The holy court in five tomes, the first treating of motives which should excite men of qualitie to Christian perfection, the second of the prelate, souldier, states-man, and ladie, the third of maxims of Christianitie against prophanesse ..., the fourth containing the command of reason over the passions, the fifth now first published in English and much augemented according to the last edition of the authour containing the lives of the most famous and illustrious courtiers taken out of the Old and New Testament and other modern authours / written in French by Nicholas Caussin ; translated into English by Sr. T.H. and others.

THE SECOND PART OF MAXIMS Of the HOLY COURT.

THE DESIGN.

WE have directly looked towards God in the first Part, deducing Maxims which most nearly concern the Divinitie. I now descend in this Second, to those which touch the direction of this present life; and consider them in three respects, whereof one tendeth to the service of God, the other to our neighbour, and the last stayeth upon our selves. In the first, I treat of Pietie, against all counterfeit devotion. In the second, I shew we must carry our selves towards our neighbours with justice, sinceritie, and sweetness, excluding our own ends, dissimulation, and crueltie. In the third, I entertain what concerns the ordering of our selves in prosperitie against Epicureans, and in adversitie against impatience, upon ac∣cidents of humane life: wherein I endeavour throughout effectually to observe the disorders which Plato and Aristotle noted, were the causes of the destruction of Families, Cities, and Empires.

THE SECOND PART. Touching the Direction of this present Life.

IX. MAXIM. Of DEVOTION.

THE PROPHANE COURT.	THE HOLY COURT.
That if Devotion must be used, we should embrace that which is in fashion, accommoda∣ting it to our ends.	That we must be devout for God, and that if Devotion be not solid, it is no longer Devotion.

IT is a matter very considerable, that De∣votion is subject to many more illusions than all other virtues, of which we have proof enough from our own experi∣ence, although we could find no other foundation in reason. But if the judicious Reader * 1.1 desire to know the cause, I will tell him, that as no∣thing hath been so much turmoiled and counterfeit∣ed as Religion, which hath in all Ages been disfigu∣red by such variety of Sects: so it is no marvel if Devotion, which is according to S. Thomas, as the branch of this tree, find the like contrarieties.

Bodies most delicate, are soonest corrupted by ex∣tream impressions: so this virtue, which is of a tem∣perature very subtile, since it is as it were the cream of charity, may easily be perverted by the evil man∣nage of it. Adde, that the wicked spirit seeing this exercise is very necessary for us, seeks to envenom it in its sources, to the end we may draw poison from those things which might be our remedy.

Besides, men either through superabundance of idleness, presumption of ability, through love of their own conceits, or desire of novelty, multiply their in∣ventions upon this matter, and many make golden * 1.2 calves to themselves in Bethel, in stead of the Cheru∣bins of Jerusalem. The Lacedemonians ever attired their gods according to the fashions and humours which then swayed in their Citie: Every one delights to dress up devotion by the pattern of his passions.

I affirm one cannot worthily enough praise the practise of so many devout souls, which live in sin∣gular purity, either in Religious or Civil life: And I may say, it is an Host of the living God, as terri∣ble in his mildness, as he is sweet in his terrours. I honour all the bodies, yea the particulars, with the honour their deserts have acquired. But as the strong∣est

truths fail not to be invaded by some obscurities, so it is no wonder, if in the ordering of virtues, some defects creep into the life of particulars, which should no way prejudice the integrity of the general.

Of Dark Devotion.

THere is a dark Devotion, which is rude and * 1.3 stupid, another nice, a third transcendent, and a fourth sincere and solid. I call a stupid de∣votion that, which establisheth all virtue in indiscreet and immoderate austerities, which very often kill the body, and extinguish the total vigour of the mind: that, which without any obligation of the Church, or of some particular Order, or sage di∣rection, ties it self to straight and rigorous observa∣tions, rather for satisfaction of self-will, than through any other sense of piety, and which placeth in this act all Christian perfection, not minding so many other duties, which strictly bind us to matters more considerable.

We have heard the Idolaters of the Eastern parts kill themselves with recital of a fearfull number of prayers to their Idols, roul in the scorching sands, clog themselves with fetters, and slash themselves with razors, thinking by these ways they may arrive to the top of sanctity. Nor can we likewise be ignorant what is sufficiently declared unto us by holy Scri∣pture, that many of the Ancients were much enclined to these superstitious devotions, establishing therein all the order of spiritual life, in such sort, that they perpetually afflicted their bodies, and in the mean time suffered their hearts to sway in empty vanities, burning avarice, rigours, and cruelties towards their neighbours wholly insupportable.

Such was the devotion of Pharisees, so often rebu∣ked, and condemned herein by the lips of the eternal Truth. For when you saw them walk in publick, you beheld men lean and disfigured, who bare scrowls of parchment on their heads, wherein they wrote some sentence of the Law of God, and tied thorns to the border of their gowns, to prick and torment their heels; whilest the heart uncontroul∣ably committed all disorder. Such also was the de∣votion of certain superstitious, reproved by the Pro∣phet Isaiah in the 58. Chapter, where God speaketh, * 1.4 saying unto them: Who ever hath gone about to exact such fasts from you, and such devotion as you pra∣ctise? to afflict the bodie a whole day together, how the head, lie on sackcloth and ashes? Is this then that which you call fasting, and can you think days and times spent in such actions are very acceptable to God? I will teach you another kind of fast: Break off those * 1.5 bargains you have made with such iniquity, tear in pie∣ces the bundles of unjust and insupportable obligations, let the poor go at libertie, who are overwhelmed with wants. Take the yoke from them which they can no longer bear, give food to the hungrie, lodge pilgrims, and wayfarers in your house, cloth the naked, and disdain not your flesh.

3. This dark Devotion hath three things, which * 1.6 make it much to be suspected, and are the cause it is not well proportioned to the manner of life of solid spirits. First, when it is extreamly subject to novel∣ties, singularities, and pride, which proceed from foo∣lish confidence in ones own judgement. Many, who * 1.7 are wise according to their own way, resemble the Bat, which employeth the christalline humour of his eyes, to make large wings to himself, but yet very useless: so they consume all the lights and inspira∣tions of God, to create wings of pride and vanity, which onely serve them to flie in the night, and igno∣rance of themselves. Now, it is well known to all, that the most fatal plague in matter of religion and devotion, is the desire to seek direction from ones own opinion, which the learned Gerson very well observed, when he singularly well said: (a) 1.8 If you see one walk in the way of proper judgement, although he had alrea∣die one foot in Paradise, take this foot and withdraw it. For it were better to walk in the shades of death under the conduct of humilitie, than to have a Paradise in the pleasures of proper fantasie. Drunkenness is taken by wine (said the Prophet) and pride by its own opinion.

Such there are, who after infinite many pains passed over in religious Orders, have miserably lost them∣selves, following the cursed ignis fatuus of their own opinion. Had pensive devotion no other blemish, it were always much to be feared: but besides I affirm, that as fisher-men fish in a troubled water, so the de∣vil fisheth in the melancholy of a perplexed soul, prin∣cipally when it is tied to superiours, which govern conscience. We know by the Scripture and Fathers, * 1.9 the importunities and smooth practises of the evil spi∣rit to undo us. Satan every where hath laid his nets before us, the whole earth is nought but a snare; snares in riches, snare in poverty, snare in meat, snare in drink, snare in eating, sleep, words, works, in all our actions: but we must confess there is no snare more miserable, nor of greater force, than sadness and melancholy: because it is that which bloweth out the candle, which puts out the light of the mind, and by this means makes sport for the enemy of our felicity.

