eastern World, who by Bloud did usually ratifie their Leagues of Friendship) he confirm'd the Promise of Pardon which he had formerly made in the name of his Father, and seal'd his Gospel, which was a Covenant of Love, and con∣tain'd the Grant of our Peace, in stead of the bloud of Beasts with his own.

But that I may end this part of my Discourse, let me tell you also that the Death of Anaxanacton did both naturally augment the pitifulness of our General High-Priest, who by the Experience of Afflictions learn'd to compassionate his suffering Friends; Anaxanacton also made it a rare Example of that Patience which he knew his Followers would need, to support them against those Affronts which he foresaw would be put upon them by such as, having no love for Ver∣tue themselves, would hate it in others, and being more in number would be alwayes able to doe them mischief, and be instigated to persecute them with more rage by their own Vices, which were perpetually condemn'd by their excellent Lives. Thus also Anaxanacton gave his Friends a fair en∣couragement to suffer chearfully, seeing their true Lover to have led them the way, and being assured that neither Shame, Pain or Death could obstruct their Happiness, all of them being hallow'd by the Patience, and overcome by the Faith of their Victorious Prince.

As by this which I have said concerning the rare Use which was made of Anaxanacton's Death, you may easily perceive that it was so far from being Impertinent, that it demonstrates not only the greatest Love, but an equal Wis∣dom in the Designation of it to the fore-mention'd Purpo∣ses; so you will see that the great Import of his Death is not improperly express'd in those Notions which you dis∣like, if you will have the Patience to understand the true meaning of those common 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Reconciliation, Redemp∣tion

and Satisfaction, when they are applied to this Affair.

Reconciliation must be explain'd according to the Notion of Displeasure of which God is capable. He is then said to be Angry when he Punisheth; and as it is natural for men to be afraid when they have transgress'd the Law of their Supreme King, so it is just with him to be angry at their Offences, that is, to punish the Offenders: and he may very well be said to be Reconcil'd, when he doth not lay their Sins to their charge; and to receive them into that Favour which they forfeited, when he doth not inflict the Punishment which was deserv'd. Thus the Notion of Re∣conciliation is very proper, and not at all the less intelligi∣ble, though God is not a passionate Being; and the Effect of our Saviour's Mediation is equally valuable. For whilst the Sinner is liable to an unspeakable Torment, his condition is as miserable as if he who is provok'd to inflict it were subject to wrathful Affections, since he knows how to doe it with a serene Justice; and the Courtesie of the In∣tercessor is infinitely obliging, notwithstanding the indis∣turb'd temper of the Divine Nature, because he saves the Offendor from a dreadful Punishment: and since the un∣passionate King would have inflicted it without the fore∣mention'd Interposition, he which is pardon'd need not scruple to say that his God is reconcil'd to him by the Death of Anaxanacton.

You will also be satisfied as to the Notion of Redemption, if you consider what is meant by that word when it is us'd in this matter: For it signifies that Anaxanacton by his Death restor'd Mankind to Liberty, that benefit which poor Slaves receive when they are deliver'd from a miserable captivity by the payment of a summe of Money. We were enslav'd to the Devil, who had tempted us from our Allegiance to God, and perswading us to follow his Coun∣sels and the Conduct of our own Lawless Appetites had put upon us by degrees the Shackles of Habitual Sin, and ex∣pos'd us to the danger of Eternal Death. How unmerciful∣ly this Tyrant us'd his Captives by the exercise of his usurp'd Power, whilst they languish'd under the fear of Re∣venge

to be taken upon them by God from whom they revolted, I told you before. Now though no Price was paid to the Devil, for none was due; yet since Men were freed from his intolerable yoke, and sav'd from the Mise∣ries which they endur'd, and the further dangers which were justly consequent to their Obedience to the Devil, (for they were willing Slaves, and though they were abus'd by him, yet they deserv'd to be punish'd severely as volun∣tary Fugitives from a most Gracious Soveraign,) God may very well be said to be their Redeemer, and Anaxanacton to have paid a Price for them; since it pleas'd the Father that his dear Son should be their Deliverer, and since Anaxa∣nacton was not unwilling to submit to hard Terms for their Recovery.

The propriety of this Expression and the fitness of this Means of our Liberty will be yet further apparent, if you will take notice that the Bonds which tied us in Slavery were our own Wills engag'd to a course of Disobedience by the prevalence of fleshly Tentations; and whilst the Enemy of our Souls gave us leave to enjoy the Pleasures of Sin, he made us believe that he lov'd us more then God, though by indulging to us our Lusts he did us no other fa∣vour but to kill us with sweet Poison, and mix'd Delusion with our Ruine, over which also he and his malicious As∣sociates devillishly insulted. That we might be reclaim'd from such pernicious Folly, the Eternal Father and his dear Son made an unparallel'd Demonstration of amazing Love, to shame us out of our continuance in that dishonou∣rable Vassallage wherein we foolishly serv'd our own and our Creator's Enemy. For Anaxanacton came and per∣swaded the unhappy Rebels to return to their Loyalty, and died upon a Cross before their faces to procure their Par∣don; after which they saw their Fetters fall off, repented of their rebellious Folly, return'd to their lawful Prince, and could not but look upon him that made them as their Redee∣mer, since he had perswaded them into Liberty by such a charming Argument: and they call'd Anaxanacton's Bloud the Price of their Redemption, because it was such a potent

means of their Recovery. Indeed Anaxanacton, not doubt∣ing but this would be the happy consequent of his under∣taking, told his Friends as he was going to the Cross, that when he should be lifted up there, and had thence made ma∣nifest his own and his Father's ardent affections to our Re∣stauration, he should draw Sinners up to him; that is, im∣press such a deep Sense of grateful Love upon their Souls, that they would now willingly obey one who had after such an obliging manner attempted their Freedom. They needed now no other Argument to disengage their Minds from the power of their false Apprehensions, when they saw themselves invited to the Service of their good God, and to abandon the Tyrant who kill'd them, at the per∣swasions of one who to shew how truly he lov'd them died for them.

Besides all this, I could tell you, Antigraphus, that Anaxa∣nacton might properly enough be call'd a Redeemer, that is, a Restorer of happy Liberty, for another great Reason; which is, because he did not only out-wit that cunning Ser∣pent by his Prudence, but overcame that strong Enemy by his Power, and rescu'd captive Humanity, and punish'd him for the wrong which he had done in seducing his Fa∣ther's Subjects from their Obedience; which was all the Price due to him for the Slaves whom he first took unjust∣ly, and then us'd villanously. This is a plain Answer to all those little Cavils which you made against the Notion of Redemption; and if it satisfie not, you must be forc'd to stay till Metaphorical Expressions be cur'd of their old lameness, and so grow able to doe that which they never did yet, that is, to run upon four Feet.

The Method of your Demands requires now that I take out your other scruple concerning the Satisfaction which God is said to have receiv'd in the Death of Anaxanacton. This Doubt is founded upon a Defect of Knowledge. It was most fit that the Supreme Lord being wrong'd should appoint his own Satisfaction; and since he made choice of the obedient Death of his dear Son, why should he not ac∣cept it as a Propitiation for Sinners, and give leave to Anaxa∣nacton

to nail their Bond to his Cross, he having pay'd what was demanded by the Universal Creditor? Whereas you phansie it is a Diminution of the Divine Goodness not to pardon the Sins of the World without such a strange kind of Compensation; I must tell you that it was not fit that so high a thing as God's Authority, which was denied, should have no Reparation, nor that Men should be temp∣ted to Sin by perpetual Impunity; so since the Eternal Fa∣ther, willing to condescend to fit Terms of Reconciliation, was careful to find out what we could not have thought on, or, if we had, durst not have propounded it, spar'd not his own Son, but gave him to suffer so many Reproches and so much Torment for our sakes, he testified more love, and endear'd himself more to us, then if he had contriv'd our Salvation, as you suppose he might, some other way.

Whereas you Object, that though God might expect Sa∣tisfaction, yet it was unworthy of him to take it of Anaxa∣nacton after such a cruel fashion; I desire you to consider a little better, and you will see that it was no Injustice in the Supreme Lord to accept the Payment of the Debt which Sinners ow'd when it was offer'd by Anaxanacton. It is a com∣mon thing for us to give our Money to those to whom we our selves owe nothing, to pay the Debts of others; and some∣times, though but seldom, an Innocent Person hath offer'd his Life to expiate anothers Default: and this Action of Anaxa∣nacton is more justifiable, since his matchless Charity is not only celebrated throughout all the World with Immortal Praises, but he also procur'd by his Death the greatest benefits which were ever bestow'd upon Mankind, and improv'd his Sufferings to his own unspeakable Advantage, whilst his most just Father, who could not permit such a charitable Obedience to want the greatest Reward, crown'd his hum∣ble Patience with an universal Soveraignty, and made him, who for a while was the lowest of Servants, the Lord of all things. By which you cannot but perceive that there is no Reason to parallel the cruel Customs of the Pagan Super∣stition, in which sometimes Men, sometimes Virgins, were slain against their wills to no purpose, but to gratifie the

Malice of Devils, with the Voluntary Oblation which Anaxanacton made of his own Life, which both proceeded from a most noble Principle, and was glorified with a hap∣py Conclusion.

Though you pretend also that Anaxanacton's Oblation could not benefit others, because whatsoever he did was a just Duty to his Father; I must tell you that though after Anaxanacton was born a Man, he ow'd all possible Obedi∣ence to his Divine Father in his own name, yet his Perfor∣mances may very rationally be suppos'd capable of re∣flecting Advantage upon others, since he was not necessari∣ly Incarnate, but Voluntarily assum'd our Nature on pur∣pose to doe Honour to God.

This is enough, said Eugenius turning himself to Benti∣volio, to justifie the Reasonableness of Anaxanacton's Death to all Ingenuous Persons; but I beseech you, for Antigraphus his full Satisfaction, to let us see by the Effects which it pro∣duc'd that all this was not labour in vain; for notwith∣standing your former Discourse he fears not to say that the World receiv'd little benefit by it. I remember very well what he said, replied Bentivolio; and since your Patience is not yet spent, I will shew you the Falshood of this Calum∣ny, for so I must call it. There are but two things consi∣derable in Sin, the Unreasonableness of enormous Actions, and the Punishment to which Sinners are obnoxious; and it is easie to convince any rational Person by that which I told you in the former part of this Discourse, that Anaxanacton did what was fit for Him, that is, the best Person in the World, to doe to remove them both. He re-inforc'd the Commands of Obedience to Almighty God by his Divine Precepts; he reveal'd the danger of a wicked Life, and de∣clar'd that Holiness, i.e. Wisdom and Goodness, is an Im∣moveable Bound-stone which God hath set between a hap∣py and a miserable Estate. To prevent Despair he assur'd Delinquents of their Pardon upon Repentance, having offer'd himself as a Propitiatory Sacrifice: which was a Notion so early known and so universally spread through the World, that there was none which understood not the

meaning of that most obliging Action. He made his Commands so plain, that they did not only condemn the Dissolute, but reproch all false Pretenders. To prevent the hopes of sluggish Endeavours, he declar'd the Invalidity of the greatest Knowledge which doth not transform those who possesse it into the Image of Truth. He assur'd all false Believers, that the Faith which doth not subdue their Sins will never be able to chase away their Fears. He put all possible Disgrace upon Hypocrisie, having mark'd it with the brand of the most odious Wickedness. He hath undone all vain Expectations by linking all his Promises with Conditional Precepts. He hath confirm'd the terri∣ble Sentence which is pronounc'd by an Evil Conscience, that Sinners might find no Refuge but in true Repentance. He hath condemn'd all External shews of Piety and Vertue which are destitute of interiour Correspondencies. He told all Good men that they must look upon the Permission of Tentations not as Excuses of Sin, but as Continuations of their Trial, and commanded them never to think of being crown'd hereafter except they overcome now; and to en∣courage them to endeavour heartily, he hath assur'd them of his never-failing Assistances.

This is enough, continu'd Bentivolio, to demonstrate the fulness of his Prudent care; and, if you remember what I told you before concerning the vast Extent of his great Conquest, you will have no reason to think his Attempt ineffectual: neither can you frame any Excuse to salve the Ingratitude of those who remain'd disobedient to the mighty Reasons of such incomparable Love, but their own extreme Carelesness, and base neglect of Consideration: For no blame can be laid upon him, who had done such wonders that they were sufficient to make the most stupid to mind their most Important Interest. After so much endeavour I cannot imagine what Exception you can frame against Anaxanacton's Method but this, that he did not offer violence to the Liberty of mens Wills, and make them Ver∣tuous whether they would or no; which are words inca∣pable of any reasonable Sense. If Anaxanacton had put a

Necessity upon men to embrace his Discipline, he had cross'd his own Design, which was, by a clear Proposal of a Glorious Immortality to excite free Agents to engage their Choice in a constant use of holy Means to obtain so noble an End. Also the Divine Temper of Soul in which all his Disciples find themselves unspeakably happy is such a rais'd Disposition, that it is impossible to be reach'd by those who debase themselves by voluntary Sin: And the Peace of Conscience and Hopes of a blessed Immortality which Anaxanacton grants as an Antepast of their future Happiness to his Faithful Servants, are only the Results of a good Life, which is grounded upon a firm Choice and constant Reso∣lution of being Obedient to his Rules.

I know well that the World hath long since degenerated from the noble Example of the first Converts, and that the rare Vertues of the Primitive times are scarce any where to be found in our dayes; but we must take heed of accusing Anaxanacton for our own faults. When he commanded men to acknowledge his Gospel, and told them that it was the only Security of their best Interest; yet he let them know that it would doe them no good except they entertain'd it with a very sincere Observance of those Directions which are contain'd in it. But as he is altogether to be excus'd, we are so much the more worthy of blame, both because we neglect the Encouragement which is offer'd by such gallant Examples, and because we may make an Imitation of their illustrious Vertues at a far cheaper rate then they could set us Copies.

This which I have said concerning the Continuance of Sin doth also demonstrate the Justice of those Punishments which you think ought not to afflict the World since Anaxanacton undertook its Restauration. He deliver'd his true Disciples from the danger of Eternal Death, which is the chief Punishment of Sin; and made those less Inconve∣niences which they meet and patiently entertain upon their way to encrease their more welcome Reception into their Everlasting Home: and as those others, Antigraphus, who will not be redeem'd must needs continue Slaves, so

being Slaves it is but fit that they should carry their chains. But who are they in whose Punishments you do particular∣ly concern your self? The Jewish Nation, to whom Anaxa∣nacton made the first offers of Redemption? There is no reason but they should be punish'd, both because, not∣withstanding the strong Motives by which they were long perswaded to an Emendation of their Lives, they grew so extremely wicked, that one of their chief Historians thought that if God had not destroy'd them by the Romans, the Earth would have swallow'd them; and because they did barbarously reject the Terms of Pardon which in a most obliging way were propounded by Anaxanacton. As they shew'd themselves incorrigible by continuing wicked after he had for many years in vain attempted their Reformati∣on; so it is not only a just but a very proper Affliction with which they are punish'd, being not utterly destroy'd, but dispers'd into most Kingdoms of the World, where they live 〈◊〉〈◊〉, that they might every where remain as an evident Testimony of God's Displeasure against ingrateful Apostates, and be a lasting witness of Anaxanacton's veracity, who told them before that this Misery would befall them if they persever'd, as they did, in Disobedience.

As your Objection includes the rest of the World, I must tell you that there is no reason but they should be punish'd too. Anaxanacton came not to disoblige men from the Law of Nature, but to superadde endearments to its Ob∣servance; and since other Nations follow'd the bad Ex∣ample of the obstinate Jews, it is most just that they should be their Parallels in suffering. You must needs justifie Anaxanacton as altogether unaccessory to their Calamities, except you would have him become a Patron of Sin, and indeed desire him to nourish with his Bloud that curs'd Root which grew too fast of its self.

Well, well, said Antigraphus, let the Reasons of mens De∣generacy be what they will, you confess the World remains Wicked, so that the Proofs of Anaxanacton's success must be fetch'd from that Age in which he liv'd. Yes, replied Bentivolio, but much more from those which follow'd his

Death, in which they were so considerable in themselves, but especially if you take notice of the unparallel'd Method by which his Affairs prosper'd, that there is no more cause to put him into a mean Comparison with the most suc∣cesseful Impostor, then there is reason to equal the Follies of Mahomet's contemptible Alcoran with the wisdom of his most excellent Gospel. It is a peculiar Glory by which the Discipline of Anaxanacton is recommended to the World, that it was neither introduc'd at first, nor e∣stablish'd afterwards, by those ordinary means of Policy or Force. His Person was of such little consideration in re∣gard of Worldly extract, that he was a Demonstration of the highest Worth invelop'd with the lowest Humility: His holy Doctrine was opposite to receiv'd Customs: his grave Converse was not set off with a plausible Fashion, but ex∣press'd such Manners as were scorn'd by the Modish World: He neither flatter'd great Princes, nor humour'd the mean Appetites of the fleshly Vulgar: he perswaded not Obedience to his Rules with the arts of Humane Rheto∣rick: His Followers were discourag'd by Secular Powers, their Number lessen'd by cruel Deaths, for which Suffer∣ings they could hope for no Compensation in this World. And though the Pagan Superstition was encourag'd by the Favour of many Princes, supported by strong Armies, de∣fended by learned Philosophers, asserted by Eloquent Ora∣tours, further'd by the Devices of cunning Magicians, and cried up by the universal Suffrage of all Nations; yet by a Divine Power which fell upon it from the Life and Gospel of Anaxanacton, and the mighty Spirit which assisted his Servants, the Idolatrous Worship with all its pompous Ce∣remonies melted away as the Snow doth before a warm Sun; whilst Anaxanacton's Subjects wearied the Malice of their Tormentors with an unconquerable Patience, and by the generous Testimony which they gave to Truth, recon∣cil'd their mortal Enemies to the belief of that which they persecuted, and to a most sincere Love of those whom but a little before they perfectly hated.

If Mahomet had made use of no other Means to serve his

Design, his Name would long since have been forgotten in the World: but as his Religion (in which he craftily made an honourable mention of Anaxanacton) is contemptible in it self, being a kind of Cento made up of Rites stollen part∣ly from the Jews, partly from the Pagans, and some bor∣row'd from the Christians; he fill'd it with ridiculous Fa∣bles, absurd Stories, perswades Obedience with obscene Promises, and expresseth a base Condescension humoring the lowest sort of Life, the worst of Men willingly obser∣ving his foolish Orders, whilst they pleas'd themselves in hope to be admitted at last into a brave Seraglio for their Heaven, and instead of Paradise to be put into a Gynae∣ceum.

Yet the subtil Lunatick perceiv'd that this would not effect what he aim'd at without the use of Arms, and there∣fore as soon as he had multiplied his Disciples to a compe∣tent Number by fraudulent Arts, he betook himself to Force, and so order'd his way to make Proselytes, that those whom he endeavour'd to perswade to his Religion saw that they must either die or be Mahometans. Which is enough to shew the lowness of the way by which that cheating Arabian made his Attempts upon the World in comparison of the Celestial Method by which Anaxanacton's successes were obtain'd. But since he became Master of his De∣signs by politick Stratagems and force of Arms, and ex∣tended his Victories to the distress of Anaxanacton's People, lest you should think this a sufficient Reason for venerable thoughts of that Impostor, I must tell you that you may as well think honourably of the Devil, and conclude that the Worship which was given to him in former dayes was Ra∣tional, because he is a Cunning and Powerful Being. I must also let you know that that Fatal Accident, his un∣happy Invasion of Christendom, is a Permission of the Di∣vine Providence, of which we may easily give an Accompt. For as it was but fit that the degenerate Jews having re∣volted from the Ingenuous Simplicity of their Ancestors should be punish'd by the Romans, especially since they rejected and murther'd the promis'd Messiab, who came

after he had been long expected according to many Divine Predictions; so it was just that false Christians should be chastis'd by the insolent Turk for Apostatizing from the true Faith and sincere Obedience of the Primitive times: and I heartily pray that the growing Sins of the Western Europe may not make way for his further Progress into these parts of the World.

Because you question'd, as I remember, (added Bentivolio, still addressing himself to Antigraphus) the whole Story whereupon all that I have said is grounded, it is necessary, as a Period to this Discourse, to assert the Credibility of that Holy Book in which it is written. Before I attempt that, possibly it were not amiss if I should crave leave to ask you the Reasons for which you doubt of it, and to de∣sire you to say what would assure you of its Truth if your demands were answer'd. But because that would extend this present Entercourse beyond the bounds of that Time and Patience which this worthy Company can allow, I will give you a short Accompt why I believe that Story to be true, and if you be satisfied with my Arguments, I shall save you the labour of propounding any more Scruples. This History is verified by all the Evidence of which such a Truth is capable. For when Matters are question'd whose Truth depends not upon a Demonstration fetch'd from the Nature of the things themselves, which makes it self mani∣fest to all men upon the first view, we must seek for Proof in good Testimony; and we have sufficient witness to prove that there was such a Person as Anaxanacton, and that the Narrative of his Life written by his Friends is a true Histo∣ry. It is absurd to expect that our Saviour should be born, live, die, rise again, and ascend into Heaven in every Age; neither is it necessary that God should repeat his Mi∣raculous Testimonies continually, having done it very of∣ten, and convey'd the notice of those Assurances to posterity by the Records of Eye and Ear-witnesses. If this be not a sufficient Evidence, future Ages can never hope for any Proof of what was done in former dayes. Since this sort of Demonstration is all that ought to be demanded,

I shall give you that Satisfaction in which you ought to acquiesce, by shewing that all which I have said was done in the Presence of unexceptionable Witnesses.

In the Books of such as were his mortal Adversaries, and therefore willing to have buried any thing which might keep his Remembrance alive in the World, we find the mention of his Name, and have receiv'd from some of them a Description of his Person. None of them denies that he was famous for Miraculous Actions; and when they desir'd to lessen the great Reputation which they reflected upon him, they endeavour'd it not by affirming that he per∣form'd no such Works, but by transferring the Effects which were really produc'd to less-worthy Causes; not da∣ring to call them Impostures, but either Magical Actions, or things deriv'd from Astral Influences, and which had been equall'd by others. They have recorded the Manner of his Death, the Time and Place of his Suffering, have told us the name of the Judge that condemn'd him, and under what Roman Emperour: they have acknowledg'd the vast Numbers of his Followers, and grant that after his Death the World was fill'd with an Honourable Estimati∣on of his Person, and express'd the fear which they had lest his Doctrine should prevail upon the Faith of the whole Roman Empire; and therefore made severe Edicts, and in∣flicted cruel Punishments not only upon the Principal Converts, but innumerable Multitudes of all sorts of Peo∣ple, to stop its Growth. They confess'd the Innocent Man∣ners of his Disciples, and bore witness to the constancy of their Loyalty to Anaxanacton. They have let us know how punctually his Prophecie was fulfill'd in the Destruction of that People which first rejected him, the Ruine of their Temple and City, notwithstanding the Endeavours of some Emperours who desired to have hinder'd its Accom∣plishment, both by preventing the Dissolution, and at∣tempting the Restauration of those famous Structures. In short, some of them have also acknowledg'd that the Holy Bible, which did more fully relate these things, and in particular give notice that when Anaxanacton was born, a

God descended from Heaven to restore the World to Hap∣piness, is a most Venerable Book.

This Testimony is not inconsiderable, because we have it from those who, besides this one courtesie, which they never intended as an Expression of any Good will, did no other service to Anaxanacton. But that which his Friends say in defence of his Honour and their own Faith is much more valid, and against which his Enemies will never be able to find any thing rationally to oppose. The Evidence which is given for the Truth of this Famous History is made of a Series of Witnesses, which running through sixteen Centu∣ries hath preserv'd the Records, and asserted the Truth of the Divine Life, most charitable Death, and stupendious Resurrection of Anaxanacton by a successive Attestation. Those who first committed his Life to writing were Eye∣witnesses of what they reported, or intimate Companions of such as had convers'd with him till his Ascension. As the Assurance of this Truth confirm'd by such a clear Evi∣dence was the ground of their proper Faith, and the only Reason which can be suppos'd to have made them willing to be publishers of it; so it is absurd to think that others would have receiv'd them with Faith, if the Apostles had not been able by some Infallible Proofs to demonstrate that they witness'd what they knew to be true. It is beyond the power of my Phancie to imagine what should induce the first Divulgers of the Gospel to publish such strange news, but that they were throughly convinc'd both that it was true, & that the knowledge of it was so necessary to the Salvation of men that they could not conceal it but with a very great uncharitableness. Those who frame Lies pro∣pound to themselves some Advantage by Falshood, and since that is so unlovely in its own nature that it is ab∣horr'd of all the World, when they make use of it they are forc'd to adorn it with borrow'd colours, that by them they may impose upon the credulous and attain their End.

All Judges do ever esteem it as a rational Assurance of the Goodness of an Evidence, when the Witnesses give Te∣stimony without hoping for any oblique Advantage to

themselves from the Issue of the Cause. What Design could the plain Apostles serve if they had endeavour'd to cheat the World with this Story, which was so odious to the In∣credulous Jews and so unwelcome to the Idolatrous Gen∣tiles, that in an ordinary way it was applicable to no pur. pose but to procure the Scorn and Hatred of those to whom they told it? If it had not been a Truth, it was easie for those who heard it to discover its Falshood; for that which they related was done in one of the most illustrious Cities of the World. If the Apostles of Anaxanacton could have so far debas'd themselves as to divulge false news, yet it is un∣reasonable to think that they should offer to doe it for the advancement of their Master's Religion, which of all things doth most abhor a Lie. I know very well that vain Per∣sons use to tell false Stories to make their Auditors laugh at their ridiculous Inventions, and that suborn'd Witnesses will sell their Oaths for Money, especially when they have so fram'd their Depositions that the Falshood is hard to be discover'd; and some Messengers will carry news which is not true, in hopes of receiving a Reward before it can be known to be false: but were any men ever heard of, who were so greatly in love with Death, and so passionately de∣sirous of shameful Torments, that they madly threw away their Lives for that which they knew to be a Lie? It is well enough known that Anaxanacton's Friends died attesting this Story, and were put to death for no other reason but because they would not disown it. Pray tell me, good Antigraphus, in what Book did you ever reade of one, much less many thousands, who embrac'd a real Cross for his sake who was only crucified in a Romance? It is easily observa∣ble out of the Books of Anaxanacton's Enemies yet extant, that when his Disciples were convented before Secular Powers, they were not accus'd for telling of Lies, or pu∣nish'd for Fraudulent dealing, but onely censur'd for pub∣lishing a New Doctrine, which was entertained so readily and spred so far, that they were afraid it would subvert their Pagan Religion; which indeed it did not with standing all they could doe to support it.