Doth not Cassianus observe, that an Hermit named * 1.10 Heron, who had sweat for the space of fourty years under the habit of religion, and grown white amongst so many glorious palms, yet suffering himself to fall into a devotion dark, anxious, and solitary, was so de∣ceived by the subtility of Satan, that at the latter end of his days, he threw himself into a pit, from whence he was drawn half dead, nor was it possible to make him say, he had done ill in this act so exorbitant and desperate: proper judgement having so bewitched him in this sadness, that all his own resolutions seem∣ed oracles unto him?

And although a soul seldom falleth into such ex∣tremities, notwithstanding for a third instance, we may bring a proof taken out of S. Thomas, who saith, * 1.11 That seeing sadness is the most venemous of all pas∣sions, because it gnaweth the root of the heart, which consisteth in a certain alacrity and largeness, spread∣ing it self from the fountain of life through all the members, it is impossible that any man who ties him∣self to a pensive and melancholy devotion, can long persevere in the way of virtue.

Gilbertus a great Doctour, writing upon this sen∣tence * 1.12 of S. Paul, drawn out of the first to the Corin∣thians, sixth Chapter, Glorifie, and bear God in your bo∣die, hath these notable words: You must bear Jesus Christ, not drag him. He draggeth him, who is sur∣charged with him, and who indiscreetly afflicteth himself in the service he doth to the Divine Majestie, not consi∣dering Jesus is the flower of the field, or the posie of myrrhe between the breasts of the spouse, and not a load of hay, under which you must needs groan like a wheel ill greazed.

4. On these same grounds superstition is raised, which through errour feareth all it should love by virtue, and scarcely knoweth God, but by violating his clemency through a false presumption of his seve∣rity. What sense is there to enter into devotion, as if one were lifted upon a rack to be tortured, and to think there is no piety in the world, if the bodie be not torn, and the spirit beaten down.

One must be crucified in his thoughts by vain ap∣prehensions, infinite many scruples must be nourished, sins imagined which never were sins, and conceits fed, that if one have walked on straws a-cross, a great sacriledge is committed. Some impose a thousand fantastical observations upon themselves, some inflict

voluntary tortures, and you shall find of them, who leading a life wholly innocent, make themselves hells in their own consciences, watchings wither them, dreams terrifie them, and if the leaf of a tree wag, it is a spirit which comes to surprize them, nay, if some fatal bird croak in the obscurity of night, it is the voice of a dead man, who bids them prepare to pass into another world.

Out alas! Is it possible a soul which hath never so little feeling of the Divinity, can think God, infinite∣ly mercifull, is as a Minos and Rhodamant, mention∣ed in Fables, who spitefully comes to prie into all our actions, to number all our steps, takes pleasure to prepare punishments for us, and to raise his tropheys on our ruins. Is it so hard a matter to believe a good directour, who perswades the contrary, as that for want of a little instruction, labours in religion should be undertaken without relaxation, disturbances with∣out repose, and miseries without comfort?

Affected Devotion.

EFfeminate and nice Devotion is of another strain. * 1.13 For it hath not learned to kill the body for the life of the spirit; but seeketh out witty ways to accord God and the world together, and under pretext of piety, to take those pleasures which may flatter the most refined sensuality. We now a∣days see many women of quality, who engross this second order, and who being little interiour, open themselves with profusion to all, whatsoever hath in it exteriour ostent. Some fall into it for satisfaction of their own wills, others by servile imitation and complacence, to the humour of powerfull persons, who like the great Orbs of heaven, draw along the lower planets; some through interest of fortune, others for colour of piety, and the rest by amusement. I know some who therein proceed sincerely, and did the wicked and Libertines understand the purity, ex∣cellency, and sanctity of so many good souls, who handle devotion as it should be, of which the Church is at this present furnished with a good number, they would be ravished with sight of the interiour, and take their lives to be a perpetual miracle. But we must confess, there are many devotes, who wander from these purer paths, to run after a fantasm of pie∣ty: and although I here note defects, I would have virtuous souls know, my censure no more toucheth them, than thunder the stars in heaven

The first endeavour of this sophisticate devotion, * 1.14 consisteth in making an Oratory, or little houshold Chappel, in building a little magazin of relicks, beg∣ged on all sides, with more curiosity than Religion, setting candlesticks and pictures in order, in provi∣ding rich ornaments, in inventing new fashions of crewets, in weaving girdles, and dressing up a little mercery of trinkets. And though these actions which concern the care of Altars are very laudable, yet are they often very much perverted, both by the intenti∣on, which is vain, and execution, most indiscreet. We many times find in these cabinets so religious and curious, a Venus with our Lady, a Cupid near S. Mi∣chael, and a pair of beads hanging on the toes of some little giddy marmouzet. This is to renew the pra∣ctise of that Lady named Marcellina, of whom Saint Augustine speaketh in the book of heresies, who ming∣led * 1.15 the pictures of our Saviour, with those of Py∣thagoras. Furthermore these places, which seem de∣dicated to piety, so follow the humour of their Mi∣stress, as they are accommodated to all: and if they in the morning have seen a Priest celebrate Mass, they will make no difficulty to entertain a Ball that very evening. All this devotion is pompous and proud in * 1.16 its furnitures there is not so much as hair-cloths, and disciplines but are made of silver, rather to see the bright lustre of it, than feel the smartings. It hath my∣steries and marvellous intrications, which many times look on the earth under a veil of skie-colour.

It seems to many, the aim of piety is nothing else, but to seek out all its petty accommodations and contentments in the world, to have liberty to do all, game-courtship, costliness of apparrel, a caroach to ones self to flutter through the streets; whilst the essen∣tial parts of marriage are contemned, affairs of the house neglected, and a husband enforced to murmur, who doth express more impatience in an hour, than the other gaineth devotion in ten years.

If question be made of choosing a ghostly Father, there are of them, who much delight in change, and if Seneca said, that Roman Ladies in the time when * 1.17 divorces were permitted, reckoned their husbands by the number of Consuls, who altered every year; one may more justly say, that some devotes measure their Confessours by the course of moons, by taking almost every moneth a new. Other stick so close to one, and set him in so high account above all hu∣mane things, that according to their opinion, he alone hath the grace, Sacraments, and bloud of Je∣sus Christ in his hands. But if they must be deprived of him, there is no more piety nor religion for them in the world: the paths of Sion mourn, Churches and Altars are but wildernesses, and the hope of sal∣vation hath lost its lustre.

Such services and diligence must be used to a slight conscience, as if it were a huge Common-wealth. Af∣ter the tediousness of a confession, which maketh those to loose patience, who were most resolute to attend it, you must give and receive frequent visits, spin out discourses, and eternal prattle: one cannot suppose they are all of God, who is more honoured by silence; one would hardly believe a soul should need such po∣lishing, which appeareth not to be so much refined in the knowledge of things divine. One thinks, this de∣vout creature through superabundance of charity, beareth all the sins of the house, another, that she tells all the tales in the Citie; and those, who easily suspect what themselves do without difficulty, imagine there are other ties, which I had rather conceal.

This devotion is not foolish according to the world; but having learnt to make an arrow of any wood, to hit the mark of its interests, she maketh use of a Confessour, pliant and mercenary for this purpose. If any be found in the world who stretch their con∣science, who teach to withhold goods ill gotten, to sooth humours, entertain libertines, and lodge sin al∣most in the bosom of Theologie, these are sanctified spirits, and Prophets in fashion.

There is enough done, if there be outward shew enough. If some small alms be drawn out of those great treasuries of gold and silver; and that she com∣municate often. For since some Priests are satisfied with saying Mass but once a year, it is come to pass that certain devotes, as if they meant to supply their defects, take almost so many Communions as there be days in the year. God forbid I should blame an exercise so holy, which cannot be too much recom∣mended, but it troubles me they go to it without any feeling of that awfull Majesty, and seek access to God as unto fire to make it tractable. Frequent Commu∣nions, which ought not to be permitted but with great discretion, as a reward for the most solid vir∣tues, are turned into pillage, according to the greedy humour of a spirit, giddy and inconstant. There need∣eth but the want of some small circumstance to stay a Priest, and hinder him from saying Mass; but these devotists pass all over, and some of them have found the way, to accord the Communion and a Comedy, upon one and the same day.

What will ensue of this, but that such women may draw water from the fountains of our Saviour, like the Danaides in the hell of Poets with a five. They

often bear profanation to Altars, to bring back ven∣geance; and know not the many evils which assail them, proceed from the contempt of holy things.

After so many Communions, these souls profit in * 1.18 spiritual life, as the little Cavalier shewed at Rome, who laboured much in running in a wheel, and at the end of his travel, had gone no further than when he be∣gan. When was it that a dozen of Communions have taken from them one hair of vanity? Are they less pompous, less powdered, less frizled, more reserved, more chast, more discreet? You see to come from thence wily spirits, who perpetually byass all to their own ends, who busie themselves in affairs, who betray the most holy amities, who practise little furies of choller, who render themselves inexorable in the most civil requests, who have hearts of ice towards the miseries of mankind, who make tribute of all, and dei∣fie all in themselves, yea, their own follies. I speak this, to make the solidity of solid devotions the more appear, which are practised in the Church, answer∣able to treatises written by blessed Sales, and my Lord Bishop of Balley.

6. You may easily judge by such proceedings, how * 1.19 weak and frivolous all these manners of serving God are. But if you thereunto will apply the lights of reason, you shall observe, that any thing is so much the more solid and firm, as it hath foundation and support upon the Divinity; because Eternity onely ap∣pertaineth to the Divinity, which rendereth things lasting. Now this Eternity, which is in God as in its source, distilleth by participation into those things which adhere, and are most perfectly united unto him. Behold the reason why we must conclude, that true devotion, which hath much union with God, hath so much the more subsistence. Bees bred of the body of a Bull, bear upon them a little resemblance of a Bull, and the tree in the seed, whereof you shall have some characters engraven, will many times represent them in its leaves and fruits. Every thing naturally tendeth to the imitation of its original. What marvel then, if true devotion which is derived from the E∣ternity of God, being unable to have eternity of it self, as a creature, hath at least a b••nd strong and durable: whereas quite contrary, this apish devotion being meerly terrene, hath no true root in God, nor can draw any nourishment from thence, whereupon ensu∣eth, it must drie up and wither. Every plant which my * 1.20 heavenly Father planted not, shall be rooted out, said our Saviour in S. Matthew.

A soul solidly Christian, resembleth the Palm, which beareth its strength on the top: it hath all its vigour in God, and of God. He is the source and end of all good works. And if God chance to fail it, the whole fabrick of salvation falls to the ground. Besides, this devotion becomes ruinous, because it wholly depends on consolations derived from creatures mutable, short, unable to content a soul onely made for God. Every creature proceedeth from nothing, and if you dis-engage it from the preservation of the first being, behold it is forth with in its nothing, it cannot furnish you with any thing but wind, to feed you like a wretched Chameleon; which is the cause the creature that sticketh unto it, remains ever hungry. And this is it which S. Augustine hath divinely spoken: My * 1.21 God, my life, and my happiness. It is fit I confess my mi∣serie unto thee, after so many silly trifles of temporal con∣solutions have separated me from thee, who art an eter∣nal and an immutable good, I am dissolved, and have been poured through the conduit-pipes of my senses, parted and divided into such and so many objects, and I have every where found hunger, thirst, and penury in plenty it self. For nothing was able to fill me, since I could not per∣ceive in my self a Good, solid, singular, inseparable, which contenteth all desires, and satisfies all appetites.

Adde, that in searching for petty sensual consolati∣ons, * 1.22 they are not always had, but one often meets with repulse, with affliction and gal, from whence comes to pass, that false piety, which is tied to these curious ni∣ceties, as they fail, it looseth all support and vigour.

All these kinds of devotion resemble the bird cal∣led by the Grecians Clottide, a counterfeit swallow, * 1.23 which doth nothing but chatter with such loudness, that she deafens all the world: she much loveth the warm and clear air; but so soon as she feels the first approch of winter, she is stark, creeps along, and hangs the wings as half dead: she will pass the seas with other swallows to seek out heat, & yet she flies scarce∣ly one day but repents it. To return back, she is asha∣med; follow she cannot. It remains she become prey to some unhappiness. Behold justly the image of this plaistered devotion. If the false swallow be a chatter∣er, this devotion is often nought else but babble. If she seek for warmth, this is nourished with temporal pro∣sperities and sensual comforts. If the one be so quail∣ed with cold, the other bears the least adversity with strange impatience. If the one making shew to fol∣low, the rest stays in the way, how many souls see we, who not having well run their race in matter of de∣votion, nor taken God for their scope, rest in incon∣stancies, agitations, troubles of mind, and in the end break with God.

Of Transcendent Devotion.

I Pass to the third kind, called Transcendent * 1.24 Devotion, which practiseth to pursue unusual ways, and to refine all other devotions by subti∣lity of wit. Common things, which are often the best, are not for its purpose. It can abide nothing uniform and temperate; but must of necessity raise much noise and ostent, to make it self known. It affecteth unheard-of observations, extracted methods, chy∣merical words: you would say, it is a rich trader, who hath a shop of spirituality, and huge maga∣zins stored with specious titles; but when you come to look narrowly into it, you shall find there so many leaves and bark, so much vanity and empty merchandize, that this which at first so affrighted the simple, serves afterward for an object of scorn to the wisest.

We are not ignorant there are kinds of excellent * 1.25 ways to treat with God, reserved to souls the most eminent, and that it were a rash attempt to condemn mystical Theologie, wherein so many worthily religi∣ous have prosperously proceeded. We know the ex∣ercise of prayer goeth by degrees, and that according to Richardus de Sancto Victore, the first, is thought, the * 1.26 second, meditation, and the third, contemplation. Thought ordinarily is inconstant and indeterminate, Meditation is confined and limited to certain points; Contemplation flieth like an eagle with more liberty, and picks up (as saith Synesius) the flowers of in crea∣ted * 1.27 light, to colour and illuminate it self the more. Thought is a simple impression on things divine, Me∣ditation is a more exact search into the Maxims of our faith; but Contemplation is an immoveable aspect of this first Verity, which feedeth and satiateth the soul with the sweetnesses of God.