This is enough to justifie the Veracity of those who first preached the Gospel; and it is as easie to vindicate the Pru∣dence of those who first gave credit to their Report. As the Primitive Evangelists believed because they saw Anaxa∣nacton's Divine Actions, and were Eye-witnesses of his Resurrection; so those who heard them tell this News had all good reason to believe them, not only because they heard them relate such strange things with a steady Confi∣dence amongst those who dwelt near the place where they were done, and because they perceiv'd all the fair signs of Honesty in their Conversations, but also saw them doe many such things themselves as they affirm'd their Master to have done. How could any wise Spectators but think that Anaxanacton was a Divine Person, when they saw his Servants doe Miracles only with the mention of his Name? As they could not think that was impossible which they saw done, except they thought themselves not bound to believe their own Eyes; so they could not but believe that which was reported, being made credible by such convin∣cing Evidences of its Truth, except they abandon'd their Reason.

If the Apostles would have put tricks upon the World, we know that many of their first Converts cannot be look'd upon as Subjects capable of Delusion, being men of great Parts, rare Learning, inquisitive Tempers, unconcern'd as to any thing but Truth, engag'd to oppose what was told them, it being contrary both to the Opinions which they profess'd, and the Laws of the Places where they liv'd. Those who consider what they say, cannot affirm of the rest, who were not of so great Abilities, that they at least might be impos'd upon; because the A postles devis'd no cunning Fables, nor us'd any subtile Arts, but made a plain Narrative of Anaxanacton's Life, Death and Resurrection, justified their Commission to be Divine by the frequent performance of beneficial Miracles, commanded men in their Master's name to receive his Gospel, and were an∣swer'd with chearful Obedience; those who believ'd, had so great an Assurance in their Minds of the reasonableness

of their Faith, that all the Arts of Idolatrous Priests and Terrours of enrag'd Princes could not shake it. And can any man think that they would thus strangely subject themselves to the Authority of one that was acknowledg'd to have died upon a Cross, and then been buried, but that they were assured he was also risen again, and both happy himself, and able to exalt others to that Paradise to which he ascended?

Thus the first Age entertain'd the Discipline of Anaxa∣nacton, and with a careful Fidelity transmitted it to that which succeeded. As that which went before would have hiss'd such strange News out of the World if it had not been apparently true, so the next could not but give credit to it as a Report whose undoubted Truth was generally known. The first Believers preserv'd the Authentick Records of Anaxanacton's Story, and deliver'd Transcripts of them to so many, that the common Evidence of their Faith was universally spred, and all Corruption prevented, because for some hundreds of Years they had the Original writings, and Copies were taken by so many Persons, that none could make a Variation but he was liable to a quick Discovery. By the Power of this Divine Verity they converted many of their most mortal Enemies among the Jews, insomuch that those who had a hand in Anaxanacton's Death repent∣ed of the Murther which they committed upon such a Di∣vine Person, and testified the truth of their Repentance by venturing their Lives in his Service. He was pleas'd to assure his Ascension to one of his zealous Adversaries, by appearing to him with a Heavenly Glory, and shew'd him the folly of endeavouring to destroy that Church whose Prince was Lord of Heaven and Earth: who after he had recover'd the astonishment into which he was struck by the Celestial Vision, he tore the Commission which he had re∣ceiv'd to disserve Anaxanacton, and made Reparation for the wrong which he had done, by the constant Zeal wherewith he promoted the Faith of his Gospel throughout his whole Life, and then perfected his Love with Martyrdom.

When the Heathens doubted of the Truth of this holy

Story, the Servants of Anaxanacton referr'd them to their own Annals, and added Miraculous Proofs in so many Places, that their Adversaries had nothing left to oppose them, being sufficiently vex'd to see such an unparallel'd Attempt succeed in a way which the World never knew before; and wonder'd that a few mean men agreeing in one plain Story should have such a potent Influence upon all Kingdoms where they travell'd, one single Person, and sometimes two, converting a whole Nation to that manner of life which was contrary to the general Inclination of Mankind, to that Doctrine which contradicted their re∣ceiv'd Principles, and that Religion which overthrew the Worship which they had deriv'd from many Ancestors, and was confirm'd by Penal Laws, and which expos'd such as receiv'd it first to Scorn, and then to Torments. It encreased their Admiration to see them voluntarily offer themselves to suffer in proof of what they said; but much more when they perceiv'd the undaunted Courage with which they endur'd the greatest pains, and then Death. How could it but amaze the Heathens, when they saw poor men, whom they despis'd, challenge their Gods before the Faces of those who ador'd them, and make them confess themselves to be Devils? They could not but wonder at the strange Alteration which was wrought upon their Com∣panions Tempers, who were so chang'd in their Manners that they could scarce know them to be the same men. Christian Religion accomplishing that Emendation upon Humane Life which Moral Philosophy had in vain at∣tempted, except in a very few Instances; it being unable to make its Precepts obey'd for want of sufficient Motives, that is, could not promise Eternal Rewards to Vertue, nor dissuade Vice effectually, having no Authority to threaten Disobedience with endless Torments.

All beholders were rap'd into Admiration when they saw these things; and many enquiring into the Reason of such rare Accidents, found sufficient cause to conclude that they were the Effects of a Divine Power which accompanied the Apostles: and they justly esteem'd them Infallible Proofs

of the Truth of the Holy Story, knowing that Falshood is unable to equal such Products.

But, O God! said Bentivolio, making a passionate Apostro∣phe, what a stupid Incredulity hath seiz'd upon this leaden Age, which doth not give Faith to that Divine History which is come safe to our hands, being preserv'd in a Holy Book not blemish'd with one material Variation, and ho∣nour'd with the concurring Testimony of the best men who liv'd in all the Ages since it was written! What a strange Lethargy is this which hath so fatally benumb'd our Wills, that we cannot be perswaded to think that there is as much reason to believe that the Four Evangelists have given us the true History of our Saviour, as that Julius Caesar wrote his Commentaries? We pretend to doubt whether the noble Physician penn'd the Acts of the Apostles, and yet make no question but Homer wrote the Iliads, and that the AEneids are the Works of Virgil.

But since there is no Comparison between the reason of that credulous Respect which is given to the fore-menti∣on'd Authors, and the validity of that Evidence which I have produc'd for Anaxanacton's Gospel; I will tell you (added Bentivolio, now addressing himself to Eugenius) the cause of this strange Infidelity. Some fall into it by a lazy neglect of the consideration of those Arguments which would make them give credit to this Story; and many are unwilling to believe it, because their Faith would disturb the Pleasures of their Sensual Life. These, though they never heard of any Counter-witnesse produc'd to disprove this Truth, (for there is none) and though they are not able to frame a rational ground of Doubt, yet they endeavour to look upon it as a Fiction, because it crosseth their Adhe∣rence to a base Interest. The Dissatisfactions which they pretend to the Holy Gospel arise not at all from the Defect of those Reasons by which its truth is asserted, but from the too-much Evidence which against their Wills they find there of the necessity of a Holy Life, and too strong proofs of the miserable estate of those unworthy Souls, who being favour'd with the Knowledge of its Precepts, do not answer it with sincere Obedience.

It were too long to trouble you with the Enumeration of all those Devices which they contrive to avoid the power of this important Verity. Sometimes they pretend that the Doctrines reveal'd are contrary to Reason, making God's Understanding no bigger then their own; and pro∣nounce those things absurd which they would not have had reveal'd; and endeavour that the Gospel might be thought a Fable, though they cannot imagine at what time it should be feign'd, by whom, or for what purpose; and deny that it was confirm'd by Miracles, though they cannot but acknowledge that if it was entertain'd upon any other Accompt, it was the greatest wonder in the World. But these men will not let it be possible for God to assure his Creatures of Truth; for he hath done so much that they cannot tell what more to ask, only when they are urg'd with it, they require saucily that he should repeat it.

But that you may more plainly see that this perverse Incredulity, which is the great Fault of the present Age, ariseth not from the want of any Credibility in the Object, or Defect of clear Evidence in the manner of proposal, I must acquaint you that many who convers'd with Anaxa∣nacton when he liv'd upon Earth, did not entertain his Go∣spel with that Faith which was due to his visible Authority. The Proofs which he gave were Sufficient, but not Com∣pulsive. It was highly convincing to all Persons who were capable of Consideration, that he not only perform'd such Miracles as are undeniable Testimonies of a Divine Power, but such as they pretended that men ought to take them for a satisfactory Assurance, and also verified those Antique Predictions which concluded him to be what he said he was: yet they wrought no Effect upon such as were indispos'd by the Love of Sin to acknowledge one sent from God, who was a severe Reprover of their Vicious Conversation. Anaxanacton observing the reason of this Unbelief, told this sort of Persons, that though one who was dead should return from the other World, yet he would not be able to perswade them that there is a Hell where such as they were are punish'd. Since we know this, why

should we be astonish'd at the most obstinate Incredulity? If the Jews gave not credit to their Eyes, why may not the Gentiles disbelieve their Ears?

Besides this, we cannot but take notice of a Customary Perversness in some Tempers, who when they have pre∣possess'd themselves with false Opinions, will not suffer them by any Arguments to be dislodg'd, and to prevent the Possibility of a contrary Perswasion, resolve against the use of such means as would quickly give them an Assurance of their Errour.

Therefore to conclude this long Discourse, since the In∣genuous part of the World did not only at first receive the Discipline of Anaxanacton upon the fore-mention'd Prin∣ciples, and have continued their Obedience to it for six∣teen hundred Years, and have supported the Truth of it with unanswerable Arguments, there is no doubt but the Glory of it will flourish till Reason be extinguish'd. We must be content though wilful Infidels are justly permitted to an Atheistical Scepticism, by which they are enabled to disbelieve any thing. Since it shews more handsomely to deny Principles then to reject Conclusions which follow from Premisses once granted, they have ventur'd to strike boldly at the Roots of Faith; but with such a blind Inso∣lence, that for my own part, I profess that if it were reaso∣nable to believe the Pythagorean Metempsychosis, I should suppose that the Souls of the most dull Brutes do transmi∣grate out of their own into Humane Bodies. This Hypo∣thesis would very well salve this strange Phaenomenon. But since we know that whilst men neglect to improve their better Faculties, and indulge to themselves the vicious Pleasures of a Sensual life, they naturally sink themselves into an unspeakable Sottishness, and reject what they ought to believe, though they have no Counter-evidence equal to the Demonstration of Truth, because it is irre∣concileable to that which they have resolv'd to love, we need go no further to seek a Reason of this stupid Un∣belief.

Thus, said Nicomachus, did Bentivolio conclude the noble

History of Anaxanacton. And now I must repeat my Entrea∣ty, and desire your Goodness to excuse the Dishonour which my weakness hath forc'd me to cast upon Bentivolio, or ra∣ther upon Anaxanacton, whose Divine Life I have very im∣perfectly related. If you will not pardon me, yet I shall confess the Justice of what Sentence soever you pronounce against me, because I have made your Patience also to suffer part of the fore-mention'd wrong, whilst you have attend∣ed so long to my broken Rehearsal of the best Story in the World. The Company perceiving that Nicomachus had finish'd the Recital 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Bentivolio's Discourses, Theonoe gave him thanks, and so did all the rest; and after they had supp'd and spent a part of the Night in pertinent Reflexi∣ons upon many pieces of the former Narration, they re∣tir'd to their several Chambers, where they rested with the greater tranquillity, because the next day was appointed for their Journey towards Phronesium.

When the Sun was up, Theonoe and Irene went to Urania's Appartiment, and understanding that she walk'd in her Chamber, they went in, to let her know that all things were ready for their Journey. They came down into the Dining-room, where they found Panaretus, Sympathus and Nicomachus, who had stay'd there a while in expectation of the Ladies. Theonoe had given order to prepare a large Coach which would hold them all, that so travelling toge∣ther in one moveable House they might enjoy the Pleasure of mutual Conversation upon the Rode. They resolv'd to go through Philadelphia, which was not much about, and at the Request of Sympathus they took the way which lies near the green Banks of Calliroe, which is a fair River al∣wayes full of clear water, being supplied by a rich stream which descended from the famous Spring Agathorrhyton. They reach'd that night to a beautiful House situated upon the River, which belong'd to Sympathus, where they were so conveniently lodg'd and generously entertain'd, that they could not but perceive a rare concurrence of a great Prudence with an equal Love in the completeness of their Welcome.

Sympathus durst not entreat any longer stay here, because he knew they were passionately expected at Phronesium. The next day about Noon they arriv'd at Kepanactus, in∣tending to stay there an hour or two; but before they came within two furlongs of the House, they were surpriz'd with an unexpected Encounter of many Friends. For it being made known that Bentivolio intended to meet his Sister upon the way, the Prince of Theriagene would needs accompany him: the Princesse Agape, understanding that Urania was that day expected, desired leave of the Queen to go and meet her, and took with 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Philandra, Agatha and Polysemna. Misopseudes, Amyntor, and some other Gentle∣men of Quality belonging to Theosebius and Alethion, rode along with them. It is not an easie Task to relate the va∣riety of those pleasant Passions which were express'd at this happy Encounter. Bentivolio saluted Urania with that great Affection which he thought due to her, not only as his Sister, but as Urania; whilst she embrac'd him both as the best of Brothers, and one of the most excellent Persons in the World. Panaretus and Bentivolio entertain'd each other as one Soul would do it self if it were possible that it should animate two Bodies. The Prince of Theriagene express'd that civility to Urania which shew'd his highest Respect to her own Worth, and withall demonstrated a great sense of the Obligations which he had receiv'd from her Brother. The Princesse Agape took Urania into her Arms, and gave her many kisses with such an excessive kindness, that it would have fill'd the Beholders with won∣der, if they had not known before how much that Vertu∣ous Lady deserv'd to be lov'd, and also remembred the in∣timate Friendship which the Princesse had contracted with her. She saluted Theonoe and Irene with such an endearing tenderness, that they perceiv'd themselves not to have a small share in the Happiness of this delightful Meeting. When the rest of the Company had reveal'd their Joy in all decent Expresses according to the variety of their Relations, the Prince of Theriagene and the Princesse of Theoprepia took Urania and the two Sisters, which were her Fellow-travel∣lers,

into their Coach, and were accompanied with the whole Troop of their Friends to Kepanactus. After Din∣ner, which was ready as soon as they came into the House, Agape entreated the Prince Alethion to engage the Company to hasten toward Phronesium, knowing that the King and the Queen were possess'd with a passionate Expectation of their Arrival.

In a few hours they came to the City, and after they had enter'd the Palace, Theosebius and Phronesia receiv'd Urania and Panaretus with such a chearful Air and an obliging manner, that they made not only an infallible Confirmati∣on, but an unexpressible Addition to their former Love. I cannot put the just Description of this strange Encounter into fit Language, because my Phancie is not able to supply my Mind with a full Representation of such extraordinary Passages: only I can say thus much, that as the going away of these excellent Persons was a languid Image of the sad parting of dying Friends; so this Return, which was more acceptable because little expected, was a lively Resem∣blance of those unspeakable Endearments with which old Friends will receive one another at the Resurrection.

But Joy being at this time resolv'd to break through all its banks, made a second Tide at full Sea. For, whilst this noble Company was at Supper, one of Theosebes his Ser∣vants told the King that a Gentleman call'd Philalethes was alighted from his Horse, and desir'd him to give notice of it to the Prince of Theriagene. Philalethes had accompanied Alethion in his Journey to the borders of Theoprepia, but then return'd at the King's Command to deliver a Message to Eugenius, and to serve his Affairs in Theriagene: And the Company being acquainted with the Importance of his Negotiation, and having often taken notice of the Appre∣hensions which Alethion had entertain'd for him, this News was very welcome to them all; but Alethion and Misopseudes found themselves so particularly concern'd in it, that after Philalethes came in, and had perform'd that civil Respect which was due to so great a Presence, the Prince of The∣riagene took him into his Arms with many Expressions of

Affection, and having with much unwillingness releas'd him from those tender Embraces, his Brother receiv'd him with such significations of Love mix'd with Raptures of Joy that are not easie to be represented. After they had finish'd their Endearments, and settled themselves in that Deportment which was a necessary Observance of those Persons of Condition who were present, they took part of their gallant Supper; the whole Company entertaining themselves not only that Night, but many Dayes after, with those unexpressible Satisfactions which were produc'd by this happy Encounter.

The pleasure which Theosebes took in the agreeable Con∣versation of so many Friends, did not make him forget the condition of the Prince of Theriagene: and though he per∣ceiv'd Alethion to take so much content in the place where he was, that he seem'd to forget he was banish'd; yet he knew that this was no Excuse for the wickedness of his Sub∣jects, who deny'd him leave to dwell in his own Kingdom; and resolving by God's assistance to vindicate his Wrongs, and to put him into possession of his Father's Throne, he was confirm'd in his purpose by Letters from his Agent in Theriagene, which gave him Intelligence that Antitheus in∣tended to invade Theoprepia. Whereupon he sent for Ame∣rimnus, the chief Bishop of Theoprepia, (whose advice he al∣wayes ask'd in Civil as well as Religious Affairs) for his Chancellour, and Lysander the General of his Army, and acquainted them with his thoughts. They approving his Design; Which way shall we endeavour to prosecute it? said Theosebes. If you please, replied Lysander, you may summon the Deputies of the several Provinces of Theoprepia to meet at Phronesium, and when they are come, let my Lord Chancellour give them notice of your Princely Intentions: they do so truly hate the name of Antitheus, and honour the person of Alethion, that I am very confident they will be willing to contribute their best assistance towards the Re∣stauration of the Prince of Theriagene. What think you, my Lords? said Theosebes to the Archbishop and the Chan∣cellour. They both replying that they were of Lysander's

mind, the King approv'd their Advice, and accordingly gave order to the Chancellour to dispatch Letters to the four Divisions of Theoprepia, to require them to send their Commissioners within four dayes to the Senate-house at Phronesium, to consult concerning some important Affairs of State. The obedient Theoprepians made appearance at the time appointed; and when they were met, the King, at∣tended with Amerininus, Lysander, and his chief Ministers of State, went to the Senate-house; and being much pleas'd with the chearful sight of so many loving Subjects, after he had given them an hearty welcome to Phronesium, he con∣gratulated the Happiness of the Meeting in a short Speech, and then commanded the Chancellour to let them under∣stand the reasons of their Convention.

The Chancellour's name was Calliphon; and Theosebes did fully demonstrate that he understood well what sort of Per∣sons are fit to serve Kings, when he made choice of him for one of his principal States-men. It is true, the Concerns of his Place were great, but his known Wisdom and perfect Fidelity were not inferiour to them. The highest Trust which one man can put in another is, to take his Counsel: But this is greater in Kings, because their Affairs, to which Counsel is apply'd, are more important then ordinary mat∣ters, and the danger more considerable, if those who give Advice have a greater regard to their own benefit then to his advantage that asketh it.

Calliphon was Secret by the temper of his nature, and so Faithful in the discharge of his Trust, that he never set any oblique ends of his own contradistinct to his Master's Interest, but in all his Proposals aim'd directly at the King's Honour and the People's Happiness. His Integrity was equall'd with a rare Wisdom: for Calliphon being naturally of a quick Phancy, had improv'd the goodness of his Wit into Prudence by Experience, and perfected it with vast Acces∣sions by continual Industry. Being incited to all possible Acquists by a passionate Love which he had for Know∣ledge, he endeavour'd to understand the natural Connexi∣ons and proper Consequences of all things, and not to guide

his Actions by the uncertain Rule of unexamin'd Opinions or general Sentences. He gave evident proof of his early Dis∣cretion by the Vertuous management of his younger Age, and the prudent Government of his Family; and shewed the greatness of his Understanding by the proper Language and strong Reasons for which his Discourses were alwayes admired when he had occasion to speak in the Senate.

He was design'd to the Study of State-Affairs by his wise Father Pithologus, who was a Privy-Counsellour to Phroni∣mus: And when other Gallants trifled away their time in vain pleasures, he accustom'd Calliphon to reade Books of Po∣licy, Records of Treaties, and other Memoirs of the most famous States-men; and being much pleas'd with those Improvements which he perceiv'd him to make in this way, he acquainted him with that Intelligence which he receiv'd from Forein parts, and made him understand the private Reasons of the chief Transactions of State. By which means he arriv'd at a clear Knowledge of all things which might concern his Place; such as the Rules of Go∣vernment, the Nature of Justice and Equity, the Laws of Commerce and War, the wayes of Preserving and Increa∣sing the King's Revenue, the Duties of all publick Offices, the Disposition of his Country-men, the Conveniences and Inconveniences which might arise to them from their Neighbours: In short, he had as much understanding of Persons and Things as can be attain'd by a long Study of Men and Books. And now having the advantage of Years, and the benefit of a firm Memory, in which he had registred the Consequences of the most considerable Acti∣ons observ'd by himself, to which he had also added the Experiments of others, he was able to give proper Advice in any business which could fall under Deliberation.

Having given you a short Character of this excellent Person, I will set down his Speech. He is reported to have deliver'd himself in such words as these;

Gentlemen, You will wonder at the occasion of this As∣sembly, when I tell you that the Wickedness which hath gi∣ven us cause to meet is so extraordinarily strange, that it

transcends the worst Examples which have been produc'd in our memory. We are in danger of an Invasion from Theria∣gene, only because we have perform'd the just Rights of Ho∣spitality, (whose sacred Laws are involably observ'd by all the World) not to a common Ally, but to the most Excel∣lent Prince Alethion, who hath not only oblig'd us with the Assistance of his Arms, but hath made us owe the Life of our King to the generous Adventure of his own Person at the Battel in Theromachia. He is depriv'd of his Kingdom by a rebellious party of his Subjects upon this false Pretence, that when his Father was alive he kept a treasonable Correspon∣dence with his Confederates in Theoprepia.

Here Calliphon made a short pause, seeing the whole Senate rap'd into a passionate Admiration of this strange News. When they had settled themselves again, he went on thus;

As there needs no witness to convince us of the falseness of this insolent Calumny, besides the Knowledge which we have of our own Innocence; so we are sufficiently assured of the reason why this horrid Accusation was forg'd by the ill use which hath been made of it: And we are fully in∣form'd by whose traitorous endeavour it was fram'd, since we understand that Antitheus hath usurp'd the Kingdom. It is not needful by many words to let you know our King's Opinion concerning this matter, or to use many Argu∣ments to perswade you to follow his Advice. As Phroni∣mus our late King of Glorious Memory thought Anaxagathus worthy of his Friendship, so Theosebes thinks it unworthy of him to desert his Son, who hath demonstrated his high Regard to our Interest when we needed his help, or to slight an Ancient League, which was once beneficial to us, in a time when the distrest condition of our Confederate doth sollicit us to observe it. For the performance of that which Justice requires and Gratitude commands, Theosebes thinks it is but a small matter to protect the Person of Ale∣thion in his Country, except we also assert his Right with our Swords: And since we cannot requite the Love of Anaxagathus by restoring to him that Life which he hath lost by the fraud of Traitors, we will endeavour to repos∣sess

his Son of his Kingdom, and by the destruction of his Enemies make him live again in Alethion, and let Theriagene know that they were not more willing to assist us against malicious Foreiners, then we are able to deliver them from the Oppression of their own misguided Arms.

You are not ignorant with what dishonourable Aspersi∣ons our Constitutions have been represented to the igno∣rant World. It is true, we had an opportunity in the late War with the Theomachians to let them know how falsly they imagine, that humble Innocence and charitable Pati∣ence do so enervate mens spirits, that true Christians are an easie prey to such as have a mind to seize upon them; they having found the contrary by their own experience. Though our Religion hath taught us that no Policy is com∣parable to Innocence, and assured us that an Obligation put upon our Neighbours by a constant Beneficence is one of the strongest Fortresses in the World; yet we have made them understand that we have so much prudent Courage also to defend the Fort which Vertue hath rais'd, that it will alwayes be very hard for the Injurious to make good their bold Attempts upon the peaceable Theoprepians. They will not say in future times that Religion hath made us Cow∣ardly Fools, since we have given them sufficient reason to believe that, though our Patience set us above the low de∣sires of Revenge for private wrongs, yet we ought not to expose our publick Concerns, which are dearer to us then our Lives, to the cruelty of the Unjust. It is necessary that we should let these insolent people of Theriagene know, that the Humility and Justice which will not permit us to arro∣gate any thing wrongfully to our selves, doth not make us willing to be enslav'd by others, and that we can defend our selves against those whom we do not despise. They will perceive by our present Undertaking, that we think it as necessary to protect our selves against the Violence of law∣less Persons, as to resist a dangerous Incursion of wild Beasts with our Arms, or to prevent the calamity of an Inundation threatned by swelling waters with strong Banks.

This also is a proper season in which we may shew that the Theoprepian Principles are not terminated with our pri∣vate Accommodations, but that they are extended to pro∣mote the Interests of others: And that we do not bound that Neighbourhood which our great Lord hath obliged us to love with the narrow limits of our own Country, but are willing to enlarge our careful Charity, if it were possible, to the vast compass of the Universe. Whereas our Enemies think that we are pitifully enfeebled by an Abstemious Mode of Life, we will convince them of their Errour, and shew them that we do not only preserve a good Health, but have also obtain'd a firm Hardiness by the Rules of Tempe∣rance; and give them a clear Evidence, that the Courage wherewith we now assist a most just Cause, arising from a true Faith in God, a due Contempt of the World, and cer∣tain Hope of Immortal Life, doth far exceed that common Valour which depends only upon the strength of a natural Temper, is nourish'd with high Diet, and blown up with the desire of Spoils, or expectation of Triumph, after Victory.

This is enough, Gentlemen, to shew you the reasonable∣ness of Theosebes his noble Resolution. The way by which he intends to endeavour the accomplishment of his Design, is, to lead an Army into Theriagene; by which means we shall carry to them those Fears which they hope to bring hither, and possibly make them repent of their malicious Purposes before they have power to put them in Executi∣on, and by God's help seasonably extinguish that Fire which they have kindled in Theriagene with a purpose to in∣flame Theoprepia. It is well known how Hannibal distrest the Romans, when he transported his Souldiers into Italy; and that Agathocles shew'd a great skill in Military Affairs by fighting the Carthaginians in Africk, when he could scarce defend his own City against their Fleet which lay before it in the Port of Syracuse. Though our Case is in no respect so necessitous, yet by this means we may hope speedily to prevent the Trouble which is prepared for us.

We need not fear that this undertaking will be liable to suspicion among our Neighbour - Kingdoms; for the

Treason of Antitheus and his Faction is so notorious, that they must needs justifie the Assistance which we give to the wrong'd Alethion, and so unanimously condemn the Theriagenians, that whatsoever misery shall happen to them, they will not have this comfort left, that they shall be thought unworthy of what they suffer; all concluding that they ought to undergo the Extremity of Punishment, who have done what they could to deserve it. We are also fair∣ly invited to this Action by the Generous Example of those noble Strangers, Bentivolio and his Brother, who lately so∣journing in these parts, and having notice of these unhappy Accident's, have resolv'd not to return to their own Coun∣try till they see Alethion repossest of his Dominions.

I need not tell you that our contest is with inconsidera∣ble Adversaries; but if I should speak after the manner of other Orators, I might say that we are in greater danger of not obtaining much glory in the Conquest, then of meeting any great difficulty in the Combat. We are to encounter Beasts enfeebled with Luxury, who are so unable to fight, that they can scarce carry Arms: And indeed their number is so small in comparison of those who hate their abomi∣nable Conspiracy, that I look upon our Journey rather as a Visit made to Alethion's Friends, then a War undertaken a∣gainst his Enemies. Having said thus much, it is fit I should conclude. It were impertinent to trouble you with a long Oration, for I am not such a Stranger to the temper of the Theoprepians, that I can think many words needful to perswade them to an Engagement which is both full of Justice and Honour.