This Contemplation also is divided into divers de∣grees. * 1.28 For there is one ordinary, which maketh use of imagination and of sensible species drawn from the sight of objects, though it subtilize and purifie them by the help of the understanding. There is another termed immediate and perfect, which goes directly to God, without any mixture of fantasies, or aid of crea∣tures; but if it be much discharged from all things create▪ it is called dark contemplation; because the soul being in it wholly dazeled, and (as it were) blind∣ed with rays of the divine Essence, frameth not to it self any sensible idaea of God, but beholdeth him by the way of negation, banishing all represen∣tations

and resemblances of creatures, the more firm∣ly to adhere unto the simplicity of the first Being. But if it proceed in a superiour manner, then it moun∣teth * 1.29 to the contemplation, termed the most eminent, which is the whole-sister of the beatified vision, and the last heaven whereunto S. Paul was rapt, a sphere totally enflamed with seraphical love, where the use of sense and exteriour man, seems quite annihilated, and the spirit transported to the ineffable conversa∣tion with the Divinity.

Now we must observe upon this discourse, what * 1.30 the learned S. Thomas said, That whilest our life is shut up in this mortal body, its manner of actuating proceedeth by simple and ordinary ways, which con∣duct us to the Creatour, by contemplation of crea∣tures: and if any one understand spiritual things in this sublime nakedness, which is discharged of ima∣ges, it is an admirable way, and surpasseth all humane things. First, it is necessary to have a pious affection * 1.31 to matters divine, thence we pass to meditation, from meditation to ordinary contemplation, which is at∣tended by admiration, and admiration by a certain spiritual alacrity, and this alacrity by a certain fear with reverence, and fear by fervent charity diffused into the exercise of good works. These are the most assured ways to walk in spiritual life.

But these transcendent souls will in the beginning * 1.32 lift a man up from the earth, and make a Seraphin of him from the first day of his apprentiship. To medi∣tate well, is nothing else but to make a review of our self and actions to adapt them to the commandments of God, and counsels of Jesus Christ. You must flie fervently even to the third Heaven, and remain there rapt, without knowledge whether one be on this side or that side of the world. But alas! how many times happeneth it these Eagles descend from this false em∣perial heaven, to fish some wretched frog in the marsh of this inferiour earth?

After all these large temples of prayers, gilded with so goodly words we see in the Sanctuary a pourtraict of a Rat, a soul faint and pusillanimous, shut up in self-love, tied to petty interests, imperiously com∣manded by so many tumultuous passions, which play their prize, whilest the spirit slumbers in this mystical sleep, and living death.

They will in the beginning go equal with the se∣raphical souls of Saints, who arrived at this purity of prayer by great mortifications, and most particular favours from God. But they imitate them so ill, that in stead of being suited with great and solid virtues, they retain nought but ostentous forms, and a vain boast of words.

What importeth it a devote, who cannot tell how to govern her house, to know the retire, introver∣sion, extroversion, simplification, dark prayer, mysti∣cal sleep, spiritual drunkenness, tast, fire, quiet, the cloud of glory, and so many other kinds, which serve to disguise devotion? Know we not many spi∣rits of young women loose themselves herein, and seeking too much to refine ancient piety, have made it wholly to vapour out in smoke, finding them∣selves as void of humility, as they were puffed up with presumption? From thence often proceeds the curiosity of matters ravishing and extraordinary, to gain to themselves the reputation of great spiritual persons, and to sooth themselves with the opinion of a false sanctity. When one is once gained by a false pretext of errour, it is no hard matter to be perswa∣ded all we think on is a vision, all we say is a prophe∣sie, and all we do is a miracle. The evil spirit finding souls drunk with this self-love, hath played strange pranks, which may be read in Epiphanius and Cassianus, and whereof it would be an easie matter to produce many examples, were it not much better to deplore than recount them.

8. This vanity not satisfied to harbour in the mind * 1.33 which bred it, extendeth to the chairs of Preachers, where the curious and phanatical spirits of Auditours would willingly hatch chymaera's for such, as are yet but young beginners in the mystery. One will have, that use be made of thoughts transcendent and ex∣traordinary, and many times extravagant, entangled with a perplexity of periods, which leave nothing but noise in the ear, and arrogance in the mind: the other, who is most ignorant, startles at this quaint Theolo∣gie, and seeks to wrest mysteries, and disjoynt mens judgements, thereby to draw upon all sorts of people, discourses of the Trinity and Incarnation, involved in visionary imaginations, and turned about on a coun∣ter-battery of affected antitheses; and if this be not as ordinary in all sermons, as was the Delphick sword, which heretofore served for all purposes in sacrifices, it is to be ignorant in the ways of souls elect. The o∣ther delighteth in doctrines unheard-of, in a vast reci∣tal of Authours, and forreign tongues, as if he went about to exercise devils, and not instruct Christians; some one boasts to alledge neither Scripture, Fathers, nor any passage whatsoever, for fear of marring the plaits of his periods: he makes trophey to take all with∣in his own fancy, and to borrow nothing of the An∣cients, as if Bees, who rob flowers in the garden to make honey of them, were not much better than spi∣ders, who spin their wretched webs out of their own substance. There are of them, who desire to bundle up an endless train of fantastical conceptions, without Scripture or reason who seem to tell wonders and ra∣rities most ravishing but if any man will weigh them in an equal ballance, he shall find vanities, onely big with noise and wind. They who have the itch of ear, * 1.34 are devoted to the beauty of language, and bestir them rather to talk, than speak in a sermon. They adore di∣scourses replenished with a youth full eloquence, and devested of wisdom, having no sinews for support, and less sting to transfix a heart.

Good God! how knowing would Preachers be, did they understand (as saith S. Paul) how to speak, both on Gods part, before God, and in Jesus Christ, as being shut up within the Word, before they bring forth a word; and Auditours should be well instru∣cted, if they all heard (as saith S. Paulinus) with the ear through which Jesus Christ entereth. To preach God, hatred of vice, and love of virtue, with a di∣scourse firm and rational, and first of all to perswade himself, what he wisheth others may practise; this is the mark whereat all preaching should aim. We have cause to praise God that he hath rendered our Age very fruitfull in men able and sufficient in this kind, to whom I bear such respect, and whom I so much admire, that I seek not to censure them. It were to be wished the younger sort would rather frame themselves by their examples, than to be surprized with an itch to please certain ears, and so many un∣joynted judgements.

All such as judge of Preachers onely by the garb and exteriour shew, use to deifie their vices; and it is a note one doth not always please God when he seeks over-much to please those who like nothing but extravagancies. Care must be had of Citie-bruits and vulgar opinions, as the Eagle regardeth flies. Light never blushed to be despised by rear-mice, and a prime spirit is not troubled at the sinister judge∣ments which the ignorant make, so that he learn to cast up his reckoning with God, for whom he la∣boureth. Onions hinder the attraction of the ada∣mant, and all these popular opinions do nothing but disturb a spirit on which they make impression.

Solid Devotion.

9. LEt us dis-involve what we may, the devotion of Sacraments, books, and sermons from these sophisticate forms, which varnish the lu∣stre of it, and let us learn to seek it in the purest sour∣ces and fountains of our Saviour.