When Calliphon had done speaking, Sympathus, who was one of the Commissioners for Philanthropia, took this Op∣portunity to express the Affection which he had long before entertain'd for the Prince of Theriagene, and in a short Speech declar'd his high Approbation of the King's Design, professing that, in his Opinion, the Arguments which the Chancellour had us'd to signifie how necessary it was, gave so much satisfaction, that he thought more could not be rea∣sonably desired.

After him Charistion, Amyntor, Pasiphilus, Euphron, Calodoxus and Aristander signified their concurrence in the same Opi∣nion with Sympathus. Then the undertaking was approv'd by a general suffrage of the whole Assembly, who also voted that the Conduct of this Affair should be left entirely to the wisdom of Theosebes. The King gave them thanks for the unanimous chearfulness with which they entertain'd his Proposal, and told them that he thought it requisite to list only ten thousand men, whom he himself intended to lead; adding, that he made no doubt but by this number, with God's blessing and the Assistance of Alethion's Friends, he should be able in a short time to reduce those who were most unjustly his Enemies to their due Obedience; and then dismist the Assembly.

Theosebes return'd to his Palace, and acquainted Alethion, who was then with Bentivolio, and the rest of his Compani∣ons, with the good Affections of the Theoprepians. Where∣upon the Prince of Theriagene having exprest his thankful Resentment of such an obliging Favour, his friends also with just Praises extoll'd the Generous King of Theoprepia and his worthy Subjects: And as they entertain'd a great joy in the hopes of Alethion's Restauration, so they pleas'd themselves not a little whilst they perceiv'd that they should not be deny'd the Honour of being Instruments in the Ac∣complishment of it.

Here it may possibly be expected that I should let my Reader know how this noble Company spent their time, till by the prudent Industry of Lysander the Army could be put into an Equipage fit for a March. It would be too long to give an account of those various Diversions with which they were entertain'd by the most courteous Prince Theosebes. I will only relate a short Story, which he desir'd the learned Bishop Amerimnus to tell them, as they sate one day in a pleasant Summer-house which adorn'd the Garden at Kepanactus. It happened that as Philalethes was acquaint∣ing his Prince with the condition in which he left Theria∣gene, and telling him who were the chief Persons in favour at Polistherium, among many others he named Hieromimus;

whereupon Amerimnus smil'd: which Bentivolio perceiving, assoon as Philalethes had ended his Discourse, he ask'd the good Bishop the reason of that Pleasantness which he had observ'd him to express upon the mention of 〈◊〉〈◊〉. Theosebes imagining the cause of it, and knowing that the Story of Hierominus would be an acceptable Recreation to the Company, prevented Amerimnus in his Reply, and desir'd him to give them a short Character of that vain Per∣son, and to let them understand how ridiculously he had behav'd himself not long before in Theoprepia. I am very willing to perform any service, reply'd Amerimnus, by which I may shew my Obedience to your Commands; and since you have made it my Duty to report the Extravagancies of Hieromimus to this excellent Company, I will let them know what I have understood by Letters from several friends of mine who knew his Family, what I learn'd from the con∣fession of Thelgomenus one of his Disciples, but of late un∣deceiv'd by Alethologus, and by some Discourse which I had with Misoplanus, who did so discover the Impostures of this Jugler, that he made him asham'd to stay in Theoprepia.

Hieromimus was born in the greater Apateonia. His Grand∣father's name was Simmagus, a man so passionately ambiti∣ous of being look'd upon as an extraordinary Person, that he offer'd a summe of Money to Almighty God to sell him a Miraculous Power; but being rejected with such a dire∣ful Reproof as was due to his wicked Impudence, he bought of the Devil a Magical skill, by which he was enabled to perform many things beyond the Ability of Vulgar Wits, and attain'd so great a Reputation among the common People, that they chang'd his name to Pammegas. Simmagus being puft up with their vain applauses, blasphemously as∣sum'd to himself the Title and Worship of God, and boasted also that his immodest companion Helena was a She-Dei∣ty. He continued his impious course for some years, till at last he was met by one of Anaxanacton's Servants, who, as Simmagus was riding in the Air to the amazement of many beholders, melted his waxen Chariot, by pronouncing his Master's name, made him fall down and break his neck up∣on the ground.

His Son Moralazon, not deterr'd with his dreadful Fate, follow'd his Father's Example: and having heard that in former times, when God sent great Prophets and holy Apo∣stles to make known his Divine Pleasure to the World, he bestow'd upon them a power to speak and doe things Ex∣traordinary, by which men being assured that they came from God, gave them an honourable Reception due to such Messengers; Moralazon being of an arrogant disposition, did earnestly desire to make the World believe that he him∣self was a Prophet, but of an higher Rank then any who were sent before him. He thought himself not unprovi∣ded of rare News to deliver, having fansied some strange Opinions, of which he was so passionately enamoured, that he perswaded himself that it did more concern the World to know them then any Doctrine which they had formerly receiv'd. He fail'd of his Expectation, for he died a little after he had begun his Work.

But his Son Hieromimus, being well acquainted with his Father's intentions, and pretending that he inherited his Prophetical Spirit, resolv'd to carry on the Design: and re∣membring (for he had been told) that true Prophets by conversation with Angels, or by reason of the glory of Di∣vine Illapses, did many times suffer strange Ecstasies; he thought with himself how he might counterfeit this Sacred Passion, and made use of divers Arts to super-induce upon himself and others an Enthusiastical Fury; and being well instructed in his Father's Opinions, divulg'd, or, as he said, brought from Heaven a new way of going thither, and boasted that he was sent to reform the World by a new Di∣scipline. He talk'd often of a mystical Divinity, and pro∣mis'd to spiritualize all former Knowledge; though in∣deed he did only subvert true Reason with wild Fancies, and allegorize venerable Histories into a sublime No∣thing.

Before he began to put his foolish thoughts into prac∣tice, he perceiv'd that it was very hard to carry on such a new business with a sufficient plausibleness without the as∣sistance of some cunning Associates; and having consider'd

which of his Acquaintance were fittest to be trusted with this great Secret, he observ'd that Davigeor, Jackleid, and Jamnail were complexion'd much like himself, and so of a humour which would easily be taken with his Proposals. He told them that it was reveal'd to him by the Angel Hithladeus that he should be the King of the new Jerusalem, and that he had shewed him by a new Exposition of the old Prophecies, that though they were fulfill'd literally in Anaxanacton, yet they were to receive a Mystical Completion in him, and that he was design'd by God to chuse Princes to rule under him in all Nations, and to send Prophets to convert the whole World to his Obedience. These Prose∣lytes hoping for no mean Offices in his Utopian Kingdom, gave him infinite thanks for communicating to them so sublime an Affair, and with all humble willingness offered their utmost service to one whom God had design'd to such high Honour.

Though this piece of his Plot succeeded according to his desire, yet Hieromimus thought that he wanted still more help, and therefore made choice of three other Assistants; Loxias, who had a great faculty of speaking what neither he nor any else did understand, whom he appointed to amuse his Hearers with rais'd Nonsense; Phlegon, who was very useful for his hot zele; and Pandacryon, who could weep when he pleas'd. With some small rewards and great pro∣mises he engag'd also in his service Astriatrus and Taumatur∣gus: they were fit for his purpose, both of them professing Chiromancy and Physiognomy; Astriatrus pretending also that he could make Horoscopes, and knew how to divine by the Stars. Hieromimus contented himself with these, having chang'd the resolution which he once took up, for he in∣tended a while in imitation of the number of Anaxanacton's Apostles to make his Followers Twelve; only he added to them two She-Secretaries, Pannychis and Quintilla, not indis∣creetly: for one of them being Epileptical, and the other troubled with the Hysterical Passion, they pretended the gift of Raptures: and these, besides other uses, serv'd him when he travell'd for Lacquayes. They affirm'd themselves to be

Cousin-Germans, and call'd themselves the Daughters, one of Colpia, the other of Velleda.

Hieromimus designing not only to out-doe all the Pro∣phets, but to equal and excell their holy Master Anaxanacton, and having entertain'd a fancy that he was like that incom∣parable Prince in some Personal Resemblances, he had pro∣cur'd a Copy, which was long ago pretended to have been taken of him by one call'd Lentulus, and endeavoured by Art to make up what was wanting in Nature for the com∣pletion of a Comparison both abominable and ridiculous. He had Hair of a Chesnut colour, long, but not thick, after the manner of the Jewish Nazarites, parted in the middle, and a little curling; his upper garment was so fram'd, that it seem'd to be a seamless Coat. Davigeor, looking upon this garb as unbecoming his Dignity, perswaded him to wear a Doublet of Crimson Sattin. Jackleid, thinking he did not use Ceremonies correspondent to his Majesty, ad∣vis'd him to be serv'd in Plate, and to give him leave to provide a gilt Chair, in which he might sit as on a Royal Throne, whilst his Servants made humble Addresses to him upon their knees, and ador'd him as the King of the New Jerusalem.

His affairs being thus order'd, he commanded his She-Lacquayes to attend him in a Journey which he was to take from Apateonia towards Phronesium in Theoprepia. Jamnail provided him an Asse, which Hieromimus appointed to be brought without Bridle or Saddle, and begun his journey before the Sun was up, because he intended to finish it in one day. This fore-cast was necessary, for he had four and twenty miles to ride, and it being Winter, the weather was foul and the way very bad. Pannychis and Quintilla assisted him with Torches; but when they had gone about a quar∣ter of a mile, he commanded them to cast away those poor external Lights, making them believe that one far more glorious should presently shine forth upon them from within, and shew them their way. The Lacquayes obedi∣ently put out their Tapers; but as they went on it was so dark that they quickly lost their way, and knock'd their

Heads against Trees, stumbled at great Stones, and some∣times tumbled into Ditches, the Promise of Hieromimus be∣ing unable to enlighten the Air. However, being arm'd with a blind Confidence, they went on till they came to a narrow Bridge, which the poor Beast, for want of Enthusia∣stical eyes to make him see in the dark, miss'd, and threw the false Prophet into Water, Mud and Impatience. Pannychis and Quintilla ventur'd in after him; and when they had with much difficulty pull'd him out and squeez'd him, Pannychis told them, that she had a Revelation that they ought not to go any further till the Day should dawn. Hieromimus having pay'd dear for his bold Errour was content to be mutually exhorted, especially because they could not get out the Asse, which was laid fast in the Mire. When the Light began to appear, the Asse had strugled her self out, and as she was going to graze, Quintilla catch'd her by the Ears, and the Ri∣der having gotten upon her back, they began to march a∣gain: but as they went along, the Asse being not held in with any Bridle, did by often going out of the Road create so much trouble to both the Lacquayes in reducing her, that they were forc'd to tie their Garters together to make a Curb for the unruly Beast. When they had scarce gone half their way, the faint Asse, being much wearied with the heavy load of this fat Baalam, stood still. Hieromimus ha∣ving no spurs, she would not answer the dull blows of his unarm'd heels: whereupon Quintilla went to the next hedge, and having pluck'd off a sprig of thorn whipp'd her on. The angry Asse being inrag'd with the pain which she re∣ceiv'd from these sharp prickles, did frequently shake her Rider with rude Kicking, and at last the soft Prophet was so gall'd with the hard back of his lean Steed, that he was forc'd to tell his Lacquayes, that it was their duty to take off their Peticoats and lay them under him for a Saddle.

In this mad guise 〈◊〉〈◊〉 arriv'd at last in a Village not far from Phronesium, well known to most of this Com∣pany, and which will be for ever famous by reason of his being there; his two impious Attendants blasphemously singing Hosanna's to him, as he past through the Streets to

his Lodging, which was taken up for him before by Jamnail, and whither his Complices resorted to him.

The Company having laugh'd a while at this ridiculous mode of Travel, Amerimnus went on thus: The first trick which he shew'd after his Arrival was a Device invented long ago by one Psaphon. He had a Cage full of Parrots, which he had taught to speak, and accustom'd to pro∣nounce these words, Hear Hieromimus. These he con∣vey'd privately into a Wood by Loxias, whom he order'd to let them flie among the trees, and return unseen. The Parrots being glad to have escap'd their Prison repeated the Syllables, which they had well learn'd, with a loud chear∣fulness. The Neighbourhood wondring at this strange Voice of Birds, inquir'd who this Hieromimus was. A holy Prophet, said Davigeor, whom God hath sent amongst you to give you the last warning of Repentance. Whilst some exprest a wonder at the advice of Birds speaking with an Articulate Voice, Astriatrus, Phlegon, Thaumaturgus, and the rest of Hieromimus his Agents, according to the Instructions which they had receiv'd from him, endeavour'd to support and augment the great estimation which this Accident had begun to lodge in the minds of some weak people, and told them, not without signs of deep Veneration, that Hieromi∣mus was a Divine Person, design'd by God for the Paraclete long since promis'd, consubstantiated with the Deity, and descended lineally by the Mother's side from the holy Acha∣moth, beloved of God above all men; and that the Dignity of his transcendent nature did many times reveal it self by most glorious Irradiations, his Face shining with such illu∣strious beams, that they were not able to look upon him.

Sometimes they extoll'd his Divine Knowledge, affirm∣ing him to have attain'd a rare Wisdom which was never before imparted to any created Being: Which he receiv'd not by Education, by improvement of Reason, by reading of Books, by Observation, or any ordinary way by which common men attain their Skill, but by Revelation; God having so far favour'd him, that he should not be at the trouble of collecting Knowledge by rational Discourses,

but shew'd him all things after an intuitive manner in Ec∣statick Dreams and Prophetick Visions. And they bold∣ly affirm'd that God did sometimes transport him into the Celestial Regions, where he saw Anonomasta and Hyper-Urania, heard the voice of deep Silence, saw the infinite measures of the Abyss, number'd the AEonian Ogdoads, and beheld with∣out any amazement the famous Tetractys, who brought with her Alethia, and made her shew her self to him without a Veil; and, which was an honour not allow'd to Arch∣angels, saw in the Cabinet of Heaven the sacred Trias with bodily Eyes, from whom he receiv'd the Keys of those Treasuries where the most hidden Mysteries are lock∣ed up.

Hieromimus endeavour'd to justifie their Lies; for, pre∣tending to be thus wonderfully illuminated, he told the World that all old Doctrines were but Fables, decry'd Hu∣mane Reason as a name of the most fallacious Ignorance, condemn'd all Learning as Black Art, reproch'd Books as the Tools of Antichrist, call'd Libraries the Devil's Kit∣chins, and bad them only await the Irradiations of a Light which would shine within them if they gave obedience to his Precepts, and teach them infallibly, make them Judges of Truth and Falshood, and render them unaccountable to others for thier Opinions or Actions. In short, he boast∣ed that all who were before him had never penetrated so much as the Rind of true Wisdom, but only had read the History of Truth which they did not understand; but that he was honour'd with the Mystical Light, the Inward Word which doth enlighten all things, which God had Centred in him as the Intellectual Sun, appointed to chase away the shadows of Darkness, and to illustrate the World with a Spiritual sense; and promis'd to all that follow'd his Directions, that in a little time they should see all things, being encompass'd with a holy Cloud, and be united with God by a Divine Ignorance, which should teach them to verifie Contradictions, and make them one with every thing which they understood.

To encourage those who would become his Disciples,

he promis'd to give them a Book written by himself, which his Scholars call Pansophia, but which he nam'd Jaldabaoth, in which he had recorded whatsoever was known former∣ly, or possible to be known in all Ages to come. He boast∣ed also of a magnificent Charter which he had receiv'd from Almighty God, which contain'd a Grant of such Pri∣vileges as were not before allowed to mortal men, and that he had Authority to give them to whom he pleas'd. The chief of which was, That such as conform'd to his Discipline should not need the Mediation of our Saviour, should be pardon'd without making use of the Propitiato∣ry Sacrifice of his Death, and should have a Dispensation from the Observance of his Laws, to which others are ob∣liged: He having, as he said, receiv'd a Commission from God to supply the Defects of the imperfect Doctrine of Christ, to make all things new, and amongst the rest a New Testament, to reform the Austerity of holy Laws, and to save the World, not by Obedience perform'd to severe Rules, but by pleasant Directions, the Relaxation of Self-denial, the Abolition of the Cross, and free Concession of Sensual Pleasures. Besides this, he told his Proselytes that they should have an inviolable Beauty fix'd upon their Souls, which was no more capable of being blemish'd with that which is usually call'd Sin, then Invulnerable persons can be wounded, or Gold lose its Color by being cast into Mud. He was so bold also as to institute an obscene Mystagogy, and call'd it the Method of Holiness, by which only men are capable of preparation for the Society of the Perfect; and told such as would believe him, that they should not be seen by the Great Judge when he took cognisance of the wicked World, though they stood naked before him, by reason of a thick shield call'd Anaedea, with which he pro∣mis'd to cover them all over.

That Obedience which he requir'd of his Disciples was to renounce their former Knowledge, to receive his Dic∣tates without Examination, to be baptiz'd in his Name, and to renounce conversation with those which were not of his Sect, out of which, as he told them, there is no Salvation.

To make proof concerning the truth of his bold Asser∣tions Astriatrus was principally imploy'd, who by his Skill in Physick having done some small matters, Thaumaturgus was order'd to cry them up as effects of a Miraculous pow∣er. Phlegon, Jannail and Quintilla were sent into the neigh∣bouring Villages to report great Cures done upon them∣selves. Phlegon said that Hieromimus had restor'd him from a dead Palsy with breathing upon him. Quintilla affirm'd that she was freed from the distempers of the Falling-sick∣ness only by being in his Company. Jamnail protested that he was born deas and dumb, but that from the first time in which he saw Hieromimus he could both speak and hear. As they were met according to appointment one day in a Town not far from Phronesium, Phlegon discoursing after his usual manner, one Pseudolus, formerly a Jugler in Apateonia, whom they had engag'd to be of their Party, being present, happened to fall into an extraordinary Passion, and having fom'd awhile at the Mouth, and strugled after a strange mode, fell into a trance, which the By-standers judg'd to be reall, because when his Companions prick'd pins into his flesh, he neither started nor seem'd to have any feeling. After some time when he came to himself, he began with a distracted countenance to speak some Hebrew and Greek Sentences, though what he said was only some few words which he understood not, taught him by Astriatrus. The other Associates exprest other symptoms of Ecstasy and Rapture; for Hieromimus his Agents as they travelled had entertain'd Hysterical Women, Men vex'd with Hypochon∣driack passions, Epileptical persons, and such as Melancho∣ly had made half mad, who were easily cast into Fits by the cunning Artifice of their Instructors, and also by such Rules as they had learned from their own observation of their particular Distempers.

Having proceeded thus far in their design, the next Scene was to terrifie their Auditors with the fear of Damnation into an Obedience of the Commands of Hieromimus. To effect this, Pandacryon was order'd in a field, where all their Company was assembled, to get up into a Tree to preach

Repentance, and threaten Destruction to such as within two dayes did not submit themselves to their new Discipline; endeavouring to make them believe that upon the second day following Hieromimus should appear in his Princely Robes, as the dreadful Judge of the disobedient World. Pandacryon gave them a Cast of his Office before-hand; for in his Master's name he condemn'd all Churches as Antichri∣stian Synagogues, revil'd their Pastors as Hypocrites, and call'd the Disciples of Anaxanacton Fools, and pronounced such as continued in their Christian Faith Rebels to the true Soveraign of the World Hieromimus.

Whilst Pandacryon was making his passionate Oration, and had now begun to weep, as he pretended, in commise∣ration of the obdurate Theoprepians, who, except one Thelgo∣menus, were not much mov'd with his Rhetorick; Misoplanus happened to arrive in the place, who having heard of their practices before, and seen this last piece of their religious Pageantry, call'd to Pandacryon to descend from his Pulpit in these words; Come down, thou Crocodile, dry up those Hypocriti∣cal tears. It is only in Apateonia where such Cheaters are be∣liev'd, in Theoprepia you must expect to be laugh'd 〈◊〉〈◊〉 I should not trouble my self to talk with those who are so far below the Capacity of a rational Conference, that they despise all Addresses made by others, except in the way of Applause, and disdain to speak, except it be to give Law; but that I think it is worthy of a Christian to pity your Folly, and to make a charitable confutation of your Errours, in hope that you may possibly be reclaim'd, and to prevent the dange∣rous Effects which they must needs produce, if they be en∣ertain'd in the minds of those plain people who have not sufficient discretion to guard their Integrity from the Inva∣sion of cunning Cheats.

First, I must tell you that you have laid the scene of your plot very improperly in Theoprepia. We are not apt to take high pretences for strong Reasons, to admire Impostors be∣cause they are proud, or to believe Lies because they are boldly affirm'd. Do you think that we are oblig'd to esteem you a Prophet, because you talk of Revelations? or

to adore you as a Divine Person, because you were magni∣fied in Apateonia? You should rather have made your juor∣ney into a Country which had never heard of Simon Magus, and set up your Stage in some Town where Montanus was never nam'd, or the Euthites. You might doe well to talk of Raptures to such as know not what Boasts every Poet uses to make of the Muses Inspirations, to those who have not read the Story of Aristaeas, who never heard of Minos his Cave, or the Valley of Egeria, who were never told of Lycur∣gus his journey to Delphos, Sertorius his Doe, or Mahomet's Pigeon. You are mistaken to think that you have brought us any strange News: we are acquainted not only with the History of the old Gnosticks and the Pagan Enthusiasts, but also of Neoterick mad-men; the Alumbrado's of Spain, the Darvisei of Turky, the Fanaticks of France, the Nicolaitans of Germany, and the Impostors of Holland; who pretended both to ingross Illumination, to monopolize Charity, and in∣close the Spirit of God from all the rest of the World to themselves, when they did only hedge a Cuckow of their own breeding within the bounds of their particular Sect. I wonder how you came to think that the World is grown so stupid, that it would easily entertain all the wild imagi∣nations of hot Brains for Revelations of the Divine Will, and so mistake the irrational suggestions of every arrogant Spirit for those holy Beams which shine from the Light within, which every beholder is bound to follow. You may possibly perswade those to be in love with your Ecsta∣tical passions, who had rather be Mad then in their Wits; and make such believe that your Extravagancies are Divine Efforts, who never heard of the Triennial Orgyia's of Bacchus, the Fanatick Verses, Enthusiastick Dreams, and wild Furies of the Corybantes; and by your Arts make those tremble who by Nature and Education are but too much inclin'd to Pa∣nick fears. But you must know that the Theoprepians are not so foolishly in love with transported Thoughts and ecsta∣tical Affections as you imagine, and that they do exceeding∣ly despise all Enthusiastical Raptures in comparison of a humble Faith and sincere Vertue, that they place them in∣finitely

below the free use of sober Reason, and esteem those possest with an high degree of Madness already, who look upon Alienation of Mind as a thing desirable, and equal them to such as prefer the tremulous motion of a Pa∣ralytick Arm before the steady quietness of an healthful Temper.

Must we admire those Actions as Divine Effects in you, which we know to be the common Products of natural Causes, and trouble those who are destitute of a good Health whether they will or no? Who knows not to what various disturbances Melancholick persons are subject, and how that Noxious humour, when it grows predominant, transports men into strange Thoughts and extravagant Affections; especially if it be heighten'd artificially by walking in shady Groves or solitary Valleys, by sitting in dark Caves, or by conversation with those who are apt to affright the timorous with wild countenances, gastly looks, bold threatnings, and other mystical devices? Since this temper produceth the same Effects in Religions as it doth in other instances, shall we wonder that some of you call your selves Angels, when others upon as slight a ground think themselves Wolves? Why may not distracted Zelots pronounce themselves Messia's, when crack-brain'd Foot∣men have thought themselves Emperours? A vehement Intention of mind, to which this Temper is apt, doth easily breed an Ecstatical passion; and when the Phancy is once engag'd by this potent delusion, men believe they see and hear what was never spoken or made visible. Thus Phre∣netick persons see Men, Horses and Armies in the Clouds, whilst they walk in the fields, as sick people do the shapes of living creatures upon white walls, when they lie in their beds. Yet you require an Approbation of your Follies from others, and command them to dance proportionably to the height or lowness of your whimsical Musick; though they know the reasons of your Distemper, and have observ'd what ludicrous, and sometimes abominable, effects have been produc'd by your mistakes. The disturb'd Melan∣cholist not being able to distinguish between an abus'd

Phancy, solid Reason, and Divine Inspiration, whilst a dark Cloud hovers over his Imagination, doth usually exer∣cise Repentance, and takes the Paroxysms of a Flatulent Dis∣temper for deep Mortifications; and as the Darkness in∣creases, falls into tears, and makes many Tragical expressi∣ons of Grief, as if he saw more now then he did before. So Children hide their heads within their bed-cloths, though they see nothing, when they have affrighted them∣selves with the shapes of Devils pourtray'd only in their Phancies. When the storm is blown over, the Penitent seems to be possest of heavenly Joys by the return of a Di∣vine Spirit; when it is only a change of bodily temper, which might be rais'd much higher, even to excessive laugh∣ter and wild dancing, by the application of a Tarantula. When this sick Phancy is joyn'd with a Feverish heat, then the impotent Soul is fill'd with a Divine ardor; & if it have formerly entertain'd discontents against the present Powers, it blasphemes Civil and Ecclesiastical Orders, and thinks it self inflam'd with a holy Zele, when it is only set on fire partly with a hellish Malice, partly with adust Spirits. When this temper is molested with proud desires; the Am∣bition quickly discovers it self in a vast scorn of others; and those who are infected with it proclaim themselves Kings, Prophets, or Popes, or all these: as it happened in the Peruvi∣an Doctor mention'd by Acosta. If it happen that their wa∣king Phancies are confirm'd by nocturnal Dreams, they are abundantly satisfied of the truth of their Errors; though many times they tell their Accomplices in the Evening what they ought to dream in the night, and divulge the next day.

Whilst these things are thus manag'd, some By-standers, who are properly dispos'd by an easie Faith, are usually catch'd with Delusion, and then the Enthusiast begins to think himself some great Thing; though a Liar may as well conclude that he speaks true, because some believe him. The Contagion of Error is a common thing, and most modern mistakes may easily be parallel'd by Examples which have been produc'd in all Ages. The multitudes

of abus'd people signifie nothing in point of assurance con∣cerning Truth to such as have heard of the noxious Phrensy of Cybele's Priests, the strange humour of the Milesian Virgins, the general madness of the Abderites, and the Delusion which did so soon and so generally seize upon the Paphlago∣nians by the contrivance of Alexander and his Assistants. It is a mean excuse for chosen Delirations to say that others are infected as well as our selves: however fantastical Prophets, being animated with the success of their Plots up∣on their foolish Proselytes, take confidence, and think they are sufficiently warranted by the number of those that be∣lieve them, to appear as Judges of the dissenting World; and being possess'd with the narrow love of their own dear Herd, pretend that as an authority for the hatred which they express against others as wicked Unbelievers; and the whole Party being infected with that Arrogance which is incident to all little Sects, they justifie their Schism by condemning the Church, and excuse their Pride with Malice.

You would have been apt to wonder at the cold Re∣ception which you find in Theoprepia, if I had not shewed you the causes of our Incredulity: And I must tell you fur∣ther, Hieromimus, that we have more reason to be amazed at your Arrogance, then you have to admire our Unbelief: and I am apt to think that you would not so easily have en∣tertain'd great thoughts of your self, if you had not look'd upon us as Fools, who would take mens strong Appetites for Impulses of God's Spirit, and give faith to Wanderers because they are strongly deluded with Self-conceits. I confess I wonder how you became so presumptuous as to suppose that we are so stupidly credulous, as to believe eve∣ry man that says he comes from God; who besides his Boldness can shew us no reason to think so. If you pretend to be sent by God upon a Divine Message, you ought to produce your Letters Credential. What Miracle have you done since you came into this Country? What Blind man have you cur'd with a Word? What Lame man have you 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to the use of his feet by commanding him to

walk? Whom have you rais'd from the Dead by Prayer? You say you are Commissionated from Heaven to shew us the true way of Happiness, and boast of Authority to give us Laws in God's name, and so to rule our Faith and Obe∣dience; but this being a matter suitable to Ambition, you may very well give us leave to demand assurance that you are such as you pretend to be, lest we foolishly submit our selves to Impostors. It is well known that Divine Reve∣lation is one of those things which have been often Coun∣terfeited, and that Miraculous Power hath been falsly imi∣tated. Would you have us think those little tricks which your Accomplices have perform'd, to be the Supernatural Products of Omnipotence, and to come near the nature of Miracles, which may not only be equall'd, but exceeded, by very ordinary Artists? You are much mistaken in the pro∣fession of Enthusiasm; for you manage it so poorly, that you come far short of the Attainments of your Predecessors. You should have invented something before you came hi∣ther which would out-doe Jannes his Serpent, Alexander's Egge, and Psaphon's Birds.

It is your unhappiness not to have met with people who would believe what you say at a cheap rate of proof. You would have made rare sport among those who, not know∣ing the cause of Eclipses, might have been perswaded to think you could darken the Sun with a Charm; and who, being ignorant of the reasons of the Moon's Illumination, might have reverenc'd as Prophets the foretellers of the time of the Novi∣lunium; and have made a rare advantage of a Summer's season, by inducing Fools to believe that you can teach Cows to divine concerning Weather, and foresee Storms, having known before that they will make wild excursions when they perceive a different temper of Air by an alteration in their bodies. The silly Indian would adore you, who wonder'd that a Letter could discover how many figs he stole of those which he carried to his Master's friend, though he hid it under a stone whilst he devoured them. You might have perform'd rare exploits by carrying with you a Bedlam or two, who could endure to have pins thrust

into their arms; or a Lacedemonian Boy, who would laugh while he was whipp'd: for without doubt they would have thought that you had render'd them invulnerable by your Divine Art. But much more might you raise your ex∣pectation concerning you, if you could transport one or two Laplanders, and besides their Ecstatical Trances, let them see the Iron Frogs hop upon their Magical Drums. You might also make such people believe, that it is by Celestial Inspi∣ration that Women in a dark night do sometimes rise out of their bed in their Sleep, walk down little stairs, and go over narrow bridges; whilst you boldly affirm that it is not possible it should be done otherwise, without open eyes and clear light. You may perswade them also after the same manner that Epilepsies are Raptures, and that such as die of an Apoplexy do only suffer an Apotheosis.

But the defect of your Knowledge in natural Conse∣quences, except in those Instances which are vulgarly known, will hinder you from the reputation either of Pro∣phets or Magicians in Theoprepia; and we will be content to be esteem'd Unbelievers, because you are dull Artists. How∣ever, I cannot but take notice of one useful Device which you have excogitated, which is, that you deny leave to your Auditors to examine your Principles; just according to the manner of those who, having a mind to put off Counterfeit Coin, do vilifie the use of Touch-stones. You despise Learning, because it demonstrates your Ignorance: whilst you burn Libraries, you divulge your fears of Books alrea∣dy written; and when you write more, you reveal your Hy∣pocrisie: for sometimes you say that all writings are need∣less, and for the most part pronounce them hurtful; and yet the Press cannot be quiet for your Non-sensical scribbling. Whilst you scatter your Pamphlets in the Streets, you aban∣don the sufficiency of that famous Principle, which some call the Light within. And now I have nam'd that Internal Light, I must adde something more concerning it to prevent Cavils. It is true, the Inward Light, which is more properly called Reason, or, The ability of our Minds to un∣derstand, doth make us capable of converse with God;

unto this Principle he applies himself, for he doth not teach Stones; and if it were not for the Light within, we could know nothing without us: But our Minds are capable of Guidance, and our Knowledge of Improvement from many things without us; and in Divine matters we have a great necessity to be inform'd by the Holy Scriptures. That this is true, is sufficiently manifest, in that Pretenders are not able to speak of Religion but in words borrowed from these writings; and whilst they perversly abuse the Notions which they receive from hence, and talk against Outward Light, they speak disingenuously against Christia∣nity in Scripture-phrases, and shoot maliciously at our Sa∣viour with Arrows stoln out of his own Quiver. By neg∣lecting those External helps which you unworthily vilifie, you are fallen into such a gross mistake, that under pretence of Inward Illumination you pronounce your selves Infal∣lible in what you think, and Unaccountable for what you say; and being warranted only by Ignorance, make bold to obtrude upon the World the irrational suggestions of your own disturb'd Spirits, and, for want of due examination, take your strong Appetites for Divine Impulses, and wild Phantasms for heavenly Revelations.

Besides this, I must also tell you that you are visibly mark'd with the known sign of Imposture, and so do plain∣ly discover whence you came against your Wills; that is, the Irreverent expressions by which you cast dishonour upon our Saviour's Person, and those foolish Allusions by which you have disparag'd his Doctrine. You would have us think meanly of his Incarnation, who after he was born prov'd himself to be God manifest in the flesh; and exhort us to slight his Intercession, by whom only we have Access to the Eternal Father; and do ingratefully undervalue his Death, who shed his bloud for the Remission of our Sins; and disbelieve his Resurrection and Ascension, which is our assurance of Immortal Life. Unworthy men! Do you desire to be regarded who speak contemptibly of that Di∣vine Prophet? Shall we think well of you who despise the Grace of Heaven which Angels wonder at? and re∣proch

the Eternal Priesthood of God's Son, who is made an Advocate after the Order of an Endless Life to plead the cause of Penitent Sinners, and neglecting humble Faith in God through his Mediation, desert your Saviour, whilst you admire the folly of every arrogant Whiffler?

Your Predecessors endeavour'd long since to Allegorize the Person of Christ into themselves, to expound his Ser∣mons out of their genuine meaning into their own mysti∣cal Non-sense, to evacuate his most glorious Actions into Metaphors, and by all to transform the highest Truth into vain Similitudes; perswading the World to believe that the Historical Verity is but the Oldness of the Letter, and that the Nativity, Resurrection, Ascension, and Return of our Saviour to Judgment, are to be construed after the man∣ner of AEsop's Fables into useful Morals, and that they were intended only to declare what is to be done in us by way of Allusion.

O God! Hieromimus, What can you hope to make of the Mystery of the Gospel, when you have rendred the History contemptible? What dishonour have you offer'd to the most obedient Death of our Saviour, when instead of that Propitiatory Oblation presented to the Eternal Father, you have reduc'd it only to an equality with the Sacrifice of a Sheep, and bid us understand no more by it then that it is a lively Emblem of Death, and so have vainly taken away the greatest Argument by which we can be perswaded to undertake that which you say we ought to doe? All your Motives taken from hence, if you use any, are only Resem∣blances of an History which you undervalue. Is not God's acceptance of Christ's obedient Death the hope of our Pardon? and is not the Love of our Saviour, whilst he died for our Sins, the great Perswasive of Mortification? Is not the Resurrection of that great Prophet the Confirma∣tion of our Faith in his Doctrine, when he assur'd it with such a Miracle? and doth not his Ascension prove to us the certainty of an Immortal State, and encourage us by Obedience to his Precepts, and Conformity to his Exem∣plary Life, to prepare our selves for it? Whilst you pervert

this Relation by some phrases misapply'd, you reproch the Gospel in its own language, and instead of Christian Re∣ligion endeavour to thrust upon the World a few Poetical Allusions, make the Gospel of our Saviour a Romance, offer us for solid Food Mushroms, and make his most noble Actions scarce so much as an Example, and some of them a Lie, and so teach men to reject sober Sense, and their own greatest Concernments, for the vanity of Canting Terms. Did our Saviour ascend into Heaven only Metaphorically? and ought he to be crucified in us too as well as upon the Cross? For shame grow wiser, and for fear continue not to wrong one who is very able to punish you. If the Infidel World do not give credit to that excellent Story being set down in its own Native truth, what will they doe when you have turn'd it into a Fable? If wicked Souls deny it in their Works, will you overturn it in Words? If Hypocrites do not obey it as they should, will you convert them with Blasphemy?

By this, added Misoplanus, you may see not only the In∣effectualness of your present Endeavours, but also the Im∣possibility of accomplishing any Design which you can lay for the future in Theoprepia. You do as vainly attempt to level our Saviour with your Mock-Prophet, as the arro∣gant Frog endeavour'd to swell her self to the Proportion of an Oxe; and do foolishly propound your Enthusiasm to be imbraced by those, who know that wild Raptures dif∣fer as much from Divine Revelation as Parsley doth from Hemlock.

When Misoplanus had said this, he desired Hieromimus, Thelgomenus, and one or two more of his Companions, to go with him to his house, where he desir'd to talk some things with him privately. Hieromimus was unwilling to accept of the Invitation; but at the intreaty of Thelgomenus, who was one of his half-Converts, he was perswaded to it. When they came thither, Misoplanus carried Hieromimus and Thelgomenus into a Turret which was upon the top of his house, from whence he had a fair Prospect of the Country, and also of the City Phronesium. Whilst they were dis∣coursing

of the beautiful Situation of this house, a Pigeon of that sort which is call'd Carriers came flying to Misopla∣nus, and brought a little piece of Paper roll'd up in her Bill, which she deliver'd and flew away. Hieromimus wonder'd at this Accident, for he knew not that there were such Birds. Misoplanus open'd the paper, and found these words written upon it, Hieromimus is an Impostor. This increas'd his ad∣miration; and as he was considering the strangeness of that which had happen'd, his Amazement was suddenly height∣ned; for he heard a voice in the Air which five or six times together repeated these words, Repent; Hieromimus, Repent. The truth is, there was a neighbouring Echo, which was so rarely fram'd by a natural Art, that it would very often repeat any short sentence; and Misoplanus having plac'd one behind a Rock, who unseen pronounc'd the words which the Echo reverberated with a distinct sound, Hieromimus took it for a voice from Heaven, Thelgomenus trembled for fear, and desired that they might go down. You shall, said Misoplanus: but not returning the same way by which they came up, he led them through a Room which was ar∣tificially darken'd, having only one little hole left open through which the light was permitted to enter, with a glass plac'd before it: and whilst one of Misoplanus his Ser∣vants held a large sheet of white paper at a fit distance from the hole, there appeared upon it a lively representation of a dreadful Spectre, as Hieromimus and Thelgomenus suppos'd; but it was only the shadow of a man with an ugly Vizour upon his face, dress'd up in the form of a Satyr, with a hairy skin, two horns, and cloven feet, who walk'd in the Court before the house, and by this Artifice was shew'd within. Thelgomenus ran down the stairs in a great fright, thinking it was the Devil. Misoplanus, not knowing what ill effect his fear might produce, went after him, and so did his Ser∣vant. Hieromimus being left alone, because he could not readily find the way out, began to be afraid that the Devil would murther him in the dark, and cry'd out for help; which he presently receiv'd by the return of Misoplanus his Servant. When they were all come down, Misoplanus,

being willing to let them understand their Ignorance, call'd for the Pigeon which brought the paper, and in∣form'd them how he contriv'd the other pieces of their Delusion.

Hieromimus much enrag'd with this affront went to his Lodging, pronouncing many Curses against Misoplanus, and, seeing his hopes overthrown in Theoprepia, departed private∣ly to Theriagene. Jackleid was taken and put to death, for inciting the Theoprepians to Rebellion. Jamnail was whip∣ped, for arrogating to himself Divine Attributes; and being put with his fellow-Mad-men into Bedlam, was order'd to stay there till he should so far return to his Wits, as to be able to understand that he was but an ordinary Mortal. Davigeor, Phlegon, Astriatrus, Thaumaturgus, and the rest, made an Escape into Apateonia: only the two She-Lacquayes ha∣ving possess'd themselves with strong apprehensions that they were destin'd to convert the Mahumetans, and to re∣form the Pope, went one to Turcopolis, and the other to Septicollis.

Whilst the Company were almost weary with laughing at this ridiculous Story, and were giving many thanks to Amerimnus for making the Relation of it, a Gentleman came from Lysander, to let the King know that the Army design'd for Theriagene was come to the Rendezvous at Naupactus, which was the chief Port in Theoprepia, and that he had put the greatest part of the Souldiers aboard the Ships appoint∣ed for the Voyage. I am very glad of it, said Theosebes, and, since the wind is fair, we will lose no opportunity; it may possibly hold good till we arrive at Theriagene. Orders be∣ing given to the Court to remove with all possible speed to Naupactus, Theosebes and Alethion, with the rest of their noble Companions, devoted the next day to solemn Prayers, which they made publickly to Almighty God with an humble Earnestness, and declar'd that the Victory which they desir'd did not depend upon the Courage of Men, but the Mercy of God; and the day after they began their Journey towards the Sea-side. The Queen, the Princess Agape, and the other Ladies, entertain'd no small Apprehensions for their

Friends, who were going to try the hazards of War, whose Events are alwayes doubtful; but placing their Hopes in God's Assistance of a most just Cause, they took their De∣parture with a submissive Quietness. As soon as they arriv'd at Naupactus, a Council of War being held, at which were present both the Kings, Bentivolio and his Bro∣ther, Lysander, Misopseudes, Philalethes, Amyntor, Sympathus, Aristander, Pasiphilus, and some others; it was resolv'd that they should endeavour to surprize Hipponyx the principal Haven of Theriagene, which was so call'd because the Form in which it was built resembled the Figure of a Hor∣se's hoof.

The Prince of Theoprepia sail'd in the Admiral, being ac∣companied with Alethion, Bentivolio and Misopseudes; Lysan∣der commanded the Vice-Admiral, Pasiphilus the Rere-Admiral; other 〈◊〉〈◊〉 men possessing the rest of the Ships according to the King's appointment. They weigh∣ed Anchor the next day, and the wind continuing fair they came within five Leagues of Hipponyx about four of the clock in the Afternoon. But then the wind turn'd, and blowing with a stiff gale, the Fleet, according to the exam∣ple of their Admiral, came to an Anchor; by which means they were discover'd by the Hipponyctians, and he that com∣manded the Town for Antitheus immediately prepar'd to put it into a posture of defence. A Signal being given, the Commanders of the several Ships went aboard the Admi∣ral, where it was resolv'd that a Shallop should be sent off with a Herauld to summon Hipponyx to yield up the Port to Alethion, and to offer a Pardon to such as were willing to return to their Obedience to their lawful Sovereign. The sight of the white Flag upon the Prow of the Shallop was a great Joy to the Hipponyctians, for the whole City was put into a great Consternation by the Arrival of such a great Fleet at so near a distance; and all the Inhabitants, except some few, would willingly have accepted of Alethion's gra∣cious Proposition, but that Atheophilus the Governour, in whom Antitheus had plac'd no small confidence, as in his most faithful friend, prevented the declaration of their In∣tentions,

by swearing that he would immediately kill him that should dare to speak of a Surrender. The Herauld returning, and having declar'd the Governour's Answer, the Princes resolving to pursue their Intentions with speed, order'd that the same night a convenient number of Shal∣lops attended with four Frigots should storm the two Forts which were built upon each side of the River to secure the entrance of the Haven.

The Ships design'd for this service being committed to the conduct of Aristander, Charistion, Amyntor and Sympathus; Bentivolio, Misopseudes, Panaretus and Philalethes resolv'd to accompany them in this service. They fill'd some of the Shallops with Fagots to throw into the Trenches, and Lad∣ders to scale the Works: and having understood that the passage into the Haven was secur'd by the Hulls of old Barks fastned together with Chains, they appointed some Vessels with Souldiers furnish'd with Axes to loosen the Chains and break the Bridge, and provided two Fire-boats to burn the Barks. After the Signal given by a great Gun they weigh'd Anchor, and making several boards they arriv'd at the Mouth of the Haven about an hour be∣fore day.

Aristander, who was accompanied with Bentivolio, landed his men, who were design'd to attaque the North Fort, as Charistion and Panaretus did on the other side; and in the mean while Misopseudes, Amyntor and Philalethes, in several Vessels fill'd with Mariners and Souldiers set upon the chain'd-bridge. Atheophilus had plac'd his best men in the Forts, knowing that if they were lost, he should not only grant his enemies a free entrance into the Haven, but also receive great annoiance from the Guns which were planted upon them. His Souldiers welcom'd the Theoprepians with their Canon; and when by the noise which they made as they march'd they perceiv'd that they were at a convenient distance, they saluted them with Musquet-shot, giving them notice with flashes of dreadful light where they might find their enemies. This did nothing amaze the Theoprepians, for they went boldly on; and though the Bullets whizz'd

over their heads, and sometimes lodg'd themselves in their bodies, they came up close to their Works; and having cast in their Bavins, and yet finding the Trenches not fill'd up, they threw themselves into the water, and swam over, be∣ing encourag'd to it by the generous example of Bentivolio and Aristander; and having plac'd their Ladders began to scale the Fort. As they went up, they from above knock'd them down with Stones, which made some of them unable to get up again. Bentivolio to prevent that discouragement which might possibly have happen'd to the Souldiers from this manner of opposition, commanded them to cover their heads with long Fagots carried by two men, one at each end; which made them some defence. Having set his foot upon a ladder, he receiv'd the same salutation with his Companions by the blow of an heavy stone upon his shoul∣der, which would possibly have lessened a weak courage, but it increas'd his; for going up readily, and calling to those who were next him to follow him, notwithstanding all the Resistance which the Enemy could make, he got to the top; and having slain those who made a vain attempt to hinder his entrance, he gave his followers a more easie Access. Aristander succeeded as happily in his attempt up∣on the other side of the Fort. And now the dreadful Image of Death grew visible with the first Appearances of Light; for the Souldiers inclos'd in the Fort hoping for no safety but by the Expulsion of their Enemies, and they re∣solving to take it or die, both parties produc'd mortal effects of a great Courage, whilst they gave testimonies of their strong desires. Bentivolio hewing out his way to a place where he perceiv'd the Captain of the Fort to make some of his Companions fall by his Sword, being enrag'd with love and grief, gave him such a blow upon the head, that he cut through his Helmet and cleav'd his skull. Ari∣stander with the same sort of valiant Actions forc'd himself a passage from the other side into the midst of the Fort, where meeting with his friend they destroy'd so many with an invincible Courage; that those few which were yet unkill'd, being utterly discourag'd by the loss of their

Captain and the gallantry of their Assailants, threw down their Arms and ask'd for Quarter. In this service the Theo∣prepians lost not many men; the most considerable was Ari∣stander's Lieutenant, who was slain by the Captain of the Fort at the top of his Ladder. Aristander was wounded in the right cheek, and Bentivolio, besides the blow upon his shoulder, receiv'd a thrust in his left arm.

In the mean while Amyntor, Misopseudes and Philalethes at∣taqued the Bridge. Those who were set to guard it per∣ceiving their approach, provided to defend themselves, and gave fire to their Musquets, as if they had intended to make Day with the light which was darted from the Mouths of their Guns: But shooting at a venture, their first Vollies had no very pernicious effect, neither did they hinder the Theoprepians from approaching the Bridge: for Amyntor and Misopseudes fastned their Shallops to it with hooks; and Phi∣lalethes, who had the command of the Fire-boats, lock'd them to their Barges notwithstanding all that the Enemy could doe to hinder him, and leaving the Combustible mat∣ter to perform its own office, went to another place which was not yet assaulted by his Companions; and having mounted the Bridge, secur'd an Ascent for two more of his friends: and whilst they made their Swords give a dreadful testimony to their Enemies, that their coming thither was to their extreme disadvantage, a numerous company of bold Souldiers rushing impetuously upon them forc'd him into his Boat, and his Companions into the water. Mi∣sopseudes and Amyntor, after many Repulses and some wounds, made good their standing upon the Bridge, and forc'd many of their Enemies into that side of the River which was next to Hipponyx, and repell'd those who endea∣vour'd to supply their rooms with such irresistible blows, that the Theoprepians had opportunity to mount themselves upon the Bridge without much difficulty; which when they had ascended, they requited those who help'd them up with the effects of such a gallant Courage, that they made the Hipponyctians seek defence for themselves by running towards the Forts which were built upon each side of the

Haven. It fell out unluckily for Philalethes: for he having again recover'd the Bridge with some of his men, was by the impetuous violence of the affrighted multitude driven a good way along the Bridge, and by the irresistibleness of their wild Motion was at last thrust off into the Water, be∣ing accompanied with many others, who having push'd off those who were before them, were also carried off them∣selves by such as were behind them. Philalethes and his Companions were forc'd to save their lives by swimming to their Boats. But this mischance turn'd to their advan∣tage; for they had scarce recover'd their Shallops before the Fire-boats, doing the Execution to which they were design'd, set on fire that part of the Bridge to which they were fastned, and the Granado's breaking destroy'd many of those who were upon it. Those who yet kept the Bridge being pursued by the Victorious courage of Amyntor and Misopseudes, had only left them the liberty of a miserable choice, either to die by their Enemies Swords, to stay in the Fire, or to leap into the Water: And yet they were soon depriv'd of power to make any election; for Philalethes joyning with those gallant men who were design'd to loosen the Chains that tied together the parts of the Bridge, help'd them to put a speedy end to that undertaking; and having with some of his Companions boarded several dis∣united Vessels, they quickly disposses'd the Hipponyctians by throwing them into the water, and so made themselves Masters of those scatter'd pieces of the Floating Bridge; which notwithstanding they not being able to rule for want of Rudders, were forc'd to go as the stream was pleas'd to conduct them, and so were in danger to be carried away Captives when they had overcome, but that some of their party perceiving the condition in which they were, made towards them, and took them into their Shallops.

Panaretus, Charistion and Sympathus imploy'd themselves with an equal gallantry in the gaining of the other Fort, which was of a larger compass, and was fill'd with a despe∣rate company of Antitheus his Mercenaries; who when the

Theoprepians came near their Trench, saluted them with a showre of Stones and Bullets, and were requited with Hand-Granado's which the Theoprepians threw into the Fort; which though they broke successefully, and struck pieces of Iron-shells into the faces of some, and the bellies of others, and kill'd many, yet rather enrag'd then weaken'd the Survivours, which made the Access more dangerous to their Enemies, and the Victory more doubtful. Panaretus signaliz'd his Valour in this Action, and as he was upon the top of his Ladder, a stout Souldier endeavouring to pull off his Head piece, Panaretus took hold of his Arm, and flung him into the Trench, and having setled himself in his Room upon the Fort, defended it against innumerable blows, till Sympathus got up to him; and then the Valour of these two Valiant Persons easily made way for more to come up by the death of those who endeavour'd to throw them down. Christion did things worthy of himself and such Compani∣ons: for having mounted another part of the Fort, and re∣ceiv'd a wound in his breast as a welcome upon his first en∣trance, he requited it with the death of him that bestow'd it; and fighting with an invincible Courage, easily made room for his friends to come to him, and place themselves amongst their Enemies. Now it was that the Hipponycti∣ans giving fire no longer, disputed who should have the Fort with the But-end of their Musquets, in which mode of fighting they were imitated by the Theoprepians; and both Parties did so heartily endeavour to exceed one another, that Victory seem'd to stand a great while in an equal di∣stance between the Assailants and Defendants. It was some benefit to the Theoprepians, that the Darkness did not give leave to their Enemies to take courage from the know∣ledge of the less Number of their men; but making up that defect with Resolution, they had entred so many places at once, that they were not able to resist them in all, and did so make good the possession which they got (though with some loss of their men) that they drove the Hipponyctians from the Line, and encompass'd them in the middle of the Fort, sending death upon them from all sides. It was no

small discouragement to the Hipponyctians, that a little after the appearance of Day they discover'd that which made them believe that the Light was only bestow'd upon them to let them see the Ruines of their friends upon the Chain'd-Bridge, and Alethion's Standard plac'd upon the opposite 〈◊〉〈◊〉; whereupon the most Valiant of them ha∣ving sold their lives as dear as they could, the rest yielded themselves to the mercy of the Theoprepians, who were now absolute Masters of the Fort.

Atheophilus being inform'd of that which had happen'd, and sensible of what might probably follow, resolv'd to re∣pair his Honour, and to redeem this Loss with the over∣throw of the Theoprepian Fleet, which was now under sail not much above a League from the Forts, or else perish coura∣giously in the continuance of his adverse Fortune. He mann'd all the Ships in the Harbour which were fit for his purpose, prepar'd his Fire-Barks, and weigh'd Anchor: and having a side-wind equally advantagious to him with his Enemies, made what haste he could, intending to fight them before they came into the Mouth of the Haven. When he drew near the Forts, he receiv'd unpleasing salutes from the Guns which his Souldiers had lost, and was ac∣costed in his way with many flaming pieces of the dissolv'd Bridge: for the unchain'd Barges separated themselves from one another, and being driven by the Tide towards the Town, cover'd a great part of the Haven with burning wrecks; which not only struck an unspeakable terrour into those who stood upon the Shoar, but put the Mariners and Souldiers into some apprehension at the sight of such a dismal Spectacle, and engag'd them in no small care, lest the smoaking Fire-brands should fall foul upon their Ships, and consume the Fleet before it could get to Sea.