True Devotion, if you desire to know the condition of * 1.35 it, beareth the same liveries which S. Paul gives to Cha∣ritie: It is patient, it is not offended with any thing, but that which tendeth to the displeasure of God; it di∣gesteth all acerbities, turning them into its colour and tast; it is sweet and benign; it hath no emulation, but for virtues; it doth nothing unfitly; it hath not any thing to do with the puffings of vanitie, nor ambitions, which invade worldly spirits; it seeks not its own ends, it is not moved with anger to see it self despised, it thinks no ill, it rejoyceth not at iniquity, but enlargeth it self chear∣fully in the truth, it suffereth all, it believes all, it hopeth all, it endureth all. It is a devotion always joy∣full, always content, ever active in its dutie, not pry∣ing through curiositie into others affairs. It hath thoughts innocent, an eye simple, hands clean, little noise, and much fruit. A Devotion which complain∣eth of none, is troubled at nothing, which speaks little and doth much, which hath more good effects, than slight complements, more silence than eloquence, more humi∣litie in the interiour, than ostent in the exteriour, which flieth on all the actions of life, as a Bee on flowers, and converteth them all into honey. Oh what a Treasure of peace, what a treasure of love, what a treasure of glorie is this devotion.

There needs but one great word to express great things. Disquiet not your self upon the multitude of precepts and books, to know how you may arrive to this excellent virtue, which soweth the seeds of per∣fection in the heart. The first step you must make to∣wards it, is the knowledge of the will of God. Know what he would have of you, what you of him, in what manner he expecteth it, and what desire you have to please him.

That man offendeth in serving, who understands not how he should serve, and it is ever a main part of obe∣dience, to learn how you must obey. There are things * 1.36 forbidden, and things commanded, some permitted, others advised. God forbids the evil, commandeth the good, permits the indifferent, adviseth the perfect.

Who puts himself in a way of devotion, puts him∣self in a way of perfection: but who flieth above na∣ture, ought not for all that to destroy the law of na∣ture. To say one is devout, and fails in the duties of common charity, which commandeth us to do to our neighbours, what we would have done to our selves, is to have fair titles, and feeble actions.

That man is not exempt from the law, who would do above the law, and there is not any more obli∣ged to avoid things not permitted, than he, who for the love of God denieth himself such as are permit∣ted. Devotion is not practised to excuse sins, but to perfect virtues.

A soul truly devout, hath three aspects, which re∣plenish the whole capacity of the duties it professeth; one upon God, another on it self, the third upon a neighbour. It serves in common piety, and above common piety: that applieth it to all the ordinary actions of our Christianity, and the other disposeth it into a more sublime commerce than the common, yet contemns not the common. It hath its retire∣ment, its prayers, its meditations, guided and dige∣sted, not for satisfaction of will, but edification. It keeps all the senses well governed in great equality, the tongue under the rule of discretion, the heart in a secure peace, and towards a neighbour carrieth honey in the mouth, charity in the hands, and example in all its actions, which make it live in all the antipasts of Paradise.

As there is no corporal riches comparable to * 1.37 health, so there is not any spiritual wealth in the world, that comes near the alacrity which God di∣stilleth into a heart truly and solidly devout, freely unloosened from earth, to be resigned to Heaven.

The oyl of consolations (said Hugo) drieth up in worldly vessels, but as for the consolation and joy which is drawn from Devotion, it is so exuberant, that there is no vessel here below able well to con∣tain it. It is necessary the heart break into sighs, and * 1.38 dissolve into desires for the presence of God. I call your consciences (O devout souls) to witness, that I were eloquent if I could make to pass through my pen, what you feel in your hearts. I affirm, that if there be any life in the world, which is able to nourish and foment the joy whereof I speak, it is the Christian life, holily and purely led according to the rules of the Word of God, and I borrow the proofs of what I say, from the great wit Tertullian, who * 1.39 in the Book he composed of games and sportive en∣tertainments, sheweth by lively and urgent reasons, there is no game nor recreation in all the world, can be compared to the soul of a Christian, whose con∣science is a portative Theater, where incessantly are presented many admirable shews. All which is pow∣erfull and energetical to glad a well-composed soul, and to entertain it in eternal delights, is eminently found in the exercises of piety. If the chief source of peace and alacrity, be to be throughly reconciled to God, is it not in this Angelical Devotion, is it not in piety, that an entire reconciliation is made with our Master, that the stool, the ring, and shoes of hyacinth, are put on to walk in the paths of his com∣mandments? If there be nothing so majestical, so delicious, so pleasing, as the contemplation of truth, whereon our soul liveth, as the eye on colours, the Bee on dew, and the Phenix (as it is said) on the thinnest vapours of the air; is it not here, where af∣ter so many errours, so many fantasies, so many illu∣sions, which turmoyled our minde in the disturban∣ces of the world, we enjoy in purity and plenitude the consideration of the most noble Maxims of spiri∣tual life? If it be a sweet and sensible repose, ha∣ving obtained remission of sins of the life past, to re∣turn into the peaceful harbour of a good conscience; is not here the rock where so many waves are bro∣ken, where so many little curs, which cease not to bark in the bottom of a troubled conscience, are ap∣peased, and where the soul becomes a calm sea, beau∣tified and curled with the rays of an enamoured and smiling Sun? Finally, if there be no greater pleasure in the world, than to despise temporal pleasures, and to temple under foot the vanities which Monarchs themselves have set over their heads; where are they despised, but in this school of virtue, where morti∣fication of passions is learned, and the exercise of goodly and heroick actions, which give the soul an antipast of Heaven in this mortal life, and an en∣franchisement from fear of death? How can a de∣vout soul which lives amongst so many helps, so ma∣ny remedies, so many comforts give the least ad∣vantage to one black and cloudy thought of the world? What can we find out able to contristrate us amongst such succours and lights? O a thousand times happy soul, which having chased away all these illusions of vanity, beholdest with a clear serene eye the ever to be adored rays of this verity!

The ninth EXAMPLE upon the ninth MAXIM. Of Solid Devotion.

SOlid Devotions resemble those rivers which run under the earth; they steal from the eyes of the world, to seek for the eyes of God, they study solitudes and retirements, they are wholly shut up within themselves, and it often happens, that those of whom we speak least on earth, are the best known in Heaven.

I verily think, among all the great examples which may be produced of piety in Courts, there will not any one be found more sincere, or more strong, than that of S. Lewis, as it appeareth by all the acts of his * 1.40 life, namely, that which was written by his Con∣fessour. It is an easie matter to judge his was a most holy life, because the most dis-interessed, he having no other aim, but to dissolve his person, his Kingdom, his wife and children, into the will of God, to make the world no longer to be ought else, but a Temple of the Divinity.

The Divine providence drew him out of his King∣dom with an Abraham's faith; gave him among so many lands and seas, the conduct of a Moses, and to set a seal on him of all his greatness, caused him to end his life with the patience of Job. We find many Princes who embraced piety, one after one fashion, another after another, and who have covered great vices with great virtues; but it is a very hard matter to find one either more universal in all actions of vir∣tue, or more free from blame in the point of innocen∣cie, than our S. Lewis. David ows all he is more to pennance, than to innocency. Constantine the Great, before he was a Christian, saw himself most unhappily stained with the bloud of his allies. Theodosius the elder, was enflamed with choller, which cost many people of Thessalonica their lives. Arcadius persecuted S. Chrysostom, at the solicitation of the Emperess his wife. Honorius his brother, who was very pious and innocent, had nothing warlike in him, and ever better knew what the white cock named Rama did, in whom he took pleasure, than the capital Citie of the world, whereof he was Emperour. Theodosius the younger, entertained love or hatred according as his Eunuchs and women dictated.