Atheophilus digesting as well as he could these ominous Presages, past the Forts with his Navy, having only lost one of his Fire-Ships, which by reason of some errour in the placing of the Combustible matter, prepar'd for other uses, was blown up before the time appointed. It was half∣floud when the Fleets came up together; and Atheophilus

perceiving the Admiral of the Theoprepians in the Front, made up boldly, and gave her a broad-side, for which he soon receiv'd another; and after that many more were mutually exchang'd, which put great Bullets through the sides of each others Vessels. The Commanders of the other Ships disposing themselves on both sides as they might most conveniently attaque their Enemies. It hap∣pen'd that a Chain'd-shot from the Theoprepian Admiral cut off Atheophilus main Mast in the middle. He, notwithstand∣ing this discouragement, did his best to lay the Admiral aboard; which was more easie for him to accomplish, be∣cause she made towards him with equal speed to doe as much for him. The two Admirals being hook'd toge∣ther began a most terrible fight, the Theoprepians with dread∣ful Shouts presaging to one another a certain Victory. Great holes were made in the sides of both the Ships with their Canon: the Theoprepians, with a storm of Musquet-Bul∣lets as thick as hail, knock'd down most of the Souldiers that appear'd on Atheophilus his Decks, and boarded his Ves∣sel. He with a Reserve of stout men rush'd upon them from the Steerage, and charg'd so fiercely, that he kill'd ma∣ny, forc'd some into the Sea, and drove the rest into their own Ship; whither also he follow'd them, and continued such a cruel fight with Swords and the great ends of Mus∣quets, that the bloud ran out of the Water-holes. Both the Princes, not having patience to see the Antitheans aboard their Ship, flew out of their Cabins: and Alethion having espied Atheophilus, ran upon him with an unexpres∣sible fury, saying, Behold, Atheophilus, this is Alethion, kill him, and endear thy self for ever to thy Master by the destructi∣on of his most mortal Enemy. Atheophilus being a prudent Souldier was aware of his coming, and aim'd a deadly blow at his Head; which Alethion put by with his Arm, and di∣rected a thrust, which finding passage through his Breast and his Heart both at once, made him fall down dead among the feet of his Souldiers. Theosebes perceiving the Prince of Theriagene engag'd against many of his Enemies, made himself a passage with his Sword, and coming where

he was, put Alethion out of the danger of their Number by the death of those whom he encountred; and having clear'd his own Ship made a second Board upon his Ene∣mies, in which he kill'd or threw into the Sea all that were upon the Decks, in the Steerage, and in the great Cabin: and commanding his men to retire into his own Ship, lest those who were in the Gun-room should blow them up, he heard a great cry from below, and saw some come up who made him know the reason of it, which was, because the Hold was full of Water; and they ask'd for Quarter: which being granted, they endeavour'd with the help of the Theoprepian Mariners to stop their Leaks; but in a short time perceiving that it was impossible, unhook'd their Ship, and had scarce got clear of her before she sunk down before their faces.

Whilst this Tragedy was acting, the other Ships were not idle Spectatours, for every one grapled with valiant Enemies: and though the Antitheans were something startled with the loss of their Admiral, (for they were so near as to see him sink) yet they resolv'd to make it up with their own endeavours by the ruine of their Adversa∣ries; and though they should happen to fail of their desired success, yet they purpos'd to die at least like men of Cou∣rage. But being over-charg'd with a Valour which tran∣scended theirs by as many degrees as the Justice of Alethion's Cause exceeded that of Antitheus, they were worsted: and yet before they submitted to a final conquest, they made such effectual Opposition as produc'd a very dreadful Spectacle of a Sea-fight; some Ships sinking by reason of incurable Leaks, some blowing up their Decks voluntarily tounlade their Enemies, and some being fir'd against their wills. The Air was fill'd with the noise of Guns, the cries of dying Persons, and the Shouts of Conquerors; the light of the Day being obscur'd with Clouds of Smoke, and the Sea discolour'd with the bloud of Wounded men, and made dismal with the floating bodies of the slain.

In this Fight Pasiphilus very happily shot off the Rudder of the Enemies Fire-Ship, by which means she was made

useless as to the purpose for which she was intended, and carried back upon the Antitheans by the Tide. Lysander and Christion took two of their Principal Ships; Bentivolio, Miso∣pseudes and Panaretus, assisting their respective friends, chas'd three others into the Harbour, and there compell'd them to submit to mercy. Indeed every gallant Theoprepian, who had the honour of any command that day, made himself famous with Heroick Actions; the private Souldiers also performing things which deserv'd very high reputation: By which means a complete Victory was speedily obtain'd, for all the Antitheans were either sunk or taken. This dreadful Encounter being thus ended, the Conquerors at∣tempted not to enter the Town, but cast Anchor a little within the Haven's Mouth, resolving to give a respite to their weary Souldiers, and to take care of the wounded, who were not a few.

The trembling Hipponyctians, having seen the dismal issue of this bloudy Engagement, and being destitute of their Governour, Souldiers and Courage, sent some of the Prin∣cipal Inhabitants to implore the King's Mercy, and to offer him the Town. The two Kings and so many of the Com∣manders as were then together held a Council of War, and concluded that it was best to accept of the surrender that was offer'd, and to take possession of the Town speedily, lest Antitheus should prevent them by fresh supplies. Accor∣dingly they sent three thousand of the most unwearied Souldiers ashoar under the command of Lysander, to secure the Gates, and to strengthen that part of the Town which lay towards Theriagene. The next day they landed all the wounded men, and took such an effectual care for their Recovery, that in a little time they were restor'd to their former health. The Hipponyctians joyning with the Theo∣prepians, bestow'd burial upon those dead bodies which they found floating in the Haven, or which were cast ashoar by the force of the Tide.

After two dayes they receiv'd the good News of the Ar∣rival of their Ships, which were order'd by Theosebes to transport their Horse, who were commanded not to set sail

till three dayes after the departure of the other Ships from Naupactus. Lysander appointed them to those Quarters which he had prepar'd in and near to Hipponyx; the King intending with all convenient speed to march towards Po∣listherium, where the Intelligence of Alethion's Arrival, which was sent by a Courrier, put Antitheus and his new Court into a great distraction: for being conscious to themselves of the Wrongs which they had done, they fear'd that the time was coming in which they should be forc'd to suffer for them; especially after they heard that the Theoprepians had subdued their Fleet, and made themselves Masters of Hipponyx.

This Alarm made less Impression upon the Courage of Antitheus then was expected by many both Friends and Ene∣mies; for notwithstanding he heard that many other Towns, besides Hipponyx, had revolted, and that some Cities had sent to submit themselves to Alethion, yet his Mind seem'd to grow great proportionably to his danger, and he fear'd not to look his bad fortune in the face, though she frown'd severely. But knowing that his tottering condi∣tion needed all possible support, he made use of all the thoughts with which his restless Mind was fill'd, to direct him what to doe. He summon'd his chief Confidents to meet in his Privy-Chamber; where having fram'd his Countenance to express an undaunted Resolution, he spake to them after this manner: The mischiefs which the Theo∣prepians have already done us do force us to secure our for∣tune by the use of Arms, and the dangers which they still threaten require that we should speedily enter upon this way of defence. We need not dispute whether it is Wis∣dom to venture boldly, for we must either doe so or lose all. It were a dishonourable Cowardise to abandon our selves to ruine, because we may possibly prevent it; neither is there any condition so low, but it may be rais'd, if those who undertake it have Valour. I have taken care to provide what is requisite for our Preservation both as to Men and Money. You know that the Mercenary Army under my command is not inconsiderable for Number; and I make

no doubt but they will engage boldly in this Service, because, being Souldiers of Fortune, they fight only for their pay. And since it may be thought that they are too few to op∣pose the strength of Theoprepia, I have sent to the Theomachi∣ans, who are in League with us, to desire their Assistance, and I make no question of obtaining it. They are the in∣veterate Enemies of Alethion, and will more readily help us, because by this means they may have an opportunity to revenge themselves upon the Theoprepians. After the overthrow of this Army which doth now infest us, I have promis'd to enter with them into the Enemie's Country, and to divide with them what we shall conquer there by equal shares. I have some Treasure which I laid up for all urgent occasions; and though it is scarce enough for this present service, I know how to raise more before we shall have need of it.

When Antitheus had finish'd this short Speech, Dogmapor∣nes, Asynetus, and the rest of his Associates, having been en∣gag'd in his Treason, oblig'd by his Favours, hoping to augment their present Fortune with his Victory, and de∣spairing of Pardon from Alethion, in regard of the greatness of those Crimes which they had committed, declar'd a Reso∣lution to live and die in the obedience of his Commands, and protested that they neither had nor hop'd for any Inte∣rest but that which consisted with his Felicity. Antitheus having given them thanks for this obliging Answer, told them the way by which he intended to provide Money to pay his Army: which was, by seizing upon the Stock of the Orphans laid up in the common Chamber of the City, as also that which was trusted in the hands of particular Guar∣dians, by forcing the rich Citizens to lend him as much as he should desire, and by borrowing the Treasure which was in the Temples: and because the people should not look upon these proceedings as Rapine and Sacrilege, he promised repayment as soon as he should overcome the Enemy, which threatned present ruine to Theriagene, and forced him to take these extraordinary courses. He added also that he would not put this resolution in practice till he

should hear from the Theomachians. Within two dayes Antholkes, the Ambassador whom he had sent thither, re∣turn'd with acceptable News: For desire of Revenge and hope of Conquest had so inflam'd the Theomachians, that they, not considering the dangers to which they were cour∣ted, and the inability of the Tempter to make a probable Defence, neither taking any notice of the Injustice of that Cause in which they were solicited to engage, readily pro∣mis'd their utmost Assistance; and knowing that Delay would make it ineffectual to Antitheus his Relief and their own hopes, assur'd Antholkes that they would make all pos∣sible speed for the Expedition.

In the mean while Theosebes having led his Army into Theriagene only with an intention to restore Alethion, and be∣ing desirous that his honest purposes might not be misinter∣preted by the Censorious World, told the Prince, as they were walking one day together, that though the Affection which he ought ever to have for so great a Friend had brought him and his Subjects out of their own Country to serve him, and that he could not but think that the Justice of his Cause was abundantly sufficient for his private sa∣tisfaction; yet he thought it requisite to let the World know upon what occasion he had taken up Arms, and to assure the Theriagenians of his Intentions by a Declaration pub∣lished for that end. The King highly approving his Ad∣vice, Lysander drew it up in these words: Though we make no question but such as know the Reasons of our present undertaking will need no other satisfaction as to the Justice of it; yet because we would not have our Actions construed into that Malicious sense which our Enemies will be apt to put upon them, We declare before God and all the World, that it is not a Desire to increase our Empire by any Accession which may be gain'd from Theriagene, that hath made us invade the Country of our ancient Allyes. Our Design is only to assist an Illustrious Prince to recover his Throne, of which he is unjustly de∣priv'd, and to help him to punish those who have made their Crimes inexpiable by adding his Banishment to his Father's Murther. As we have resolv'd never to lay down our Arms till this be effected, and doubt not but the greatest part of Alethion's Subjects are sufficiently

sensible of his wrongs; so, that it may appear we do not cover any other purposes under this pretence, we make this Protestation, That if you your selves will deliver up the Murtherers of Anaxagathus to Ju∣stice, and restore Alethion to his Rights, we will presently with∣draw our Forces into our own Country, rejoycing that we shall leave Theriagene in peace.

Alethion desiring passionately that his Country might not be ruin'd by the direful effects of War, and knowing that the events of it are varied by inconsiderable Causes, con∣cluded that no Enemy should be fought, who may be con∣quer'd by Treaty; and therefore with the fore-mention'd Declaration he set forth a Paper, in which he conjur'd his Subjects to return to their Obedience by the indispensable∣ness of those Bonds which oblig'd them to it: and that they might not be frighted into Despair by the remembrance of their Offences, he added a Promise of Pardon to such as would come under his Protection, and in the Word of a King gave them assurance that none should be excluded from the benefit of this Amnesty but Antitheus, Dogmapornes, and two or three more, whose Wickedness could never be forgiven.

These Papers wrought very considerable effects upon the Theriagenians. Some generous Spirits, who were most sen∣sible of the injuries which they suffer'd under Antitheus, had put themselves already under Alethion's Colours. Others, who had been unhappily instrumental to his and their own Misery, repented of their Errours, which the King's Good∣ness had pardoned, and resolv'd to make amends for their Disobedience by hazarding their Lives for his Restitution. The generality of the People, who were broken with Op∣pression, having now some hopes of Deliverance, began to shew their Hatred to the Usurper, which was before co∣ver'd under the Embers of Fear. Antitheus not unsensible of the Insecurity of his condition, us'd all possible Arts to keep the People (though not in affections to him, for they never had any for him, yet) from such Actions as might dis∣turb his Enterprise; and finding most of his Devices in∣effectual, he made it his last Reserve, to promise the Polisthe∣rians

that he would only continue himself in his Command as a General for the present Expedition, and that after the Success of this Fight, of which he made no question, he would lay down the Principality, and declare them a Free State. Some few, who understood not the Ufurper's In∣tentions, thought this a very plausible Offer, and began to wonder at the Moderation which Antitheus had entertain'd: but he, perceiving that this Plot took not effect according to his Expectation, under pretence of Treachery which he had discover'd, put some to Death whom he suspected as Guilty of Good will towards Alethion, and carried others, of whose Fidelity he was not assured, out of the City, and mix'd them with his Mercenary Troops.

The night before the day which was design'd for the Bat∣tel with the Theoprepians, who were now advanc'd within ten Miles of Polistherium, the Citizens were assaulted with an extraordinary Terrour, by reason of a strange Sight which appear'd in the Air on that side of the City which was to∣wards Hipponyx. Two Armies with Colours flying, Drums beating and Trumpets sounding, seem'd to encoun∣ter one another. The glittering Swords were so formi∣dable, and the clattering of Arms and the noise of Guns was so easily heard, that if they had not seen this Accident in the Air, they would have thought that the Theoprepians and Theriagenians had been engag'd in Fight. This Con∣test lasted half an hour; after which, one of the Armies ha∣ving routed and conquer'd the other, the Vision disap∣pear'd. The Antitheans thought this a sad Omen of their approching misfortune, and indeed could not look upon it otherwise but as a dismal Emblem by which God did fore∣shew the unlucky Issue of the succeeding Fight, and were generally so astonish'd with variety of ghastly Apprehensi∣ons, that they seem'd to be toss'd in the midst of restless Ima∣ginations, as a small Vessel would be in a raging Sea, if all the Winds should blow up 〈◊〉〈◊〉 it alternately from their seve∣ral Quarters.

The Usurper considering well what great Influences this Prodigy might send down upon the Spirits of his Souldiers,

(for those who do least believe that there is a God, are most affrighted with the thoughts of him when dreadful Acci∣dents begin to perswade them that there is one) endea∣vour'd to dissipate this Panick fear, by telling them the next morning, that they ought not to entertain any appre∣hensions from those things which they saw in the Air, such Prodigies being only Accidents of Nature; Images of Ar∣mies being often brought from forein parts by strong Winds in great Clouds, which like Looking-glasses reflect them upon the Earth; and that though this was none of that sort, yet it was capable of being interpreted for them as well as against them: and he added, that he was assu∣red that the Overthrow which they saw acted did portend the ruine of their Enemies, both by a Vision and a Dream which he had that night. He saw, as he said, a glorious Rainbow painted in the Air, and a mighty man of an un∣usual Stature, who having fastned a red string to both the Ends of it, took a great Arrow pointed with a flame of fire, and shot through the breasts of two Persons with Crowned Heads, who immediately tumbled down dead from the top of a bright Cloud. That they might believe that these could be no other then Theosebes and Alethion, he related his Dream in these Words: I saw a beautiful Person in the form of a Virgin, who, as I lay asleep, seem'd to whis∣per in my Ear this Prophecy, To Morrow Polistherium shall be deliver'd from her Enemies. This Exposition of the dread∣ful Prodigy so artificially confirm'd did something alleviate their Fears; and though it did not quiet their Minds, yet it made them suppress the trouble which they could not ex∣tirpate, and gave them some small encouragement to pre∣pare for those dangers which, whether they would or no, they were now to encounter.

Antitheus made haste to lead out his Men to fight, both that they might have no leisure to augment their Fears by the consideration of their Dangers, and that he might pos∣sess himself of a convenient place which he had destin'd to the encamping of his Army. It was a large Field encom∣pass'd on one side with a Wood, and with a River on the

other. By this he hop'd to give his Enemies the trouble of a disadvantageous access to him: But he was prevented by the earlier care of Alethion, who well knowing the Situation of the Country, had made himself Master of it an hour before.

Antitheus divided his Army into two Bodies, the Merce∣naries of Theriagene, and his Auxiliary Theomachians. Being attended with his Life-Guard he led the Theriagenians him∣self, whom he plac'd in the right Wing, having assign'd the chief Commands to Dogmapornes, who was his Lieutenant-General, Philedones, Pasenantius, Autautus, Antholkes, Antigra∣phus, Udemellon, and the rest of his Confidents. He chose all his under-Officers out of those whom he esteem'd most true to him. His Confederate Theomachians being plac'd in the left Wing were led by their General Theostyges. Those who were most of Note in the Army, and chiefly look'd up∣on as Persons upon whose Conduct and Valour the Success of the Fight depended, were Archicacus, Misagathus, Anosius, Adicus, Anaedes, Androphonus, Asemnus, Aneleemon and Ane∣cestus.

The Theoprepian Army was commanded by Theosebes: for after a loving Contention, which lasted a good while, be∣tween the two Kings before they could determine who should give Orders and Command with a single Power, each of them offering that Honour to the other, and both refusing it with an equal Modesty, Alethion conjuring Theo∣sebes by the Love which had brought him into Theriagene, to command his own Army, and to give him leave to fight by his side, Theosebes was forc'd to accept that Authority. The Army, which consisted of six thousand Foot and four thou∣sand Horse, was divided into two Bodies: one commanded by Theosebes himself, who was accompanied with the Prince of Theriagene, Bentivolio and Misopseudes, who desir'd the Ho∣nour to fight by him. The other was put under the Obe∣dience of Lysander, to whom Panaretus, Philalethes and Nico∣machus joyn'd themselves; every particular Regiment being led by such Commanders as inspir'd their Followers with Courage.

As soon as the Day began to appear, the Warlike Trum∣pets sounding from all parts of the Camp rais'd the Soul∣diers to the Battel, of which they were so impatiently desi∣rous, that many prevented the rising of the Sun, and put on their Arms whilst it was yet dark; and rousing that War∣like humour which had lien asleep since the Fight against Theromachia, they gave a clear Evidence that they had not forgot the Art which they had not for a long time prac∣tis'd. When they were drawn up into a regular Order in the place appointed for the Fight, Theosebes and Alethion ri∣ding by the Head of every Regiment shew'd themselves to the Souldiers, whom they found so inflam'd by the sight of their Enemies, that they had more need to command them to make a stand then incite them to go forward. The Princes said not much to them, because they perceiv'd their Courage already heightned infinitely above the necessities of Exhortation. However this Action was not in vain, for their Hearts were kindled with a more vigorous 〈◊〉〈◊〉 by the Presence of their own King and the sight of the Wrong'd Prince, whose Restauration they were now to at∣tempt. Those of Theriagene were destitute of a just Cause, and so could not have that assistance which Valour never refuseth to take from a serene Conscience; yet they ap∣pear'd with a desperate Boldness, and felt in their Hearts all those Motions which Anger, Hatred, Hope and Desire could raise: Nay, they seem'd to encrease their Courage with Fear; for, knowing what they had done, they assured themselves of the greatest Punishments if they should be conquer'd; and therefore heightned their Resolutions of killing those who, if they liv'd, would in a little time become their Judges.

Both Armies having made themselves ready to march, the Trumpets were commanded to give the last Signal, and they resounding from the Banks of the River, and multi∣plying their noises with the Echo's of the Wood, made a delightful Terrour. The two Forlorns of Horse sent from each Party gave the first Charge, and laid many Men upon the ground, and their Horses by them: But Aristander,

who commanded the Theoprepians, with an irresistible Force pressing upon those of Theriagene, made them retreat to their Army with the loss of half their men. Then the main Bodies of both Armies advanc'd towards each other, and seconded what was begun with the Engagement of their whole Forces. The Commanders of both sides were the first in this Charge, and made a dreadful Salutation with the mutual exchange of Blows and Wounds; but, being encompast by their Souldiers, they were forc'd to leave off their single Combats, and oppose the joynt Fury of their numerous Enemies.

Now it was that Death began to appear with a dismal Face, and to shew the awful Greatness of her Mortal Power in the Horrours of Slaughter and Confusion. Alethion ha∣ving espied Dogmapornes, thundred upon him with a loud cry, saying, Now I will requite you for writing Letters for me; and riding up to him with an astonishing Presence ran him through the Body: and perceiving that Antholkes came up with an eager desire to revenge his Death, or else to die with him, Yes, said the Prince, he can have no fitter Com∣panion in his Torments then you who have assisted his Sin; and as he spake these words, gave Antholkes leave to take his death from the point of his Sword, upon which he ran himself precipitantly, aiming an ineffectual Blow at Alethion's Head. Philedones at the same time was thrown upon the ground by Theosebes. Antitheus fought disguis'd, the Fears which were created by his guilty Conscience ma∣king him flie to that mean sort of Refuge. But Bentivolio having discover'd him by some token, broke through those who stood in his way, and leaving bloudy marks of his Passage rode up to him, and gave him a blow upon the Head, which would have cleft his Skull if it had not been guarded with an Helmet which was made for a more wor∣thy Person; however, it made him bow down low upon his Horse's neck; and his Body beginning to leave the Saddle Bentivolio prevented his Fall, for he pull'd him from his Horse, and carrying him before him upon the Bow of his Saddle gave him in Custody to Axiarchus, one of Theosebes

his Captains, who, knowing the Importance of his Charge, plac'd him disarm'd in the middle of his Troop, and watch'd him so diligently that he made his escape impos∣sible. Autautus and Proselenus did in vain endeavour his Rescue, for they were both kill'd, one by Theosebes, and the other by Misopseudes, who receiv'd a Wound in his Breast by a thrust of Proselenus his Sword.

Those in the left Wing did things equal to the right. Lysander charg'd Theostyges the General of the Theomachians, and after a few blows given with an unexpressible Courage, Theostyges receiv'd one in his Neck, which made it unable to support his Head, and, as he listed up his Hand to strike again, tumbled under his Horse's Feet. He was accompanied in his Death by Androphonus and Aneleemon, who fell by the same hand. Anosius being fiercely charg'd by Kalodoxus lost his Life with his Head, which Kalodoxus cut off. Sympathus, Charistion and Pasiphilus signalized them∣selves by the Death of Misagathus, Adicus, Asemnus, and some others, who seem'd to be the stoutest men that led the Theo∣machian Van. Antigraphus, who fought with the Theomachians, was met by Nicomachus, who shot him in the Mouth, and lodg'd a brace of Bullets in his Brains, and after him di∣spatch'd Saprobius with his Sword. Hieromimus, who would needs thrust himself into the Fight, (though he had no Command) being known to a private Souldier who had seen him in Theoprepia, was kill'd with the But-end of his Musquet. Euphron having charg'd too far into the Ene∣mie's Body was unfortunately slain. Aristander having seen him engag'd, endeavour'd with all possible speed to hew out a way to his relief; but not being able to come where he was soon enough to save his life, he fell with an impetuous rage upon those who kill'd him, and fetch'd off his dead Body. In this Action Aristander receiv'd one Wound in his Thigh, and another in his Arm, which prov'd mortal to him.

Whilst the Victorious Arms of the left Wing distress'd the Theomachians in the Front, a sudden Ruine hastned upon them in the Rear. For Panaretus and Philalethes being in∣form'd

of a private way through the Wood, by which fetching a small Compass they might come behind the Theomachians, they acquainted Lysander with their desire to surround the Enemy, and receiv'd of him four hundred Horse with which they put their Design in Execution, and flew in upon them with an appearance which was so much the more dreadful because it was unexpected, and made the Theomachians think that Death had hedg'd them in upon all sides. However taking a desperate kind of Courage from their Danger they fought stoutly, and though they were beaten, yet the Theoprepians found such considerable Resi∣stance that it cost many of them their lives. At length the Theomachians seeing most of their Leaders slain, and so many of their Companions kill'd that they were put out of all hopes of Victory; some of those few which surviv'd threw down their Arms and desir'd Quarter, others endeavour∣ing to save their Lives by running disorderly to Antitheus his Division, which was a very small relief; for they were so discourag'd by Theosebes and his Invincible Army, that ha∣ving left their most considerable Officers dead upon the ground, and having seen others taken, they began to flie, hoping at least to delay their Death by retiring to Polis∣therium.

Eugenius, who was a faithful friend to Alethion, and staid in Theriagene to serve his Interest, receiv'd a fall from his Horse the day before the Fight, and pretending to be much hurt by it he took his bed; by which means he gain'd an occasi∣on to remain at home to execute the Design which he had contriv'd against Antitheus, which was, to surprize the City whilst he was engag'd in the Field: and accordingly having given notice of his purpose to Alethion by one of his Servants well known to Bentivolio, Amyntor with a select Company of Horse at the hour which was appointed by Eugenius march'd towards Polistherium unseen by the Enemy, and carrying Antitheus his Colours which they had taken in the Fight, he came to a Gate which Eugenius had secur'd, and having let him in they seiz'd upon the Town for Ale∣thion. This Action made the attempt of those who hoped

to escape by flight of little advantage to their security; for being pursued and kill'd by the Theoprepian Horse, when they drew near to the Town they were destroy'd by the great Guns and Muskets which play'd upon them from the Walls: and this did so confound them with an unexpressible Despair, that being neither able to fight nor run away, they stood still and cry'd for Mercy: which though they did not obtain at first, yet it was granted as soon as the Prince of Theriagene and Theosebes could come up: For one of them desir'd not to see more of his Subjects slaughter'd, and the other could not endure to behold so many men kill'd after they had given over all Resistance. They exhorted the Souldiers to be content with their Victory without more bloud, which could not make it more acceptable; and they were not disobey'd when their Commands were heard.

Thus did the Justice of Heaven punish the Rebellion of Antitheus and his Accomplices, and in a short time utterly frustrate all the Probabilities which he had fram'd to sup∣port a saint Hope of escaping Destruction. And now the Princes having given order to take care of the Wounded Souldiers, and to secure the Prisoners, Theosebes went into Alethion's Coach, and taking Bentivolio and Panaretus with him, sent his Commands to Lysander to lead his men to∣wards the City, which they knew to be in their Friends hands, both by Alethion's Colours, which were plac'd upon that Tower which was over the Gate by which they were to en∣ter, as also by a Messenger sent from Amyntor. When they were come to the City-walls, they were met by Eugenius, who being transported by the sight of Alethion, alighted off his Horse to perform his Devoir to him, and kneel'd down to kiss his Hand, but was not able to speak for Joy. Rise up, rise up, my faithful Friend, said the Prince, (taking him in∣to his Arms) I shall never forget the Affections which you have alwayes preserv'd for me; neither shall any time blot out of my mind those obliging services by which you have demonstrated your Love. He had not time to reply, for the Princes came out of their Coaches intending to march into the City on Horse-back; and then he was interrupted

by the Embraces of the Prince of Theoprepia, who had much endear'd him to himself for those high Offices which he had perform'd for a Prince whom he lov'd above any man in the World, and then signified his Affection in words full of Esteem. When Eugenius was got loose from Theosebes, Bentivolio passionately affected with the sight of one who had oblig'd him with all the Expressions of a most Gene∣rous Friendship, ran to him with open Arms, saying as he went, And is it true, my dear Eugenius, that God hath given us leave to meet again both so soon and so happily? Yes, Bentivolio, replied Eugenius, and I esteem it no small part of this Day's Felicity to meet one who was never out of my Memory and Desire since we parted. The rest of the Company having perform'd their affectionate Salutations to this Excellent Person, the Princes entred the City, whilst the great Guns sounded from the Walls, and the People Echo'd to that joyful noise with their loudest Acclamati∣ons in all the Streets through which they passed to the Palace.