Belisarius, one of the bravest Captains which the earth ever bare, had a very commendable souldier-like piety; but did all at the will of Theodora the Emperess, observing her passions, even to the taking the Pope, and putting him into prison by her com∣mand. Narses who succeeded him, did wonders, and subdued Totila, the most valorous King which ever reigned among the Goths, he was very devout to the Blessed Virgin, to whom he attributed all his victo∣ries, but withal so insolent, that to be revenged for a word of disdain, which his Mistress the Emperess of Constantinople spake, he gave Italie over as a prey to the Lombards.

Finally, to conclude this Relation, and to speak of that which more nearly concerneth us, Charlemaigne was the greatest Emperour of the world in matter of religion, valour, policy, liberalitie, sweetness and affability; but the love of women, though expiated by sharp pennance, set blemishes on this Sun, which the memory of ensuing Ages, hath much ado to wash off. It is a strange thing, that God chastised the sins of the father in his own daughters, who had very lit∣tle care of their honour, through too free an educa∣tion and indulgence of the Emperour, who spared the punishment of his own sins in another.

There hath not been almost in all the Monarchies, but one S. Lewis, who was so like to virtue, that if it upon one side appeared incarnate to mortal eyes, and on the other shewed this great King, there would have been much ado to know which were the copie, and which the principal. He had three things very recommendable in him, religious wisdom in the brightest lustre of the world, humility planted even upon the rubies and diamonds of the Royal Crown, courage and valour invincible, in a devotion incomparable.

Who would see a manifest token of his wisdom, let him behold how his spirit in the greatest concussions of worldly accidents stood ever in the same posture, without any whit forgoing the ordinary exercise of his piety. One sole action of his life, which was his taking in Aegypt, made what I say well to appear. This good King having lost a great battel, which ru∣ined all his affairs, saw the wide fields covered with the bodies of his servants and Nilus overflowing with the bloud of his French, himself surprized and taken by his enemies, and led into the Sultan's Tent among clamours, out-cries, infernal countenāces of Sarazens, and all the images of death, able to overwhelm a soul of the strongest temper: notwithstanding, though his heart were steeped as a sponge in a sea of dolours and compassion, ever making use of reason, he entered into the Barbarians pavillion, not at all changing co∣lour, and as if he had returned from his walk in the garden of his palace, he asked his pages for his book of prayers, and taking it, disposed himself to pay the usual tribute of his oraisons in a profound tranquili∣ty of mind; which I conceive to be very rare, since there needeth oftentimes but the loss of a trifle, to stay devotion, which is not yet arrived to the point of solidity.

But if you therein seek for a perfect humility con∣sider what passed in the Councel of Lyons, and see how he laboured to depose the Emperour Frederick the se∣cond, who was ruined in reputation in the opinion of almost all the world. Other Princes who have not al∣ways their hands so innocent, but that they readily invade the goods of others, when some religious pre∣text is offered them, would have been very ambitious to be enstalled in his place whom they meant to de∣spoil; but the universal consent of great men, judged this throne could not be worthily supplied, but by this great King: yet he notwithstanding declined it, as a wise Pilot would a rock, and thought better to choose the extremity of all evils of the world among Sarazens, than to mount to the Empire by such ways.

But that which is most considerable in the matter we handle, may be observed in his valour, never wea∣kened by his great devotion: for he was one of the most couragious Princes in a cold temperature & with reason, that was then under Heaven. It was courage, which taking him from the sweet tranquility of a life wholly religious, caused him to leave a Kingdom re∣plenished with peace contentment, and delights, to go to a land of Sarazens, & live in all incommodities ima∣ginable to nature. It was courage, which caused him so many times to expose his royal and valiant person, not onely to the toyls of a desperate voyage, but to the strokes also of most hazardous battels: witness, when at his arrival in Aegypt, the coast being all beset with Sarazens, very resolute to hinder the passage of his ship, he threw himself first of all from the ship into the water, where he was plunged up to the shoul∣ders, with his target about his neck, and sword in hand, as a true spectacle of magnanimity to all his Army, which encouraged by the example, came to the land, as the King had commanded. The greatness of the sun is measured by a small shadow on the earth, and there many times needeth but very few words to illustrate a great virtue. So many excellent pens have written upon his brave acts, and made them so well known to all the world, that it were to bring light into day, to go about to mention them.

If some say, He is to be a pattern for Kings and * 1.41 Lords; Ladies, who should manure devotion as an in∣heritance for their sex, shall never want great lights, and worthy instructions, if they will consider those, who being more near to our Age, should make the more impression upon their manners.

If we speak of the endeavour of prayer, look upon * 1.42 Barbe Zopoly Queen of Polonia, who continuing days and nights in prayer, all covered over with fackcloth, affixed good success to the standards of the King her husband, and for him gained battels.

If account be made of the chastity of maidens, and sequestration from worldly conversation, reflect on Beatrix du Bois, who being one of the most beauti∣full creatures of her time, and seeing the innocent flames of her eyes too easily enkindled love in the hearts of those who had access to her, put her self up∣on so rough a pennance for others sin, that she was fourty years without being seen, or to have seen any man in the face.

If you speak of modesty, let wanton Courtiers be∣hold Antonietta de Bourbon, wife of Claudius, first Duke of Guize, who after the death of her husband, was clothed in serge, and went continually amongst the poor with her waiting-women, to teach them the pra∣ctise of alms.

If charity be magnified toward persons necessitous, cast your eye upon Anne of Austria, Queen of Poland, who accustoming to serve twelve poor people every munday, the very same day she yielded her soul up to God, when she had scarcely so much left as a little breath on her lips, asked she might once more wait on the poor at dinner, and that death might close her eyes, when she opened her hands to charity.

If the instruction of children be much esteemed, fix your thoughts upon Anne of Hungarie, mother of eleven daughters, and admire her in the midst of her little company, as the old Hen-Nightingale, giving tunes and proportions of the harmony of all virtues, and so breeding these young creatures, that they all prospered well with excellent and worthy parts.

If you delight in the government of a family, which is one of the chiefest praises of married women, take direction from Margaret Dutchess of Alencon, who governed the whole family with so much wisdom, that order, which is the beauty of the world, found there all its measures, and that if the domestick ser∣vants of other Lords and Ladies are known by their liveries, she caused hers to be known by their mo∣destie.

If you desire austerities, look with reverence on the hair-cloth and nails of Charlotte de Bourbon, the Kings great Grand-mother; and behold with admiration Frances de Batarnay, who during a widow-hood of three-score years, was twenty of them without ever coming into bed.

If you praise chast widows, who can pass without an Elogie, Elizabeth widow of Charls the ninth, who in a flourishing youth, being much courted by all the great Monarchs of the world, answered, That having been the widow of a Charls of France, she had conclu∣ded all worldly magnificencies, and that nothing more remained for her, but to have Jesus Christ for a spouse. And verily she spent the rest of her days in a conver∣sation wholly Angelical, amongst religious women, whom she had founded.

If constancy in the death of kinred have place, let the lesson be hearkened unto, which Magdalen, wife of Gaston de Foix gave, who having seen the death of a husband, whom she loved above all the world, and afterward of an onely son remaining the total sup∣port of her house, made her courage to be as much admired among the dead, as her love was esteemed among the living.

And what stile would not be tired in so great a multitude of holy and solid devotions, and who can but think the choise becometh hard by abundance? unless we will say, such as have been the most per∣secuted, were the most eminent. Where it seems it is an act of the Divine Providence, to have many times given to vicious and faithless husbands, the best wives * 1.43 in the world, as Mariamne to Herod, Serena to Dio∣cletian, Constantia to Licinius, Helena to Julian the Apostate, Irene to Constantinus Copronymus, Theodora to the Emperour Theophilus, Theodelinda to Uthar, Thira to Gormondus King of Denmark, Charlotte de Albret, to Caesar Borgia, Catherine to Henrie of Eng∣land. * 1.44 This Ladie was infinitely pious, yea, beyond limit. It is good to be devout in marriage, and not to forget she is a married wife, much way must be gi∣ven to the humours of a husband, much to the care of children and family, and sometimes to loose God at the Altar, to find him in houshold cares.

But this Queen onely attended the affairs of Hea∣ven, and had already so little in her of earth, that she shewed in all her deportments to bemade for another manner of Crown, than that of Great Brittain. She for the most part shut her self up in the Monasteries of Virgins, and rose at mid-night to be present at Mattins. She was clothed from five of the clock, not decked like a Queen, but contented with a simple habit, saying, The best time should be allowed to the soul, since it is the better part of our selves. When she had the poor habit of Saint Francis under her garments, which she commonly ware, she reputed her self brave enough. The Fridays and Saturdays were ever dedi∣cated by her to abstinence: but the Eves of our La∣dies feasts, she fasted with bread and water, she failed not to confess on wednesdays and fridays, and in a time when Communions were very seldom, she had recourse thereunto every sunday. In the fore-noon she continued six hours in prayer; after dinner she read two whole hours the lives of Saints, and speedily returned to Church, from whence she departed not till night drave her thence. This was to eat honey and Manna in abundance, in a condition which had too strong ties for the earth, to be so timely an inha∣bitant of Heaven.

Whilest she led this Angelical life, her husband, young and boyling, overflowed in all sorts of riot, and in the end came to this extremity, as to trample all laws, both divine and humane under foot, to repudi∣ate his lawfull wife, who brought him children, to serve as pledges of marriage and wed Anne of Bollen.

Since this love, which made as it were but one tomb of two parts of the world, never have we seen any more dreadfull. The poor Princess, who was looked on by all Christendom as a perfect model of all vir∣tue, was driven out of her Palace and bed, amidst the tears and lamentations of all honest men, and went to Kimbolton, a place in commodious and unhealthy, whilest another took possession, both of the heart and scepter of the King. So that here we may behold vir∣tue afflicted, and a devotion so constant, that the ruins of fortune, which made all the world tremble, were unable to shake it. She remained in her solitude with three waiting-women, and four or five servants, a thousand times more content, than had she lived in the highest glory of worldly honour, and having no tears to bewail her self, she lamented the miseries she left behind her. There is yet a letter left, which she wrote to her husband a little before her death, plain∣ly shewing the mild temper of her heart, and the force of devotion, which makes the most enflamed in∣juries to be forgotten, to procure conformity to the King of the afflicted, who is the mirrour of patience, as he is the reward of all sufferers.

My King, and dearest spouse, Insomuch as already the hour of my death approcheth, the love and affection I bear you, causeth me to conjure you to have a care of the eternal salvation of your soul, which you ought to pre∣fer before mortal things, or all worldly blessings. It is

for this immortal spirit you must neglect the care of your bodie, for the love of which you have thrown me head-long into many calamities, and your own self in∣to infinite disturbances. But I forgive you with all my heart, humbly beseeching Almightie God, he will in Heaven confirm the pardon, I on earth give you. I recommend unto you our most dear Mary, your daughter and mine, praying you to be a better Father to her, than you have been a husband to me. Remem∣ber also the three poor maids, companions of my re∣tirement, as likewise all the rest of my servants, gi∣ving them a whole years wages, besides what is due, that so they may be a little recompenced for the good ser∣vice they have done me, protesting unto you in the conclu∣sion of this my letter and life, that my eyes love you, and desire to see you, more than any thing mortal.

Henrie the eight, notwithstanding his violence, read this letter with tears in his eyes, and having dispatch∣ed a Gentleman to visit her, he found death had al∣ready delivered her from captivity.

X. MAXIM. Of PROPER INTEREST.

THE PROPHANE COURT.	THE HOLY COURT.
Every understanding man should do all for himself, as if he were his own God, and esteem no Gospel more sacred, than his Pro∣per Interest.	That proper Interest is a tyranny framed against the Divinitie, and that a man who is the God of himself, is a devil to the rest of the world.

THis Maxim of the Prophane Court, is the source of all evils, the very plague of humane life, and one may say it is the Trojan horse, which beareth fire and sword, saccage and rapine in its entrails. From thence proceed ambition, rebellion, sacriledge, ra∣pine, * 1.45 concussion, ingratitude, treacherie, and in a word, all that which is horrid in nature.

Self-love, which should be contained within the limits of an honest preservation of ones self, flieth out as a river from his channel, and with a furious inun∣dation covereth all the land, it overthrows all duty, and deep drencheth all respect of honesty. Men, who have renounced piety, if they peradventure see them∣selves to be strong and supported with worldly en∣ablements, acknowledge no other Gods but them∣selves. They imagine the Jupiter of Poets was made as they: they create little Sultans, and there is not any thing from whence they derive not tribute, to make their imaginary greatness encrease. When this blindness happeneth in persons very eminent it is most pernicious; for then is the time, when not being aw∣ed by the fear of a God Omnipotent, they turn the world upside down, to satisfie miserable ambition. And such Princes there have been, who have rather profusely lost the lives of thirty thousand subjects, than suffered so much land to be usurped upon them, as were needfull for their tomb.

Others, whom birth hath not made Caesars, ex∣tend * 1.46 their petty power what they may. They ob∣servemen, sound their means, their abilities, their capacities, their wits and dispositions. They ac∣commodate all to their own pretensions, they pull a feather from one, a wing from another; they flatter, promise, charm, and descend even to slavery, to mount up to the honours they aim at, no more af∣terward regarding their fortune who holp them, than a nightly dream.

The world is replenished with ungratefull, and barbarous souls, who cannot so much as endure the sight of those, who formerly spent themselves in their service, thinking their presence a reproach of their crime; and there are such to be found, who will make no scruple to sacrifice the bloud of their best servants at the Altar of their Fortune. Others, * 1.47 who cannot reach to the height of worldly ambi∣tion, bend themselves with all their strength to mo∣ney, whereof they make a Deity, and run with full speed to the gain full hopes of houses. For this, friends dissolve the most stable amities; for this, al∣lies tear one another, families divide, Cities and hou∣ses burn: and when I more nearly consider it, I find it is a blessing from God, that women do not often bring forth twins, for they would perpetual∣ly contend in this world, yea, in their mothers bel∣lies, who should have the most land, even before they enjoyed air to breath in.

Of so many noble sciences manured by our An∣cestours, there almost remains nothing for us, but wretched images. There is an industry esteemed in the world above all other, called the sleight of hand, which shews how to draw all to ones self, to be enriched with the spoils of others, and to de∣vour many little serpents to become a huge dragon, * 1.48 as saith the Greek sentence. Now observe here three principal points, which conclude the perverse∣ness of this Maxim, the first whereof is tyranny, the second sacriledge, and the third disaster.