It is not possible for me to express that endearing Wel∣come which Alethion gave to the Prince of Theoprepia after his Arrival in the House, nor to repeat those many passio∣nate Acknowledgments which he made to him for that Generous Love by which, God having made it successful, he was restor'd to his Throne, protesting to Theosebes, that the re-enjoyment of his Kingdom was infinitely more ac∣ceptable since it was accomplish'd by his means, then it could have been any other way. Theosebes, who so entire∣ly lov'd the Person of Alethion that he esteem'd all his Inte∣rests his own, return'd an answer full of Modesty and Sweetness, assuring him that he took more joy in the Re∣stauration of Alethion to his Kingdom, then he should have found sorrow in the loss of his own.

The first thing which they did after they had settled themselves was to take care of their Wounded Friends, to whom when Alethion had declar'd his Desires to Consecrate the following day for a publick Thanksgiving to Almighty God for the Victory by which he was restor'd to Theriagene,

and Theriagene to it self, they entreated him to delay his Or∣der for a day or two, not doubting but they should be able in that time to accompany him in that most worthy Acti∣on, and in which they thought themselves highly concern'd to have a share. Whereupon Alethion made choice of the third day, which was chearfully celebrated by the Princes and those many gallant Persons who accompanied them in the Expedition; as also by the Citizens, who observ'd it with all imaginable significations of a thankful Joy. These Solemnities being appointed, the two Kings agreed to send to Theoprepia, to let their Friends know the happy Success of their Undertaking, and to fetch the Queen, the Princess Agape, Urania, Theonoe and Irene, with their Companions; the whole Court earnestly desiring to have those noble Persons present at such a joyful time, and of which they thought their Fruition incomplete till their Friends enjoy'd a part with them. Having past the Evening in Theosebes his Chamber, the Company took their leave, their wea∣riness compelling them to withdraw to their several Lodgings, which were as well appointed as such a season would permit.

The next day Alethion, Theosebes, Bentivolio, Panaretus, Phi∣lalethes, and many other excellent Persons, being met at Misopseudes his Appartment, who was forc'd to keep his Bed by reason of the Wound which he had receiv'd, Alethion de∣sir'd the Counsel of his Friends concerning the Settlement of his Affairs. Theosebes advis'd him to punish Antitheus and the chief Instruments of the Rebellion, and then to confirm the Amnesty which he had promis'd, and so engage his Sub∣jects Minds to a chearful Obedience for the future by Assu∣rance of Pardon for their past Offences. The rest ap∣proving this Advice, a List of the Prisoners was brought, and their names read. Many of the Chief Actors in that fatal Tragedy, which had caus'd so much trouble, were slain. Psychopannyx, Astromantis, Panthnetus and Scepticus being well horsed fled into Theomachia. The principal of those who were in Custody were Antitheus, Asynotus, Pase∣nantius and Udemellon of the Theriagenians; Archicacus, Anaedes

and Anecestus of Theomachia; seven in all: who were con∣demn'd to be hang'd and quarter'd, and their Heads to be set upon the chief Gates of Polistherium. They order'd also a day for the Funeral Rites due to Anaxagathus, which were perform'd with all Princely Ceremonies, the King of Theo∣prepia and all the Persons of Condition that were with him assisting in that Solemn Action.

Whilst Alethion, Eugenius, Misopseudes and Philalethes spent their time in such employments as were necessary for the Re-settlement of the Affairs of the Kingdom, Bentivolio and Panaretus having understood by the Chirurgeons that the Wounds which Aristander had receiv'd in the late Fight were Mortal, resolv'd to give him a Visit, and to spend what time they could spare from other occasions in the Conversation of that most Excellent Man. When they came to his Lodging, they found him accompanied with his intimate Friend Athanasius and his Brother Virbius, and attended by his two Sons Callistus and Hilarion. Medenarete also was there, and a Brother of hers call'd Synthnescon, who having heard that Aristander's Wounds had put his Life in extreme danger, thought her self oblig'd to give him a Visit, and to perform thanks to him for having sav'd her Brother the day before from that death which he must have found under the Feet of the Theoprepian Horse, if it had not been for the charitable Assistance which he receiv'd from Aristander, and which he must have lost however, if he had not been par∣don'd by Alethion at his Intercession. Bentivolio having made those Salutes which were due to that worthy Person, sate down by his Bed-side; and having understood by a Gentleman who conducted them into the Room, that they were just now entred into a Discourse concerning the Na∣ture of Vertue, he desir'd Aristander that his Visit might be no Interruption to their Conversation: whereupon Ari∣stander proceeded thus: It was a strange feebleness of Mind which made the Valiant Brutus to speak so unworthily, when he said, O unhappy Vertue! How vainly have I ador'd thee as a Divine thing, whenas thou art nothing but Words and the Slave of Fortune? Yet I cannot wonder that he should stagger so

much with an unexpected blow of adverse Fortune (being at that time worsted in a Battel at Philippi) when I consider that he was not supported with a firm Belief of that Immor∣tal Bliss which awaits good men in the Eternal World, nor had made the Resignation of himself to the Divine Will, the principal part of that Vertue of which he boasted himself to have been a great Adorer. For my own part, I must pro∣fess that I now discern the truth of Vertue more then at any other time of my Life, and am deeply sensible of the incomparable Benefit of Religion, finding in it that serene Tranquillity, of which if I were now destitute I could not so much as hope for it from any other Principle. I look upon that quiet Repose of Mind and Felicity of Temper which I enjoy, as the natural Effect of Vertue, which I make no question but it doth alwayes produce where it is heartily entertain'd.

You are happy, said Medenarete, interrupting him a little, and I should esteem it no small Favour, if it were not un∣seasonable to desire it at this time, if you would please to let us know what you mean by Vertue; give us assurance that there is any such thing, and make us understand wherein that happy Repose which you so much magnifie doth con∣sist. I thank God, said Aristander, I do not feel so much pain as to indispose me for Converse; and since I alwayes esteem'd it seasonable to serve Vertue, I shall willingly tell you what I think in Answer to all those Questions in which you demand satisfaction concerning it.

By Vertue I mean a true Love of that Goodness the No∣tions where of are naturally implanted in Humane Souls, and a constant Performance of those Actions which cor∣respond with those Directive Instincts. For you must know, Medenarete, that the holy Rules which we find in the Writings of Wise men are nothing but the Connate Noti∣ons of Good and Evil, which they found in themselves and transcrib'd into their Books, written first by the great Crea∣tor upon Mens Hearts as the Laws of reasonable Nature, and which are little Resemblances of God's Eternal Righ∣teousness, which is the Original Copy according to which

they were drawn. All Created things are destinated to some particular Use, and have distinct Properties by which they are fitted for their several Ends, and those Properties are the Excellencies of every Creature. The Nature of a Man doth by many degrees transcend that of most other Beings, because he hath higher Principles by which he is fitted for more noble Actions. Those Innate Notions of Truth and Goodness are plac'd in his Soul as Fountains of Law, from which he is to take direction concerning the Government of his Life. Truth and Goodness are Eternal Things, and therefore subsisted before we were born; but when we come into Being we find the Notions of them imprinted upon our Minds, that is, our Natures are such that, as soon as we come to have the use of our Faculties by the exercise of our Reason, we are forc'd to acknowledge their Existence and perceive their Usefulness, and so are as it were born Guides to our selves, being enabled to draw such Conclusions from these Natural Sentiments as make suffi∣cient Rules for our Actions; and are encourag'd by migh∣ty Perswasives to doe that which is Good, being convinc'd of the Excellency of Vertue by the Natural Testimony of our own Souls.

By this you may understand that Vertue is a just Confor∣mity to our Inbred Knowledge, a Correspondence with the Dignity of our Natures, and a Pursuit of those worthy Ends to which we are not only destinated, but naturally oblig'd.

'Tis true, reply'd Medenarete, I have often heard such things pronounc'd concerning Vertue, but I alwayes e∣steem'd them rather as Witty sayings of eloquent Philoso∣phers, then any convincing Assurances that Goodness is a Reality. Men do usually talk of the Difference of Good and Evil, and say that it is indispensably unjust to hurt an In∣nocent person; that a sense of Gratitude is natural to all Men; and some such other things. But I have heard it affirm'd that these Notions are only Qualities which dis∣pose men to keep that Peace in the World of which they have a beneficial share, and that they are not obliging

Laws till they be so constituted by the Civil Sanction of a Supreme Power, and that men do then yield Obedience to them only for fear of Punishment, and so have no other Motive to those which you call Vertuous Actions but Self∣love. It is manifest also, that notwithstanding all that which you say of the Natural Sense of Good and Evil im∣planted in our Souls, yet men are very different in their Opinions concerning their Definitions: and notwith∣standing that irreconcileable difference between Right and Wrong which you believe to be Real, the greatest part of the World do confound it in their Actions. I might adde also, that some who are esteem'd Vertuous are so far from being of your mind, that they make no scruple to say that God, if he pleas'd, might command that which is most Evil to be Good. If these Allegations be true, it follows that Obedience to Holy Rules is a thing only founded up∣on respect to Self-interest, that Vertue is not a thing of an unchangeable Nature, and that the Obligations to observe the Differences of Good and Evil in our Designs and Actions is not so indispensable as you would make us believe.

I know very well, said Aristander; that many such things use to be objected against the Nature of Vertue by those who speak against Honesty to shew their Wit, and dispa∣rage Goodness because they have no mind to practise it. But I can easily shew you the Falshood of these Pretences, if you will have the patience to entertain a little more Dis∣course concerning this Subject. I shall be glad to be so oblig'd, reply'd Medenarete; and if there be truth in that which you say concerning Vertue, I shall willingly profess my self an affectionate Friend to that which hitherto I have not much regarded.

Very well, said Aristander; I shall endeavour to demon∣strate that the Nature of Vertue is Immutable, that the Difference of Good and Evil cannot be chang'd, and that the Reasons of Moral Duties are Eternal; and so give you a clear notice of the Vanity of your Objections. The un∣alterable Congruity which is between Vertue and reaso∣nable

Souls appears by the Essential Inclinations to Mo∣ral Goodness which God the Author of our Being hath im∣planted in our Nature; and by this, that many Vertuous Dispositions are fair Resemblances of the Divine Perfecti∣ons, that others are Appendages immutably proper to our State, all highly Perfective of our Being; and that a just Conformity to those Rules which correspond with these Principles is so necessary to our Happiness, (which consists in a quiet Repose of Mind, and a serene Delight in the en∣joyment of our selves and God our chief Good) that it is impossible to attain it by any other means. These Asser∣tions are of such moment as to that Satisfaction which I would give concerning the nature of Vertue, that I must crave leave to explain them with a larger Compass of Words, and so make the truth of them all more apparent.

It is as natural for men to form their Actions according to the Notions of Moral Goodness which are in their Souls, as it is to see with their Eyes; and we ought as well to sup∣pose that these Inward Laws were given us for the Directi∣on of our Life, as that our Tongues were bestowed upon us that we may Speak. It is as easily possible for men to become Rats and Toads, as to put off the Obligation which is laid upon them by God to observe Natural Righteous∣ness: Neither is the Congruity which Vertue hath with our Souls more alterable by any extrinsecal Power, then the hour of the Sun's Rising is determinable by the Word of an Emperour. Laws can no more render Vice agreeable to our Constitution, then they can make Seconds and Sevenths in Musical Compositions to sound as Harmoniously as Thirds or Fifths. An Artist may as soon frame a Qua∣drangle consisting only of three Angles, as make Ingrati∣tude commendable: And a Physician may as rationally pronounce that a man distress'd with a Fever is not sick, as affirm that there are no Torments of an Evil Conscience. Whosoever will seriously consider it, may plainly see that the Nature of Vertue is unalterable, and that it hath an Essen∣tial Connexion with our Souls; for there is an Eternal Reason why that which is good for Men should so beal∣wayes.

These Holy Rules took not their Original from the Appointments of our Parents, the Pleasure of our Tu∣tors, Traditions receiv'd from former Ages, or Imitation of present Examples; but are the general Dictates of com∣mon Reason, which whisper unto us from within whether we will or no, that they are Good in their own nature. These Laws are of an Ancient Date, not made in the Reign of such and such Kings, or in such a Session of Parliament; but as old as Humanity, and of themselves obliging ante∣cedently to all Positive Commands. It is true, Princes should enter these amongst their Statutes: and because they are immutably Good, they ought not to command any thing that doth contradict them; and, though they should, yet they can no more render such Orders Just, then they can make it the Duty of Men to hate themselves. What Original could these Indeleble Prolepses have but the same with our Nature? They are plain to all, and the sense of their Obligingness avoidable by none.

As we perceive in our Minds immutable Notions of Speculative Truths, as That Contradictions cannot be true, That the Whole is bigger then the Part, and such like; which are such illustrious Verities that none dare affront them with a de∣nial, and which are of such high Import, that if they were not unalterably true we could have no assurance of any thing, but must fluctuate in Eternal Unbelief: So these Notions of Moral Goodness are our sure Directions in point of Practice, and are unchangeably Good; for if they were not, we could have no certain Rule for our Actions; which is such a slur upon Nature, that it can be suppos'd by none but such as do not believe that God made it. The truth is, if finding these Laws imprinted upon our Natures we should yet think our selves not bound to obey them, we can receive no notice of our Duties any other way, being rationally oblig'd to disbelieve that which is contrary to our natural Sentiments.

Among all the rational Notions which adorn Humane Nature these Principles of Good and Evil are the chief. They are the great Reasons why we are call'd Men, and the

fairest Characters by which we are distinguish'd from Brutes: And indeed, Medenarete, it is impossible that we should have any rational Pulchritude in us, if the beautiful Order of these Congruities were destroy'd. It is a greater Beauty in Men when their Choice corresponds with these natural Anticipations of their Duties, then for a Woman to have fair Eyes plac'd in just distances upon her Face. It is as ingrateful to a man that considers, to find his Actions dissent from this obliging Knowledge, as it is unacceptable to such as know Musick, to hear a Lutenist play upon an Instrument out of tune. Those things which consist of many Parts, or of various Faculties, are capable of no Per∣fection but what consists in a proper Union of those Parts, and a regular Ordination of their Faculties; which is not mutable at pleasure, but perpetually fix'd to the Na∣ture of every particular Being. As it is not any Connexion of Parts that will make an handsome Body, for if any Member be disorderly plac'd, there will be a Deformity: So the Soul by its rare Constitution having many Powers, as the Rational, the Irascible and Concupiscible, its Perfection doth necessarily depend upon the due Subordination of these Faculties to one another. When the Rational Prin∣ciple, which is adorn'd with the fore-mention'd Notions, gives Laws to our Appetites, and they are obedient, then Vertue glorifies our Constitution, and shews the Excellency of its Nature both in the decent Moderation of our Passi∣ons, and in a lovely Connexion of becoming Actions. But when these Divine Rules are neglected, it is no more possible that the Soul should be in its natural frame, then that the Body should enjoy Health if the Nerves which tie it together were cut in pieces; or for a City to escape Con∣fusion, if the Inhabitants despise the Laws; or for a Musician to compose delightful Airs by a careless jumbling of Notes without the Rules of Art. The Vertue of Humane Souls hath natural Orders, certain Measures, and is determin'd by Laws which can no more be alter'd at pleasure, then the Proportion which is between Three and Six in Arith∣metick.

This is enough, Medenarete, to shew you that Vertue is an unalterable Congruity with our Souls, and in its own na∣ture fix'd as much as any other thing: to which I will now adde, that those fore-mention'd Notions are not only natu∣ral Qualities interwoven with our Essence, but also Parti∣cipations of that increated Goodness which is in the Di∣vine Nature, so far as it is communicable to Men. Though that be incomprehensible in the Infiniteness of its Perfecti∣ons, yet it hath reveal'd it self in the known Properties of Justice, Veracity, Love, Benignity and Mercy; which whoso∣ever imitates, lives conformably to God's Life; and whoso∣ever thinks he may afflict the Innocent, violate his Faith, refuse to shew Mercy, and abandon Charity, doth foolishly esteem it a Privilege to be disengag'd from the ties of that Goodness to which the Divine Will is alwayes determin'd.

I told you also, I remember, that some of these noble Qualities are fastened upon our State as Appendages immu∣tably proper to it, and it must be so; for who can think of those Words, God and a Created Being, but he must necessa∣rily infer that it is unalterably fit, that as the lowest Crea∣tures are necessarily subject to their Maker, so Man, being endu'd with Reason, by which he understands his Relation, and is made capable of Law and voluntary Subjection, should submit himself of Choice to his Creator, acknow∣ledge his Dependence upon him, and seeing himself plac'd in a higher Degree of Being, increase his Thankfulness pro∣portionably? By the Notions of God's Goodness and Ex∣cellency implanted in our Souls we are oblig'd to love him for himself; as we have Understanding and Will, which are the Principles of Moral Vertues, we are bound to receive the Divine Illuminations as our highest Wisdom, and both sin∣cerely to conform our Wills to God's Commandments, and to rest satisfied in his Appointments with all humble Com∣placence. The nature of our State doth oblige us also to observe the Rules of Righteousness towards others; for he who gave us our Being did not only make us unwilling to be wrong'd our selves, but thereby also taught us that we ought not to wrong others: And though he hath bestow'd

Self-love upon us, yet he alwayes requires us to manage it so as becomes those who know they are but Creatures, that they have Souls as well as Bodies, and owe Love to their Neighbours as well as to themselves. Those who contradict the Reason of these Duties do barbarously dis∣own the Relation in which they stand to God, and endea∣vour vainly to put off the Nature of Creatures; for Sin is a Contradiction to our State, and a Forfeiture of the Being which we hold at our Creator's Pleasure.

The Unnaturalness of such Disobedience will appear yet farther, if we consider that the Happiness which is proper to Humanity cannot be obtain'd without a compliance with Vertuous Rules; for the happy Repose of our Spirits will be disturb'd if we sin. Whilst our Actions contra∣dict the Knowledge of our Duty, we offend the most deli∣cate sense of our Souls, and by offering violence to the Law of our Mind we fall out of our own Favour, expose our selves to the sharp Remorses of a wrong'd Conscience, and put our selves to a pain much like to that which we feel in our Bodies when a Bone is dislocated. A Sinner becomes his own Tormentor, and is vex'd to see that he hath done himself a mischief by a preposterous endeavour to satisfie a vicious Will. God having so inseparably annex'd our best satisfaction to the Rules of our Duty, the old Philoso∣pher might have given a very plausible reason for his Pas∣sion, if he had included those who endeavour to divide Pleasure from Honesty, in the Curse which he wish'd upon those who first attempted the Divorce of Vertue and Profit. However the Attempt is to no purpose; for the distress which accompanies Vice is so unavoidable, that the most insolent sinners which are recorded in History have con∣fess'd an Inward Nemesis to follow them, and to compen∣sate the Wickedness of their Actions with proportionable Punishments, making every Place too hot for them, and all Conditions uneasie. Those who have so far despis'd Vertue, that they would not acknowledge it to be any thing, have not withstanding found the burthen of an Evil Conscience to be extreme heavy, and complain'd of the

Torments which they suffer'd from the Displeasure of the In-dwelling God. How natural this disturbance is, ap∣pears also from the Restlesness of profligate Offenders, who, though they enjoy the Success of their Vices, and live in the heights of Luxury by the benefit of Rapine, do yet desire rather to have gotten Riches by some honest means, being reprov'd by themselves when they consider that Unhand∣somness which will never cease to attend their unjust Pro∣sperities. This gives us assurance that the Laws of Vertue are of force to condemn where they are not obey'd, and that the Divine Light is seen when it is not follow'd, and that it is a very jejune Explication of the Torments of Con∣science to say that it is only this, Some men say that they knew them who knew others who knew the state of Sinners to be unhappy.

Besides this I might also adde, that the unalterable Re∣pugnance of Vice to our Felicity is manifest by those extra∣vagant Appetites and wild Desires to which Men are often subject, which, whilst they are not mortified by Vertue, do gall the Soul by a ravenous unsatisfiableness, and make what soever might administer to its Content useless.

By that which I have said concerning Good mens Hap∣piness, I would not have you think that the Repose of Ver∣tue consists only in a dull Indolence, a mere freedom from Grief, or such a state of Content as that in which we find our selves after we have quench'd a Thirst: for Good men experiment also such Actual Pleasure as thirsty persons find when they drink Delicious Liquors, both whilst they are conversant in the Operations of Vertue, and when they call to mind the Honest Actions of their past life. By which it appears that they are not mov'd to compliance with Holy Rules by Extraneous Principles, or are induc'd to perform their Duties by Mercenary Perswasions, as Hopes of Ho∣nour and Desire of Riches: they have Innate Motives far more cogent from that rare Content which is the natural Companion of Vertue; and Good men have alwayes thought this Intellectual Delight so far beyond the sensual Titillations of fleshly Objects, that they have esteem'd Wick∣ed persons not to fall more below the Dignity of such as are

Good by the Depravations of Vice, then they do come short of their enjoyments in the truth of Pleasure, under which pretence they became Renegado's to Vertue.

Those who affirm Pleasure to be the end of all Humane Actions, speak true enough if they understand themselves well; and there is no danger in that which they say, if they be not mistaken by others. As nothing is of more plea∣sant gust to our Rational Appetite then to doe excellent Things, so it is proportionable to the great Ends of our Nature to seek such Delight; for in this pursuit we come to taste the Pleasures which all Good men find in the noble Union of their Souls with the Divine Will, and so partake of true Freedom: for being by this most pleasing Fruition unchain'd from the mean love of little things, and secur'd from the distraction of low Desires, they are joyn'd to that great Good, which is ever present with all but those who have dispers'd their Souls amongst infinite Vanities, and so do not enjoy themselves; or who having contracted a Con∣trariety of Disposition to God's mind, are not capable of U∣nion with him. Vertue prepares us for God's Inhabitation, who is never unwilling to dwell in Good men: And whilst they give him, as they ought, his Right of Willing what he pleaseth in them, and acting their Powers accor∣ding to his Divine Wisdom and Goodness, they partake of the greatest Happiness to which Men can be exalted, and satisfie their Minds in the enjoyment of the chief Good, which doth also instill into their Souls and preserve there a pleasant Hope of Immortal Felicity, by the continuance and advancement of the same Fruition in the Eternal World; they being sufficiently assur'd that nothing can separate a Soul from everlasting Bliss, which is married to God by hearty Love. And this doth complete a Good man's Repose; for being at peace with himself by reason of the Friendly Testimony of his Conscience, and highly pleas'd with his present state, he finds also an unspeakable ease of Mind in the Hopes of that which he shall be in the Life to come.

Thus, said Aristander, turning towards Medenarete, I

have obey'd your Command, having shew'd you the Ex∣cellent Nature of Vertue, assur'd you concerning its Exi∣stence, and given you an Account of that Happiness which Good men derive from it. After this it would be imper∣tinent to adde much to overthrow your Objections, for they must needs fall of themselves. If Vertue doth include in its own Nature an essential Congruity with Reasonable Souls, there is no more necessity of a Law to render its Rules Obliging, then to pass an Act to make it fit for us to see with our Eyes; and since Vice doth alwayes discompose that natural Order, it is as impossible for all the Civil Power in the World to make it agreeable to our Constitution, as to make us smell with our Ears.

That Vertuous men are not good for Fear of being pu∣nish'd, is sufficiently confirm'd by that which I have already discours'd; and I must tell you that this is a very Contemp∣tible Objection: for they do not esteem any man Good but him who will not sin though he is not in danger of any external Mulct; neither do they account him an Honest man with whom they durst not play at Even and Odde in the dark. And if you ask then what use there can be of Laws, which are alwayes vain without the supposition of Punishment; I must let you know that they are pru∣dently given with a general respect to all men. To the Bad, because since all will not understand the Reasons of their Duties, nor be perswaded to love Vertue for most worthy considerations; it is of great Interest to the World that Wickedness should not be spred by Impunity, but that Enormous persons being directed by Law, should also be restrain'd from disobeying it by Suffering. They are also highly useful to the Good, not so much to hinder them from doing that which is not Just, as that they may not be wrong'd by the Vicious, who are deterr'd from hurt∣ing them with violent actions by the fear of those Penalties which are annex'd to them.

That which you objected concerning the different Ap∣prehensions which men have of Good and Evil, doth not infringe the real Distinction which is between them, or

prove that this difference is not known naturally, more then it is possible that the Whole should be no bigger then the Part, because some have been or may yet be found who doubt whether it is or no. Neither is it any wonder that some 〈◊◊〉〈◊◊〉 Opinions, because there are Mul∣titudes of various Examples in the World, and many fol∣low the worst, being usually so slothful that they will not take pains to examine which is the best.

〈◊〉〈◊〉 and Vice, as you say, are confounded in most mens actions: but that doth not prove that they are not Eternally distinguish'd in their Notions, or that it is not natural for Humane Nature to love Vertue; since some make themselves sick through Intemperance, though nothing is more na∣tural then the desire of Health; and some put out their Eyes, which are so tenderly regarded by Mankind. This Argument is of no force, unless you think these are good Conclusions; That there are no good Laws in Civil Societies, because men do sometimes Rebel; That there are no good Princi∣ples, because the Inconsiderate offer Violence to them; and That there is no Use of sober Reason in the World, because some are Distracted.

That any should say, as your last Objection supposes, That God might, if he please, alter these essential Notions of Good and Evil, is so monstrously extravagant, that I cannot but wonder at the Ignorance or Impudence of those who dare speak this blasphemous Falshood. At their Impu∣dence, in asserting that which supposes it to be no Absur∣dity for God, if he please, to make it Good that his Crea∣tures should not acknowledge him, which is a horrid Contradiction; or at their Ignorance, whilst they foolish∣ly affirm that which overthrows all Religion. For if we receive this Principle, That there is not any thing Indispen∣sably Good, or that the Divine Will is not regulated by it; they have undermin'd our Faith, and taken away all foun∣dation of Hope, leaving us, as far as in them lies, unassured but that God may if he will condemn us for yielding Obe∣dience to him, and that it is Just too if he doe it, notwith∣standing he hath declar'd the contrary.

When Aristander had proceeded so far, he desir'd all the Company, except 〈◊〉〈◊〉, that they would please to withdraw for a while into the next Room; for his Chirur∣geons were come to dress his Wounds. Which when they had open'd, Well, said Aristander, how is it? We cannot promise much, said the Chirurgeons, as to your Recovery, for we are afraid we shall not be able to prevent a Gan∣grene. Aristander perceiving in their Countenances that by the Rules of their Art they discern'd more Danger then they did express to him, desir'd that his Friends might be call'd in. They return'd; and when they had enquir'd con∣cerning the state of his Body, I have receiv'd, said Aristander, no unwelcome news; for Happiness can never come too soon. I have alwayes made the Belief of my Soul's Im∣mortality one of the chief Principles of my Actions: for whilst I consider'd its nature, and perceiv'd that it would not fail to subsist after my Body, having a Duration assign'd to it commensurate to Eternity, I could not but under∣stand how contemptible that short space of time is which God hath allotted to our Continuance in this lower World in respect of that which is to succeed it; and thereupon I in∣fert'd, that the Happiness which we enjoy in this state is not comparable to that which awaits us after our separation from this Flesh; and consequently, that it is an Essential part of true Prudence, to be infinitely more sollicitous that we may be happy hereafter, then to avoid any present In∣conveniences. And since I know that there is no way to that Felicity which I hope for but by Death, and remember that Death is a very short passage to it, I should be untrue to my Principles, and abandon my best hopes, if I were un∣willing to die.

I perceive, said Synthnescon, making a Reply to Aristander's Discourse, that your Courage is the last Friend that will take leave of you; and I cannot but approve your love of an Opinion which is so pleasant, that some of those who were not sure that it was true have profess'd that they would never suffer themselves to be perswaded against it whilst they live. I grant that the right Government of

our Life depends upon true Principles, and that we cannot attain Happiness by the Consequences of false Opinions; and I must acknowledge that the Principle which you have mention'd is very noble and worthily fit to have a Directive Influence upon the whole course of our present life, if we were assur'd of its Truth. But I have been told that we have no Soul distinct from the Body, and that what we call by that name is only a Contemperation of Corporeal Humours, and a Connexion of those Integral Parts of which the Body doth consist; and that when this vigo∣rous Crasis is destroy'd by mortal Sickness, and the Bodily frame taken in pieces by Death, then that which you call Soul ceaseth to be, as Musical Harmony vanisheth with Sound; and can no more subsist after Death then a Figure is able to remain after the dissolution of Figurated matter. Some express themselves thus, That all the Soul which we have is compos'd of Material Principles, and resolv'd into them by Death; that is, our Spirit is nothing but a knot of united Atoms, and that Death by discomposing the Con∣texture doth dissipate us into loose Particles.

I know very well, said Aristander, that some are not wil∣ling to think that the Soul doth exist after Death, and have taken great pains to object as much as they can against its Immortality. But I have been told by men wiser then these Dissenters, that Humane Souls are Immaterial Sub∣stances, and therefore incapable of that Dissolution which the Body suffers by Death; it being a known Principle in true Philosophy, That the Corruption of Material Subjects is brought to pass only by a separation of conjoyn'd Parts, that is, by Division, which belongs only to Bodies whose essential property is Quantity. That the Soul is in no danger of such Dissolution, I have good reason to think by those grounds of hope which I find in my own Experience. I am now old, and yet I perceive my self to be the same that I was fifty years ago. I have worn away many Bodies since I was young, and therefore this same I which remains still must be a Soul, and that Immaterial. I cannot but believe that if I had nothing in my self distinct from this corrup∣tible

Body, or that if Death had any wedge able to cleave my Soul, I should have seen some Chip fall from it yester∣day when my Arm was sawn off, and have felt my Soul grown less then it was before. I did not, I am the same I still, and I do not doubt but I should be so if the other Arm were cut off, and after that my Feet, and then the rest of those Parts which constitute this Bodily Frame. Ha∣ving this sensible assurance, I take the more Confidence to believe that I shall eternally exist in this Rational Nature which now makes me my self.

I know some say that Immaterial Beings, if there are any, may be Mortal, though not by Separation of Parts, yet some other way unknown to us: I suppose they mean Annihilation. To which I answer, that though I cannot but acknowledge God may, if he will, destroy what he hath made, and at his pleasure take away that Being which is deriv'd from his Power; yet I think it Absurd to suppose that he doth Annihilate Souls, because it is contrary to that Method which he observes in other parts of the Universe, nothing of which doth so perish. And I must esteem it too great a Boldness for any man to affirm that we are re∣duc'd to Nothing by Death, because he doth not know whither we go. If he say that the Soul is of that nature, that it can have no Being out of the Body, he falls upon the fore-mention'd Rock, and must say that it is Annihilated by Separation; for else it will exist out of the Body.

But because by your Objections you seem rather to ima∣gine that the Soul is nothing really distinct from the Cor∣poreal Substance, I will make no further enquiry whether Immaterial things can perish, but rather endeavour to shew you sufficient Cause to believe that Humane Souls are In∣corporeal. You cannot but know, Synthnescon, that this Word Soul, and others correspondent to it in different Lan∣guages, hath been long us'd in the World; and I take it for granted that it signifies something, and suppose that none will venture to affirm that those learned Persons who made use of it in their Writings did intend to signifie nothing by it but a Body; or though some may judge them highly mis∣taken

in thinking it had any other true meaning; yet as I doubt not but the Venerable Ancients knew very well what they said, so I think it may easily be prov'd that the Notion of an Immaterial Substance distinct from the Body, which they intended to express by it, is natural and true.

That the Soul is not a Temperament of Corporeal Hu∣mours is manifest in this, that it is neither a Good nor a Bad Contemperation. If it be a healthful Temperament only, then we have no Soul when we are Sick; if an unhealthful, then we are dead when we are Well. Besides, if the Soul were only a Crasis of the Body, it would be capable of no Distempers, but by a fit of the Gout, the pain of the Stone, the heat of a Fever, or some other sickness depending upon indispos'd Matter: Whereas it is manifest that it hath ma∣ny Diseases which arise not from Dilatation or Compres∣sion of the Matter, Obstruction or Inflammation of the Hu∣mours, or Solution of Continuity: The Troubles of Con∣science, which arise from Moral Causes, being no more ca∣pable of being remov'd by a Physician's Receipt, then the Gout can be cur'd with a Moral Lecture.

The Soul is not a Contexture of Material Parts, for that is nothing really distinct from the whole Body; but that the Soul is not the Body, Part of it, or any Corporeal thing, we have many good assurances. Those who would know what others are, do rationally seek a satisfaction of their Desire by conversing with them; and such as would know what they themselves are, must converse with themselves. It is necessary to observe this Method, for there is no other way to come to the Knowledge of our Souls. Since the Essences of all things are veil'd, we must endeavour to know them by their Operations; for the Forms of things are only intelligible by the Properties which are peculiar to their respective Natures, and these distinct Properties reveal themselves only by different Operations. Whilst we are intent upon this Contemplation, we shall find in our selves the Acts of an Intellectual Essence, which upon strict Examination will appear to be of such an excellent Nature, that they transcend the finest Modifications, and exceed the most subtile Motions, of Bodies.

Those who acknowledge nothing but Material Beings in the World, and make our Sensation the effect of Motion, do also grant that our highest Perceptions rise but to Ima∣gination, which operates only by Corporeal Phantasms, that is, Images fram'd in the Brain according to those vari∣ous Impressions which are made upon the Organs of Sense by the Impulses of external Objects. If therefore we can make it appear that we have in our selves the Notions of things which were never capable of Sensible Representa∣tion, we may justly conclude that we have a higher Mode of Perception then Imagination, and consequently are ennobled with an Immaterial Principle of Knowledge.

That we are acquainted with many things of which we cannot have notice by the help of any Sensible Images, is manifest, in that we understand the Logical Notion of Causes, Effects, other mutual Respects of things, and Universality; in that we have cognizance of Mathemati∣cal Terms, as Proportions of Figures, Symmetry of Magni∣tudes, Bredth abstracted from Depth, Inequality and Di∣stance; in that we find also in our Souls the Percepti∣on of Moral Congruities and Repugnancies, the Know∣ledge of Good and Evil, the Nature of Vertue, Principles of Justice, the Decencies of Gratitude, Deliberation and Li∣berty of Will: To these I might adde the Species of Rea∣son, of Infinite Space, Eternal Duration, and the Notion of Perception it self: we discern also Theological Truths shining there, as the lively Idea of God pourtrayed in his Divine Attributes, and the sense of our Dependence upon him. These things have no Signatures in Matter, are no Sensible Objects nor Phantasms of Corporeal Beings de∣riv'd through our Senses, or excited in us by the Impresses of Bodily Motion; and therefore we ought to conclude that the Incorporeal Idea's by which we know these things are Congenial to our Souls, and also to rest assured that they are Immaterial.

If the Soul were only a few thick Curds inclos'd with a Bony Skull, and all things without us be only Bodies; it is no more possible that any knock of dull Matter should

be able to beat the subtile Notion of a Deity into our Heads, then it is to make an Intelligent Posset of Sack and Milk. What sort of Glass is that in which you can hope to repre∣sent to our Eyes Comparisons, Similitudes and Dissimili∣tudes? If the Soul were Corporeal, it could no more be sensible by an external Motion that it is a Being which Un∣derstands, Reasons and Discourses, then an Artist can make a Looking-glass which will shew the Images of things that are Invisible. We have the fore-mention'd Idea of our Soul, and it is clearer then any Conception which we are able to frame of Bodily nature, and yet no Corporeal Mat∣ter could represent any such thing to us; it is necessary therefore to conclude that this Knowledge arises from the Innate Power of an Immaterial Principle.

The Soul doth not only shew the Excellency of its Un∣derstanding Faculty by a simple Apprehension of single Ob∣jects, which it takes in to furnish it self with fit materials of Discourse; but doth also compare their several Natures, consider their different Properties, and contemplate their various Respects, and so arrives at an useful Knowledge of things. By this Discursive Power we are enabled to frame Arguments, to make Inferences, to pronounce concerning the Similitude and Dissimilitude of things, to design set Ends of our Operations, to chuse fit Means, and reject such as are unfit for our purpose; and by a rare Activity of this Intellectual Faculty the Soul doth with an unspeakable quickness apply it self to the Contemplation of all things, and march in a few minutes through the whole Region of Intelligible Objects, and so declares how far its Acts are exalted above any thing which is discernable in Bodies as∣sisted only by Motion. I know very well that some, who affirm that all the Phaenomena in the World may be re∣solv'd by Matter and Motion, will say that these Operations are not manag'd by virtue of any Immaterial Principle, but by the Impulse and Re-action of agitated Bodies. But we must deny that this is possible, except we will be so absurd as to say That whatsoever is moved doth perceive, and so grant that a Stone hath Perception as well as a Man, that

the Paper feels the Pen that writes upon it, that a Viol while it is played upon is a Sensitive Creature; and con∣clude That the Soul is only a little fine dust which feels the force of Arguments, That Atoms make Syllogisms, That Disputation is only some Aerial Particles blown up and down with a Philosophical wind, and That the whiffling dust which flies in the faces of Travellers doth take a di∣stinct notice of them as they pass upon the Road. If the Particles of Matter have no Sense in them, they can never produce it by any sort of Motion, unless we grant that there may be more Excellency in the Effect then in the Cause.

That there is a higher Principle of Knowledge in Hu∣mane Nature then moved Matter and its Re-action, appears further by those Reflex Acts of this Self∣knowing Substance in which the Soul becomes its own Object, and perceives that it doth perceive. All Matter is so extended that no part of it can act upon it self by a Revolution into it self, more then the end of one of our Fingers can touch it self, or the Eye see it self: And when Material things seem to act upon them∣selves, it is manifest to such as consider, that it is only one part that acts upon another part of the same thing. This Reflex Operation doth not only exclude the Senses, but is rais'd above the Power of Phancie: For that working only by the help of gross Phantasms is not able to perceive that it doth Imagine, because no Image of Perception can be convey'd to the Phancie by any Instrument of Sense. Shall we be so vain as to think that a Looking-glass doth not on∣ly represent our Image, but also see us when we stand be∣fore it, and reflecting upon that act discern that it doth see us? That Caves reverberate Sounds we know; but do they hear us too, and consider that they doe so? Foolish Lovers! You think you talk unheard in your solitary Walks; the hollow Rocks with which you converse are more pitiful then you imagine, they understand your complaints and resent your wrongs: Nay, your sympathizing Lutes hear the Airs you play, and are much affected with the proper Composition of your passionate Sonnets. No, no, Meden∣arete,

let us not believe such ridiculous things. Percep∣tion is not Re-action after Motion, but a Recognition of those Impressions which by Motion are made upon us, which is above the power of dull Matter.

I cannot but think also that the Soul doth sufficiently reveal its Immaterial Nature, whilst it collects the Percep∣tions of all the Senses, compares them together, orders the great variety of Phantasms which float in the Imagination, and makes a Judgment both of the Sense and Phancie. It is not any of the Senses, for they do never reprehend them∣selves; the Eye doth not judge of Hearing, nor the Ear of Tasts. It is not the Phancie, for that receives no Images of things but such as are deliver'd by the Senses; and yet we find a Principle in us which forms apprehensions of things contrary to those which are convey'd to us by the Organs of Sense, and rejects the Phantasms of Imagination as insufficient Assurances concerning the truth of external Objects: not pronouncing that either the Senses or the Phancie are deceiv'd, for it knows that they only declare their own Passions, which are really such as they seem to be; but discerns withall that it should be deceiv'd if it did alwayes believe things to be such as they are represent∣ed by those Images. When the Eye sees a Stick whose half is under water, it is pictur'd to the Imagination as crooked; but the Mind knowing that the Representations of Sense which are carried to the Brain by Coporeal Motion are made without Judgment, examines the Phantasm, and pro∣nounceth the Stick to be straight.

By this it plainly appears that the Soul is not a Corporeal Faculty: for they are all confin'd to their own single tasks, as the Eye to seeing, and the Ear to hearing; but the Soul hath an universal Perception, an unbounded capacity of Sensation extended to all things, even its own Percepti∣ons; and is plac'd amongst those little Powers which flow from it self, as a Supreme Judge of all their Operations. And as the Soul would be frequently deluded by more Senses then one, if in many cases it did not contradict Cor∣poreal Impressions, and frame another Judgment of things

then that which agrees with Sensible Representations; so it could never be able to withdraw it self from these bodily Images that it might clearly discern what is true, if it were not an Immaterial Principle; neither could it make results contrary to the Perception of the Sensitive Faculties, if it were not a distinct Power Superiour to them.

Though these things are abundantly sufficient to assure us what kind of thing the Soul is; yet, as if it desir'd to ap∣pear plainly to all who are willing to be acquainted with it, the truth of its nature is discover'd in many other Operati∣ons: but I will instance only in that of Remembrance. If the Soul were only Matter, the Notions of past things would seem only to have been written in water; for we know that our Bodies are continually wasted with insensible Transpirations. The parts of this Atomical Compositi∣on still marching away, and other succeeding in their rooms, if nothing in us were fix'd and immutable, we should not only find it difficult to remember the Observa∣tions of our former Life, but be apt to forget what we our selves were in time past: or, if Memory be only fading Motion, like that which we discern upon the Surface of Water after a Stone is thrown into it, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 is impossible to imagine by what Preservatives this feeble Trembling should continue so long as we know we can remember. For many years after this Motion must needs have ceas'd, we find the Phantasms of things long before past as fresh as if they had but newly happened.

I will not trouble you, Synthnescon, said Aristander, conti∣nuing his Discourse, with any more Arguments concern∣ing this Matter. The Actions which I have nam'd do prove the Soul to be an Incorporeal Substance; it being evident to any Ingenuous Philosopher that no Contexture of Atoms is capable of such Operations, and that it is im∣possible they should be produc'd only by the Motion of Matter agitated. But I would adde this to what I have said already; That though I do really believe that the fore∣mention'd Arguments are in themselves certain Truths, and do sufficiently prove the Immortality of our Souls; yet I

think God hath given us a higher assurance concerning this Article of Faith then any thing which I have mention'd: I mean that our Immortality is better demonstrated from the Resurrection and Ascension of our Saviour then by any Apodeictical Proofs drawn from other Topicks. All are not prepar'd for Philosophical Arguments, because many of them are subtile, and so above the reach of weak Capacities; neither are they of force to uphold a Belief in those who understand them no longer then they do carefully attend to the Coherence of every Demonstration. Our Saviour rising from the Grave, and appearing in the same Body in which he was Crucified, both after his Resurrection to ma∣ny of his Friends upon Earth, and after his Ascension to one of his Apostles from Heaven, gave sufficient notice that he had overcome the Power of that Death which he suffer'd upon the Cross, and by the truth of his glorious Existence exhibited an evident Testimony of the Soul's Incorruptibi∣lity. And I must tell you, Synthnescon, that the conviction which we receive from this Argument doth so far tran∣scend the satisfaction which we find in all others which have been produc'd for the Determination of this Question, that Christian Religion may be truly said to have the Glo∣ry of giving a just Demonstration of the Life to come, and a clear Assurance of the Immortal Happiness of our future state.

Here Synthnescon reply'd, I cannot but acknowledge it, Aristander, as a very great Obligation, that you are pleas'd to allow us the benefit of your Conversation, especially at this time when your Repose is necessary to your Health; and if it were not for continuing a disturbance, I should beseech you to deliver me by your excellent Discourse from the vexation of some Objections which molest my Faith, and with which I find my self more troubled, because this Ar∣ticle is very Important. I understand very well, said Ari∣stander, that a freedom from Company would contribute nothing to the Restauration of my Health, and I assure you that I do not think that those few Hours of my Life which yet remain can be better imployed then in this sort

of Conversation, and therefore you have a fair leave to pro∣pound your scruples. Synthnescon accepting this courteous offer, began thus: I find it difficult to think that the Soul is any Immaterial Substance, because I cannot imagine how it should be joyn'd to this Body. I can hardly believe that there is any such strange sort of Glue which is able to fasten together two such different Natures. It seems to be an odde Marriage, wherein so subtile a Principle as you make the Soul, should desire to espouse to it self dull Matter; and yet if it would contract such an Union, it cannot, because it would pass through Matter, by reason of its all-penetra∣ting nature, and so be unable to take such fast hold as to make a Whole consisting of those two Parts which you call Soul and Body.

I rather phansie an Identity of things exprest by those two names, then an Union of distinct parts, and suppose the Soul and Body are rather One then United; because the Soul, which you magnifie so much for its innate Power, is not able to perform those noble Operations, for which you pro∣nounce it an Immaterial Substance, when the Body is dis∣temper'd by Excess of Meats or Drinks, or indispos'd by Diseases and old Age. Who is able to discourse rationally when he is drunk? The Extravagancies of Mad-men are notorious; the Operations of the Intellect wholly cease in Lethargies and Apoplexies: and I am apt to argue, that as the Soul suffers an Infancy when the Body is young, grows more vigorous in riper years, becomes decrepid in old Age, and is sick with the Body, so it also dies with it.

This Belief receives Confirmation from that which is observable in the manner by which Death seizeth upon us; for dying persons feel themselves perish by Degrees, they lose one Faculty after another, Speech, Memory, Sight and Hearing: And as the particular Senses which are proper to every Organ are taken away by the Prevalency of a Dis∣ease; so I suppose that whatsoever it is which you call Soul must needs be destroy'd by Death.

Besides this, if there be a Soul, it is Divisible, and there∣fore not Immortal; as may be perceiv'd in the Motion

which continues in the several Parts of a Body when the Whole is cut into pieces. What can be the reason of that Agitation, but that the Soul being commensurate with the Whole, is divided into every Part, and so moves them 〈◊〉〈◊〉 while, and after some time perisheth, being only a mortal Vigour of warm Spirits?

If it did escape these dangers, as you pretend it doth, I know not to what purpose it should then be continued in Being; for it cannot act out of the Body, and having no Operations it must needs be condemn'd to an unhappy Dulness in a most afflicting Solitude. It can neither hear Musical Sounds, nor see the Beautiful World, nor dis∣course, nor converse with others; and therefore it is ratio∣nal to suppose that it doth not Exist at all.

I must adde also, that what you call Soul in us seems to understand that dark Fate which awaits it in Death, and that this sad Presage makes men afraid to die. If the Soul were an Immortal Spirit able to subsist of it self, it should rejoyce to leave this Body, and it would find no reason to be enamour'd with it, if it be destinated to an Immortal Happiness, as you say it is, in the Separate state.

I have heard some say too, that if there be any such state, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 seems very strange that none of those Millions of Souls which are gone into the other World should return and give us notice of their condition; especially considering that the great affection which many of them before their Departure seem'd to have for their Friends here must needs make them willing, if they be able, to inform them in such a weighty affair, and concerning which they do exceedingly desire to be assured. These Arguments put together over∣throwing all Hopes, at least the Certainty, of a Future state, they suppose it rational to improve the present to all possi∣ble satisfaction: and though by reason of this Unbelief they do many things which you esteem vicious, and take that course of Life which you condemn; yet they think themselves justified by this, that they do but reap those Fruits which would perish if they were not gather'd, and that they should live to no purpose if they liv'd otherwise.

Aristander perceiving that Synthnescon had finish'd his Ob∣jections, reply'd thus: I am glad that you let us know what may be said against the Belief of our Immortality, because you have given us occasion to confirm this gene∣rous Truth, and to assure our selves that the Comfort which we take in it hath a sure foundation in the unperish∣able nature of the Soul which we have receiv'd from God. I will shew you the Vanity of those Arguments by which you endeavour to gain credit to the Errour of your discon∣solate Opinion. But before I answer your Objections particularly, I will premise a few things concerning the Temper and Design of the Panthnetists.

And first I must give you notice, that whilst they deny the Immortality of the Soul upon this Supposition, That there is no such thing in the World as Incorporeal Being, they beg the Question which they ought to prove, and think themselves great Philosophers when they have only affronted the Truth with bold Contradictions. I might tell you also that that shew of Argument which some of them take from the Death of the Body, is but of the same validity with the former Presumption, and makes as much for us as against us; since whilst they talk confidently of the state of the Dead, they know not what it is to Die-They pretend indeed to doe service to Mankind, and under∣take by their Principle to deliver us from those Fears which we are apt to apprehend in a Future state; but do really ad∣minister no higher Consolation, then those who tell poor Sailers when they are distress'd with ill weather, that with∣in a few hours they shall be drown'd. Which is infinitely below that encouragement which our Principle bestows upon those who pass through this tempestuous World; for it assures all, who do not make themselves incapable of it by a wicked Deportment in the way, of a safe Arrival in a happy Port after a few short Storms are past. The Pan∣thnetists also shew that they are no Friends of God, because they take away the greatest Verification of his Providence. It is well known that things are not alwayes brought to rights here; and that they induce men to think either that

there is no God, or else that he is not Good and Just, by saying that it shall not be done afterward. But the truth is, the chief use which they make of this false Notion is the Indulgence of a Vicious Life, in which they please them∣selves so much the more freely, as they are able to make themselves believe that they shall not be call'd to account for it in the Eternal World. But how unlikely they are to enjoy what they expect, I will shew you, by discovering the weak grounds upon which their Hope is built.

You are tempted to think that the Soul is not an Imma∣terial Substance, because, as you said, you cannot imagine how it should be united with one that is Material. But this Scruple need not trouble you, since it riseth only from the unknowableness of the manner of this Union. You might as well doubt whether the parts of Matter be united; for there is as much difficulty to apprehend the Connexion which one part of Matter hath with another, as in this Hy∣pothesis. Can you easily imagine with what Bond the parts of Iron are so fast lock'd together, or what Cement makes the Particles of hard Stone cleave so close to one another? If you say they are united by Juxta-position and Rest, we can as well phansie the Soul to be immediately united with the Body, as the parts of Matter to be after that fashion put close to one another; and it is as demonstrable that the Soul may move the Body, and be in no more danger of being divided from it, then two Bodies are of being dis-united when they are mov'd together. I grant that this Union is one of the greatest Secrets in Nature, but yet a most credi∣ble Truth; for having prov'd that the Soul is Incorporeal, and perceiving by Experience that it doth inform the Body by an intimate Presence, we have no reason to doubt the possibility of the fore-mention'd Conjunction, though we understand not the Physical way of this Mystical Incorpo∣ration. Neither would you have objected the Unfitness of this Marriage, if you had consider'd that he who appoint∣ed it made both Parties apt to be joyn'd together. For if Corporeal Matter had not been united with an Intelligent Principle, it could no other way have been exalted to that

Dignity which it now enjoys: and the Soul is requited for this Condescension, because there is no other means, as far as we can imagine, by which we could have attain'd that Knowledge which we have now of the nature of Matter, but by this intimate Conjunction with it.

Your second Objection is very unable to doe you service, for it offers only a faint Proof of Identity of Essence from the Sympathy which is perceiv'd to be betwixt different things. We cannot but grant that the Union of the Soul and Body is very strict, and that the Soul is by this close connexion much subjected to the Laws of Corporeal Na∣ture, and forc'd to have a deep sense of Bodily Infirmities; by which the All wise Creator hath engag'd it to take care of the Body, and to relieve its Necessities, being partly its own. By this Union also the Soul is made able to com∣mand the Body more easily, and at pleasure to communi∣cate its own virtue into the several parts thereof, by which means this Composition is made a most rare Automatous Machina: And whilst the Soul is made very sensible of the Perturbations which happen in the Animal Spirits, the Corporeal Passions are made a Trial of our Wisdom (we being put to learn carefully to distinguish betwixt those Motions which we find deriv'd into our Bodies from our own Wills, and those Impressions which the Soul receives from the Bodily Temper) and also an exercise and assu∣rance of Vertue; when the Soul is able not to grant that which the bodily Appetite doth not only crave, but makes us also feel great pain, whilst for reasons which it doth not understand we deny it, and so prove that we have got a Do∣minion over the Body, since we are not brutishly affected with every Passion which is rais'd in it by the Motion of Spirituous bloud, nor carried to Action according to those Provocations which are transmitted into the Phancie from the Impulse of External Objects. By which Experiment the Soul proves it self to be of an Immaterial Nature; for though it hath an actual Sensation of a fleshly Delight, yet by a noble Act of the Rational Will it chuseth a good which is contrary to fleshly Pleasure, and which no Corpo∣real

Faculty is able so much as to apprehend. By this which I have said, it is manifest that the Soul, though it be not one with the Body, may be capable of those Advanta∣ges and Disturbances which you mention'd; and being di∣stinct in Essence from the Body with which it is closely united, may receive considerable hinderances in its Operati∣ons from the Indisposition of the Animal Spirits in Sickness and old Age, and from the Confusion of Phantasms when the Bloud is drench'd too much in Wine, or swell'd with gross Humours, and the Brain clouded with Melancholick Fumes, and the Phancie deprav'd with black Vapours; the Soul remaining untouch'd in the vigour of her Intellectual Faculty, only hinder'd by the Distemper of those Instru∣ments which she is forc'd to use in this Conjunct State. So that the Inconveniences which you objected do no more prove that the Soul is weakned in her own Nature, then we can conclude our Foot to be lame, because we halt when one Shoe hath an higher heel then the other. It is not to be expected that, whilst the Soul is under such disad∣vantages, she should perform her usual Actions as well as at other times, more then that an Artist should express his best Skill with a bad Tool. But that the Essential Fa∣culties receive no damage in themselves, appears by those regular Operations which she doth again exert when the Body is restor'd to its proper Usefulness by the recovery of Health, by returning to a sober Temper, by awakening from Sleep, and victory over Apoplectical Distempers. Besides this, we have great reason to think our Souls Im∣mortal notwithstanding what happens to us in Sleep, since though they are then secluded from Converse with External Objects, they do frequently and, for ought we know, alwayes Act; neither do the sufferings of Mad-men weaken our Faith, since though they have extravagant Phancies, yet they Apprehend, which no Material thing can doe.

Your Argument taken from that which Dying persons feel, would signifie something, if we should take for truth whatsoever you have a mind to say. We know not what Sensation is in the Souls of Dying persons in that moment

when they leave the Body. We must grant that which is easie to be experimented, that when the Vital Heat is suf∣focated by Putrefied bloud, or exhausted by old Age, the Members of the Body will receive no Influence from the Soul, and the Immortal Spirit will then go away, as Birds flie voluntarily out of old Nests; or is forc'd out of an unfit lodging, which afterward will decay by the absence of the former Inhabitant: But that doth no more prove that the Soul perisheth, then it is true that a Tenant dies because he is turn'd out of his house by his Landlord.

You added, I remember, that the Soul is not put out, but cut in pieces sometimes, and so must needs die. To prove this you urge the Motion which remains in the Divi∣ded parts of a Body. But you will perceive that this is a very weak Argument, if you consider that the Activity of the Animal Spirits can easily move the Divided parts, till by that Motion they are dissipated; but it doth not give us any just occasion to think that the Soul is divided, since it was prov'd before that it is Immaterial: and this Phaenome∣non is otherwise fairly salvable, the Soul having a power to withdraw it self intirely into one part, or to go away from the whole, as it pleaseth, without suffering any prejudice by the Division of the bodily Members.

Whereas you phansie that if the Soul should subsist in the Separate state, it would be unhappy, being depriv'd of all the Organs of bodily Sense, and so render'd unable to understand or doe any thing; I crave leave to tell you, that though many of our present Faculties must needs be buried in a kind of Sleep by Death, and though the parti∣cular description of the Future state in which our Souls shall be after their Separation from the Body, doth by many de∣grees transcend the capacity of our Reason, and that God hath not supply'd that Defect with the clearness of Revela∣tion; yet being fully satisfied as to the Existence of our Souls after Death by the fore-mention'd Arguments, I am not displeas'd that the Happiness of my Future state is so great that I cannot now comprehend it: and as I trust the Goodness of God for my Felicity, so I leave the Manner of

making me happy to his Wisdom; not doubting but he will bestow upon the Soul, or awake out of it, Faculties suiteable to that condition. And since the Soul is an In∣telligent Principle, and contains in it self a power of uni∣versal Perception, by which it now understands what is re∣presented by the Organs of Sense; so when it is destitute of these Instruments, it may well enough perceive after some more transcendent manner in a degree proportionable to that which we attribute to God and Angels. He who made our Souls can easily give them, when they are out of these Bodies, the Species of all things which will concern us to know, if we did not understand them before, or to remember, if we did. That because they cannot act as they do now, therefore they shall be able to doe nothing at all; is an Argument no better then this, A man cannot sing, because his Lute is broke. A Country Clown doth scarce understand any other use of his Hands then to plow, to dig, to sow, to reap, or to thrash; but he would be laugh'd at if he should affirm that there were no other be∣sides these: for we know to what excellent Imployments they are put by Lutenists, Painters, and other Artists. And we may rationally think that there are noble Operations in the other State of which this Principle is capable, since it doth declare an admirable Capacity at present; and so there is no fear that we shall be idle in the other World. That disconsolate Solitude which you talk'd of is as little to bedreaded; for the Ethereal Regions must needs be so well Peopled, that we cannot easily be alone, and the Com∣panions to which Good Souls will then be gather'd are so desirable, that they will have no great mind to return hither.

Whereas you said that if Souls be Immortal, it is strange that they are unwilling to leave the Body, and that if they be destinated to a happy condition, it is impossible but they should rejoyce in the near approches of that Felicity to which Death doth transport them; I must desire you to remember that this World is possess'd by two sorts of In∣habitants, Good men and Bad. Bad men do not desire to

leave their Bodies, neither is there any reason why they should; for though their Souls are Immortal by Nature, yet they must be unhappy by the appointment of Justice. They deny there is any Future state, and heartily wish that there were none, because they know that they have no share of Felicity in it. They are afraid to die, lest they should be punish'd: So Malefactors are unwilling to leave the Prison, because then they are carried to Execution. But this is no Argument against the Immortality of the Soul, or the Naturalness of those Desires which we have of it, since we know that men do sometimes make the Life which they enjoy in this World undesirable, though Natu∣rally it is very dear unto them. Good men are not only willing to resign this Life, but some have most passionately desir'd that they might. History doth supply us with va∣rious Instances of Excellent Persons, who have esteem'd the time of their Dissolution the Epoche of a better Nati∣vity, and have protested to their Friends an absolute un∣willingness to run the course of their Terrene Life over again: and these not Calamitous persons wearied with the Miseries of the World, who like vex'd Gamesters throw up their Cards, not because they have no mind to play any more, but because their Game is bad: No, Synthnescon, such as have enjoy'd all the Delights of this present World, and they have had such a clear Presage of their Future Bliss, that they complain'd of Death only for those Delays by which they thought themselves kept from the Possession of Immortal Joyes.

It is true that Naturally we have an unacceptable Sense of our Dissolution, which proceeds partly from the long and intimate Commerce which we have had with the Bo∣dy, and is one of the most considerable Imperfections which we contract by the Incorporation of our Souls, and is high∣ly increas'd in all who have plung'd themselves deep into the love of Sensual Pleasures, prevails much in Melancholick Tempers, and shakes weak Believers who have not taken pains to know the reason of their Faith, or to prepare them∣selves for the Future state which they pretend to believe.

But as it is fit that we should willingly stay in the Body till our work be finish'd, so the difficulties which attend our Departure from hence are easily conquerable by all Good men, who are usually so far from fearing Death as a consi∣derable Enemy, that they do many times court it as a serviceable Friend.

That which you suggested against the Reality of a Future Life from the not returning of the Dead to give us Informa∣tion concerning it, hath been often urg'd, but for the most part insolently, and alwayes falsly. Will not men believe what is true, except they be told by such Messengers as they require? We know not what Laws are appointed to such as are remov'd into the other World; but we may reasona∣bly think that they cannot go whither they please, or doe what they will. Must blessed Souls leave their repose to inform those concerning Truth, who are such Infidels that they will not believe their Saviour? If the Damn'd Spirits be suppos'd to have so much Charity, which is very unlike∣ly, yet how is it possible that they should shake off their Chains of Darkness, and break out of their Prisons, to come into the Regions of Light, to preach Immortality? You ought to remember, Synthnescon, that God hath indulg'd our weakness, and sent many from the other World to give us notice of the certainty of a Future state; the Saviour of Men being the chief Instance of this Favour, who appear'd in Life after he was Crucified, and shew'd himself to many hundred Witnesses, whose Testimony is beyond all ex∣ception.

But to make an end of this Discourse; I grant, as you said in your last words, that notwithstanding all the Satisfacti∣on which God hath offer'd in this particular by the De∣monstrations of Reason and the Confirmations of his Holy Gospel, Infidels do still pretend want of assurance as to the truth of a Future life; and having objected the obscure no∣tice of what they shall be hereafter, think they have suffici∣ently warranted their present Sensuality against all just Re∣proof, and, by a Philosophy fit for Beasts, conclude, that be∣cause they have no Souls, they ought to indulge their Bo∣dies

in their most brutish Appetites. But the defect of their Discourse is manifest in this, that they judge them∣selves to be rare discerners of Truth, because they do not be∣lieve it; that they have great Wits, because they are able to make Sophistical Cavils against that which they have scarce ever took into their thoughts but with a purpose to oppose it; and esteem themselves wise in running the greatest ha∣zard in the world, though they have not spent much time in weighing the flightness of those Reasons for which they doe so, nor have consider'd with a just seriousness how infi∣nitely the solid Happiness of an Immortal state doth exceed those fleshly Pleasures which they hold upon uncertain terms, the longest Date of their Fruition which is possible being only a very short Life.

Here let me tell you, Synthnescon, one thing which hath been observ'd by many wise men, That seeing the Credibi∣lity of an Immortal state doth exceed all the Probability of their bold Conjectures by as many degrees as the Bliss of Heaven transcends the vain Pleasures of a Sensual life, it must needs be some extravagant love of such Liberties as are inconsistent with other Articles of Faith which are joyn'd with this of Immortality, and which are repugnant to those Consequences that follow from this Principle, which makes them so boldly to expose themselves to the danger of an Eternal Misery by Unbelief. It is a known Rule, That such as live Viciously will endeavour to believe Falsly; and therefore I would advise you, in stead of a busie pursuit of needless Arguments, to seek a confirm'd sense of the Truth of the Soul's Immortality, by living conformably to those Innate Principles of Vertue which shine in serene Spirits, and to await that clear Assurance which is darted into Holy Minds with those heavenly Rayes of Divine Light which do frequently appear in all purg'd Souls: And when you enjoy your Faculties in a pacate temper, think with your self whether it be probable that the most good God will ever quench or dissatisfie those sincere De∣sires which his Goodness hath produc'd in his true Friends, and which makes them not only to know, but to love their

Immortality, not only to believe, but to delight in their Faith, hoping to enjoy God after Death more then before. Those who find their Souls enamour'd with the Divine Goodness, are not only prepar'd for the Celestial Joyes of which that holy temper of Soul can never be destitute, but have also an intrinsecal Assurance from the Principle it self; being enabled by the Power of it, notwithstanding the Vio∣lence of all Corporeal Assaults, to prefer the pure Delights of Vertue before all muddy Contentments of Sensual Plea∣sure, and to esteem the generous Satisfaction of an Honest Mind infinitely above the greatest of those base Advantages which are Viciously obtain'd.

Here Aristander broke off his pleasant Discourse, and the Company began to withdraw. Medenarete, converted by Aristander, or rather conquer'd by Truth, took her leave with this Complement; I humbly thank you, most noble Ari∣stander, for all the Courtesies which I have receiv'd from you; and I protest to you, that I think it a Favour infinitely great∣ter to be at this time redeem'd from the Errours of my Mind by your charitable Converse, then to receive my Bro∣ther safe from that Danger in which yesterday he must have lost his Life, if it had not been for your benigne Assi∣stance. Synthnescon being oblig'd to wait upon his Sister to her Lodging, went away with her; but he made first a De∣claration of his Thankfulness and Love to Aristander with such an affectionate Air, that those who looked upon him could not but think that he would much rather have stay'd and died with him, then have felt the most unpleasing re∣sentment of his Departure. Bentivolio, Panaretus and Atha∣nasius would have taken their leaves too, but Aristander would not permit them. His Chirurgeons telling him that it would be convenient for him to retire from Compa∣ny because he had not many Minutes to live; Nay then, said he, I will improve them as well as I can: and having spent some time in Discoursing with his Friends, he call'd for his two Sons, Callistus and Hilarion, and gave them his Pa∣ternal Blessing; but before he suffer'd them to take their last leave, he entertain'd them with this short Speech.

Since God doth allow you my Presence but for a few Mi∣nutes, I would give you some Directions for the better guidance of your Future Life, which I hope you will ob∣serve with no less care then if I were present with you in those moments wherein you shall have occasion to use them. You are now arriv'd at that Age which makes you capable of governing your selves according to Reason, and therefore it is requisite that you should now design to your selves as the End of your Life that Felicity of which your Nature is capable. It consists in a serene Tranquil∣lity of Mind during the time of this short Life, and in a just Preparation for those higher Joyes which await all Good men in the Eternal World when they leave these Bodies. Those who propound no set End of Life unto themselves seem to be born to no purpose, and live by chance; and such as design a lower matter then that which I have nam'd must needs live vainly.

Having seriously consider'd this Direction, and fix'd your Resolutions concerning those things which you are to doe according to it, make all your Actions one continued Ope∣ration, that is, one Chain of Means fast link'd together, which you must alwayes use, to make your selves Masters of your End. The Design is so considerable, that it is fit you should refer the Endeavours of your whole Life towards the Accomplishment of it.

For the good Government of your Life, you must re∣member that it is principally necessary that you learn to know your selves: For the true understanding of your own Nature is the first Foundation of all wise Thoughts and prudent Actions. When you enquire concerning your selves, you will find that you are Created Beings con∣sisting of a Reasonable Soul joyn'd with a Fleshly Body, ap∣pointed by your Maker to live in the Society of Neigh∣bours like your selves.

Whilst you perceive you were Created, you cannot but think it is the most worthy Action of your Life to endea∣vour to know your Creator, and when you know him, to honour him; which you shall then doe when you make

your selves like unto him in all his imitable Perfections; if you love him above your selves and all other things, if you obey his Commands with humble Sincerity, submit to his Providence with a chearful Patience, and labour as much as you can to make him known and lov'd by others. You are oblig'd to this, because you have not only receiv'd your Being from God, but do depend intirely upon his Good will for all those Blessings which make you Happy in this and the Future state. It is necessary also to your Tranquillity; for if you neglect this Direction, the Peace of your Mind will be disturb'd with the sense of your Ingratitude, and you will alwayes fear the just wrath of that potent God whom you have disingenuously slighted.

Whilst you consider the Parts of which you consist, you will find that they are not equal in Dignity, but that the Soul doth far transcend the Body, and which will therefore require your more careful Observance of it. The Soul is of an Immaterial Nature, and Immortal in its Duration, and therefore you must value its Concerns as things of greater Worth then those which relate to the Body. It is prin∣cipled with an essential Love of Vertue, which you must never oppose; for if you do, it will alwayes condemn you. You will discover also that it is accomplish'd with diffe∣rent Faculties, which you must learn to order prudently, or else the state of your Thoughts and Actions will be con∣founded.

Your chief Faculty is Understanding, which is a Principle capable of all Knowledge; and you must make it your care to perfect it with that Wisdom which consists in the Know∣ledge of God and his Works. But of all Pieces of Learning be sure you be not Ignorant in Moral Philo∣sophy, for that will direct you in the Practice of your Duties, and so conduct you in the true way to your Hap∣piness.

To this Power God hath added Sensitive Appetite; which is prudently put into our Nature as a necessary Pre∣servative

of our Subsistence. For since there are many things which we continually need to support our Being, by our Concupiscible Faculty we are prone to desire that sort of Objects; and some things being hurtful to our Nature, we have an Irascible Power, which upon the Per∣ception of any Adverse Object is ready to make Resistance.

But because the Sensitive Appetites are in themselves blind Powers, and may doe us much mischief if they be irregular∣ly applied, you must alwayes make these lower Faculties yield Obedience to Reason. For you must know that be∣sides the two fore-mention'd Principles there is also be∣stow'd upon us a Power of Deliberation and Choice, by which we are made as it were Tutors to our selves: and therefore we ought frequently to consider whether that which we desire or refuse doth promote our Happiness; and whether that which seems to please us be not a real Evil, though it appear in the form of Goodness; and by a wise Authority which is put into our hands, so to regulate our Appetites, that they oppress us not with the Excesses of Vain Desires, or tor∣ment us with the Madness of wrathful Passions. By the good use of this Choice you may obtain that Excellency which is call'd Vertue: And this you ought to seek above all the Pleasures in the World, because it is the highest Perfection of which we are capable, and is absolutely ne∣cessary to our Tranquillity, the state of Vice being alwayes a Discomposure.

Since you are made to live in the Company of o∣thers like your selves in Nature, the pleasure of your Life depends very much upon friendly Society, and therefore you must endeavour to preserve an intire Charity with all your Neighbours; and as you hope to be lov'd by others, you must love them so truly, as never to doe that to them which you would not have them doe to you.

The Rules which concern the ordering of your Actions in all Cases are very many, because the Circumstances which make various Cases are infinite; and therefore I can∣not

give you a perfect Catalogue of them all; but you are sufficiently supplied with the Holy Gospel of our Saviour, which I commend to your frequent perusal, and charge you to reade the Commands which you find there as Indispen∣sable Laws, not to be talk'd of, but obey'd. You will hear also soft Whispers from your own Souls, telling you truly what you ought to doe in most Cases. I have left you some particular Assistances in writing, which will direct you amongst other things what Books to reade. The Rules which you will be able to frame to your selves by so many Helps, you must learn by Experience to apply pru∣dently to all Emergencies of your Life. At present I shall only acquaint you with a few Directions which come into my Mind.

Perform all loving Obedience to your Mother, whom I have made your Guardian, knowing that now you must look upon her as your Father too. Begin as soon as you can to accomplish your selves with those Perfections of which you are capable, remembring that Youth is a very Imperfect thing, and that the future Hopes of young men do so much depend upon an early Care, that the neglect of it doth alwayes make the Happiness of their after-life diffi∣cult, and in some cases unattainable. Whilst you are young, you must be afraid of your selves; for that Age is so inconsiderate, that though it most needs Advice, yet it least regards it. You know not by how many Years your Life is measur'd, and therefore make such use of your present Time, that you may not be prevented by Death or hin∣dered by Diseases from doing that which is proper to your respective Ages. Take pains to adorn your selves with all the decent Qualities which may make you acceptable to Wise and Good men. Be not discourag'd with any Diffi∣culties which you meet in the beginning of your Endea∣vours, neither despond upon the perception of your Imbe∣cillity; remembring that there was a time when the most famous Philosophers could not reade the Alphabet. Let nothing rifle the Modesty of your Souls, which is a connate

Preservative by which God hath fortified you against many Enormities. Keep the Virgin-purity of your Souls un∣spotted. If you consent to sin, you will run into those Er∣rours which you will never be able to forgive your selves whilst you live. Bestow so much care upon your Body as will make it a fit Instrument for a thoughtful Soul. Know the Proportions of your Meat, Drink, Sleep and Recreations, and do not exceed them. Abhor Idleness as the Mother of innumerable Sins; but in toilsome Labours remember that the frail Body is not able to hold an equal pace with an immortal Spirit. Neglect not Decency in your Apparel, Gracefulness in your Gestures, or Handsome∣ness of Speech; only be sure to avoid Vanity in them all: I would not have you sordid, or affectate. Take heed of contracting any foolish Habit, because it is not only a Deformity, but hard to be put off. You must alwayes take an especial care with whom you associate your selves; for you can no more promise your selves to come away unhurt by Evil Company, then you can assure your Health in a Pest-house. When you think of disposing your selves in a particular way of Life, take that course to which you are most naturally inclin'd; a particular Disposition is an Indi∣cation of Fitness: and when you have engag'd your Thoughts, endeavour at a moderate Perfection of Ability to discharge your Undertaking. You must not think that you are come into a World where nothing is to be suffer'd, and therefore inure your selves betimes to bear little Hard∣ships: and since you will be tempted with Flatteries from the way to true Felicity, be sure you have a watchful Eye against the Delusions of Sensuality. Take heed of being enslav'd with a fond Self-love, and of being abus'd by the troublesome effect of it, Self-pity, or depress'd with too affectionate a sympathy with the mortal Body. Endea∣vour to get Knowledge, considering that an Ignorant per∣son is but a blind Beast; yet esteem humble Obedience in∣finitely above the greatest Knowledge, and be sure to af∣fect Goodness more then Honour or Riches. When you

are tempted to be proud, remember the fallen Angels; and when you perceive Humility disparag'd, think of your Saviour. Check the first Relishes of Self-excellency which you find in your Souls; if they grow Vigorous, they will ri∣pen into Arrogant Thoughts and Deportment. When men speak of Honour, know that they usually mistake it; for they make many vain things the Foundations of that which proceeds only from Vertue. In your Actions pro∣pound to your constant Imitation one or two noble Examples, and think often whether that which you doe would please Brave men; and judge it a great matter to deserve the Estimation of those who are Good, and ac∣compt it a pitiful Weakness of Mind to fall out of your own favour by the Disapprobation of those whom you cannot but despise. Look upon Contentment with your Portion as the greatest Inheritance which was ever enjoy'd in this poor World; and having a moderate Estate be thankful, and know that there only the purest Tran∣quillity is to be found. Be obliging in your Deport∣ment; and according to that Revenue which God shall bestow upon you be Charitable to the Poor; and let the Measure of your Alms be above the twentieth part of that which you yearly receive. Avoid Envy in your way of Life as far as prudently you may; if you have any thing that is Excellent, you shall be sure to meet it, and it is a very troublesome Devil. Be strict in the Ob∣servation of Temperate Rules; for Sobriety is the best sort of Physick, and Health obtain'd by it one of the greatest Pleasures in the World. Reproch none for their natural Imperfections, and let the Deformity which appears in the Evil Manners of others alwayes endear your own Vertue to you; and when you see the Unfor∣tunate Examples of dreadful Falls in many whom you thought safe, learn to secure your own Station. Re∣member that by reason of Ignorance, Incogitancy and Vicious 〈◊〉〈◊〉 men doe themselves more hurt then they suffer from others; and therefore learn to watch your selves more then others, and to be less angry 〈◊〉〈◊〉

others then your selves. Understand your Concerns your selves; and when you are forc'd to ask Advice, take heed that the Person whom you consult have no Interest in your Affair; for that will warp his Counsel to your prejudice. Overcome all those Apprehensions which you are ready to entertain from the doubtfulness of Pub∣lick Accidents by Faith in God's Providence; and secure your selves against the Disturbance which may arise from any thing which happens in your private Affairs, by re∣membring that you shall have need of Patience as long as you stay in the World. Be alwayes true to your Con∣science, and the good Testimony of that will secure your Peace against the most malicious Calumny. Be constant in the Observance of all Vertuous Rules; and when your Goodness is become Habitual, it will be a Torment for you to Sin. Contradict not your Prin∣ciples at any time, in hope to make an Excuse: Com∣pany was never appointed as a Toleration for Vice; and in Solitude it is a Baseness not to reverence your self so far as to make you ashamed to doe that which is evil in your own Presence. What you understand to be your Duty, doe; remembring that Knowledge without Practice doth us no more good then Indigested Meat, and that the vain Renewall of ineffectual Purposes is the sign of a Con∣temptible Spirit. When you find a convenient Opportu∣nity to promote your Happiness in any Instance, make use of it; and do not believe that being slighted it will alwayes come when you are pleas'd to call for it. When you begin to be weary of any laborious Attendance to which you are engag'd by Vertue, quicken your Industry with the Hopes of that vast Reward which is promis'd to the Diligence of Good men in the Presence of their Saviour: and when you find your work hard, pray to that good Spirit which is al∣wayes ready to assist all sincere Endeavours. Think often that when the Judge of the World shall appear, many will be condemn'd; and take heed lest you be of that Number.

And now, because my Death approches, I will make an End of my Discourse. I know, Dear Children, that you

have a great Love for me, and that you think your selves not a little oblig'd to me for the Care which I have taken of you since you were born; and therefore let me tell you that you shall express your affectionate Gratitude in a way most acceptable to me, if you conform your Lives both to those Principles and those other Counsels which upon va∣rious occasions you have receiv'd from me. Those Chil∣dren which imitate the Vertuous Examples which have been given them by their Parents, and yield obedience to those Excellent Rules which their Love endeavouring to secure their Happiness prescrib'd to them, do more honour their Ancestors, then if they celebrated their Funerals with the most pompous Obsequies, and endeavour'd to keep their Memories fresh with Anniversary Feasts. Honour me thus, my Sons, and then after my Death I shall live in you. I do the more earnestly require this sort of Thank∣fulness from you, because I can assure you that I never took any great content in looking upon my self as a Father, but that I hoped to leave Children in the World which would become Examples of pious Vertue when I am gone.

Thus did the good Aristander discipline Callistus and Hila∣rion with the same Temper which was in old Cato when he read Lectures to his Son, and with the Affection which great Tully express'd when he wrote his noble Epistles to young Cicero. And now Death, which had hover'd about him a good while, made his nearest approach, and allow'd him only time to resign his Soul to his Maker with a pious Prayer; after which Aristander took a chearful leave of the World.

Within a few dayes the Gentleman who was sent into Theoprepia return'd, and brought word that the Queen, the Princess and their Companions had arriv'd safe at Hipponyx, but being unwilling to make any long stay there, were now come within a day's Journey of Polistherium. The next Morning Alethion, Theosebes and their Attendants went out of the City to give them that Honourable Reception which was due to the Quality of their Friends, and which their own high Affections commanded them to perform. Ha∣ving

met them at Callicarpus, a place where Alethion had ap∣pointed to dine, it is not to be imagin'd what excessive Joy possess'd their Souls; but the Testimonies which they gave of their mutual Sentiments were so expressive, that they signified it to be as great as it is possible for Humane Nature to experiment. It is not easie to repeat the Discourses which pass'd amongst those Noble Friends at this happy Encounter, but they were all correspondent to the greatness of their Affections and the Extraordinary Occasion of their Meeting. The Queen-Mother of Theoprepia took both the Princes into her Arms at once, being transported with a Rapture of Joy to see Theosebes in safety, and Alethion in his Kingdom; and having given breath to her Passion, with a thankful Apostrophe which she made to God she dismiss'd them from her affectionate Embraces. Alethion went to-wards Agape; and she seeing the Prince whom she tenderly lov'd, and for whose Happiness she had made a thousand Prayers, threw her self into his Arms, and express'd her En∣dearments in Tears. Theosebes and Alethion seeing Urania, the Excellent Sister of those two Incomparable Brothers to whose Friendship and Valour they were both much en∣gag'd, pay'd her that Respect which was due to her own Vertue, and the Obligations which were laid upon them by two whom she lov'd as much as her self. Bentivolio and Panaretus perform'd their humble Salutes to the Queen and Princess, and were receiv'd by them with Acknowledg∣ments suitable to their Merit. Urania embrac'd her Brothers, and they her, with such a passionate Tenderness, that it su∣spended their power of Discourse, & their Silence did plain∣ly signifie that the Satisfaction of their Minds was too big for words. The rest of the Company entertain'd one another with all the affectionate Expressions that Love and Civility was able to make. The two Kings conducted the Queen, the Princess and the other Ladies to the House which was made ready for their Entertainment, and after Dinner ac∣companied them to Polistherium: and being willing to gra∣tifie the Love of the People, who did earnestly desire to see these Illustrious Strangers, they rode through the Streets of

the City on Horse-back: which bestow'd an extraordinary Contentment upon all Beholders, there being none who saw King Alethion, who did not find themselves sensibly concern'd in the Alteration of his Fortune, and who did not pay a great Reverence to the Presence of the King, and those Princesses who had receiv'd him with so much Friendship in the time of his Banishment.

Here the Reader may possibly expect that I should pro∣ceed to relate that which happen'd in Theriagene after this peaceful Victory: but I can only acquaint him that I have been told, that within a few dayes the Princess Agape was married to Alethion; that Theosebes prevail'd with Urania to become his Queen; that Bentivolio and Theonoe, Panaretus and Irene were married also the same day; and that the magni∣ficent Pomp of these Weddings was so Illustrious, that Truth and Love, Wisdom and Goodness, Righteousness and Peace seem'd to have taken Bodies, and to have descended from their Ce∣lestial Mansions to celebrate their Nuptials upon Earth. It was reported also that Bentivolio and Panaretus, after some dayes spent with great delight in Alethion's Court, retir'd with Theosebes and Urania into the lower Theoprepia; and that after Alethion had settled his Kingdom, he and Agape made a Journey to Phronesium to visit their Brother and all his 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Company, and after some time spent there in the Praises of that God who had confirm'd them in so much Happiness, and in the rare Contentments of a most de∣lightful Conversation, they went away all together to the Royal Court of the great King Abinoam, which is in the Higher Theoprepia.

But because I am not yet perfectly inform'd concerning the Ceremonies which were us'd at those Glorious Mar∣riages, the manner of their Reception by Abinoam, and the way of their Life in his Court; I must entreat my Reader to have the Goodness to pardon me though I break off my History and sit down here, for at present I am able to fol∣low my Hero's no further.

The End of the Sixth Book.