First, it is a manifest thing, that tyranny, which * 1.49 invadeth the state and jurisdiction of the living God, is most impious and audacious: yet the sect which makes profession now-adays to serve God with ex∣teriour ceremonies, and proper interests in the inte∣riour of the heart, tyrannically usurpeth a right up∣on the eternal power of the Sovereign Master, which is to reflect upon ones self in all things, as his end and sovereign good. From whence you may very well conclude, his undertakings cannot be but tyranni∣cal. Yet more to enlighten our thoughts and streng∣then reason, know there is an axiom of Divinity, that God, as he can know nothing beyond himself, love nothing but in himself; so he doth nothing but for himself. For in doing for himself, he doth all for us, since we have not any thing which tendeth not to him as to the scope thereof, which subsisteth not in him as on its basis, which reposeth not in him as in its center. So doth S. Thomas understand that notable word of Trismegistus, Unitie hath produced

unitie, that is to say, God onely, Sovereign, and absolute, created one world, not many, and thence reflected his fervour upon himself, making all for his love and glorie. Wherein he ceaseth not to oblige us, since we have neither love, grace, glory, greatness, or contentment, which cometh not from him. I find the interpretation of this passage much more reason∣able than theirs, who made Mercurie more skilfull in the Trinity, than all the Prophets: which is con∣firmed by the Authour of the Aegyptian Divinity, who in the fifth Book, fifth Chapter hath an excel∣lent Maxim: The first Agent acteth not for any end, * 1.50 having nothing more able than himself, for which he can act.

It is not so with man. For if he will well rectifie his actions, he must act for an end, and for the So∣vereign End, which, as saith the worthy Boetius in * 1.51 the first Book of the Trinity, is not composed of This, or That; but is simply what it is, without any dependence: and pursuing this end, it is necessary he proportion the means to the butt he aimeth at; for from thence resulteth that which they call good ele∣ction, which is a science the most rare and necessa∣ry of the whole world. Now this wretched Ma∣xim overthrows order so divinely established, and mortifieth what it may in the mind of man, the con∣sideration of the dependance he hath on God. It will enjoy that it ought to use, never to enjoy the Divinity. It diverteth all creatures from the mark to which Divine Providence directeth them, and draws them from the use agreed upon in Heaven; to appropriate them on earth, to the prejudice of the Creatour.

All which is most excellent in creatures, is not for creatures who possess it. Light is in the Sun, but not for the Sun; waters are in the Ocean, but not for the Ocean. God, who gives brightness to the one, and rivers to the other, would that both tend to the commodity of men, thereby to pass on to the glo∣ry of the Sovereign Being. The Creatour (said an Ancient) made all the most noble creatures for to give themselves, so much hath he banished worldly avarice. Kingdoms are not so much for Kings, as Kings for Kingdoms; for they are made to do them good, and to preserve them, as the goods of God himself. So soon as one is born with fair and wor∣thy parts, he is born for the publick, and he who would retain to himself what Providence gave in common, commits a sacriledge in the great Temple of the God of nature: if he perpetually reflect on himself in all things, and draw all to himself, as if all were made for him, he opposeth his Judge, and makes himself a corrival to Sovereign Majesty.

Besides, ponder here the greatness of this first Be∣ing which is invaded, the better to understand the violence of this tyranny. To whom would you com∣pare * 1.52 God? (saith the Prophet Isaiah.) God, who graspeth the vast extent of seas in his fist. God, who weigheth Heaven with all its globes in the hollow palm of his hand: God, who supporteth the heavy mass of earth with three fingers of his power: God, who poizeth mountains in his ballance: God, be∣fore whom the world, with all the huge diversitie of its Nations, is no more than a drop of dew, or the cock of a ballance in the hand of a gold-smith: God, before whom all Monarchies are but dust, and men but silly grashoppers. Were all mountains like to Lybanus on fire, and turned into victims for his sacri∣fices, it would be nothing in respect of his Ma∣jestie.

Since then, you little worldling, you politick spi∣rit, will side against God, divide his Empire, raise an Altar against his, preferring your ends to his preju∣dice, what do you call it, if not tyranny, since it is to enterprize upon the goods of your Sovereign, who hath not any thing indispensable from his laws, no not so much as nothing it self?

Nay, if you afforded God some honourable asso∣ciation [Reason. 2] (though that were tyrannical) it would be * 1.53 more tolerable; but you allow him a wicked petty interest of honour, of gain, for companion, which you plant in your heart, as on an Altar, and daily present it the best part of the sacrifice. It is to injury a superiour, to compare an inferiour with him. It is said, the very feathers of the Eagle are so imperious, * 1.54 they will not mix with the plumage of other birds, if they do, they consume them with a dull file. And think you to mingle God who is an incomparable Wisdom, a riches inexhaustible, a purity infinite, with feeble pretensions, which have frenzie for beginning, misery for inheritance, and impurity for ornament?

The most barbarous Tyrants, as the Mezentiusses, found out no greater cruelty than to tie a dead with a living body; and you fasten thoughts of the world, dead, and languishing, with God, who is nothing but life. This is not a simple tyranny, but a sacriledge. The Civil Law saith, you must not appropriate to * 1.55 your self sacred gold or silver, nor transfer to pro∣phane uses, what hath been dedicated to God; the like whereof is expressed in Laws Ecclesiastical. Ac∣cording to which axioms, S. Augustine said to Li∣centius, if you had found a golden challice, you would give it to the Church. God hath granted you a spirit of gold, and I may likewise say, a heart of gold, when he washed and regenerated you by the waters of Baptism: and now so far are you from rendering to your Sovereign Master what is due to him, that you make use of that heart as of a vessel of abomination, to sacrifice your self to devils. One * 1.56 sacrificeth to love, another to revenge, a third to worldly vanity. As for you, behold you are altoge∣ther upon particular ends, which take all the victims from God, to throw them into the gulf of avarice.

A man who hath conceived this Maxim in his * 1.57 brain, that his affairs must be dispatched at what rate soever, hath nothing of God but for cremony; he hath created a Temple to a little devil of silver, who sits in the middle of his heart. It is the object of all his thoughts, the bayt of all his hopes, and scope of his contentments: there is his Tabernacle, his Ora∣cle, his Propitiatory, and all the marks of his Reli∣gion. I wonder why in Ecclesiastes, where the com∣mon Translation saith, All obeyeth money, another ve∣ry * 1.58 ancient letter, and derived from the Hebrew phrase, hath, Money rendereth all oracles, for that is it which properly the word respondere signifieth. But I cease to admire, when I consider the course of the world; for in truth I see money is like a familiar spirit, such as heretofore Pagans and Sorcerers kept in secret places, shut up in a casket, or in some bro∣ken head, or the body of a serpent: when they be∣came any thing irresolute, they consulted with their Idol, and the devil counterfeiting voices through wood and metal, gave them answers.

Now adays the Devil money is in the coffer of the covetous, as in a Chappel dedicated to his name: and the Infidel, if he have any business to perform in his family, thinks not at all to take counsel of God upon it, nor to appeal to conscience; but refers all these enterprizes to the devil of silver, who gives him forth crooked Oracles. Shall I buy a Benefice for one of my sons, who hath no propension to the Church, but it must be provided, in what sort soever? The little devil answers, Buy, seeing you have money. Shall I corrupt a faithless Judge, whose soul I know to be saleable, to gain an evil spirit? Do so, since you have money. Shall I be revenged upon such a man, whom I hate as death, by suborning false witnesses, and engaging them by strength of corruption in a bad

cause? Yea, since money gives thee this power? Shall I buy this Office, whereof I am most incapable; for ne∣ver was I fit for any thing, but to practise malice? Yea, since it is money, which doth all. Shall I take Naboth's vineyard by force and violence, to build and enlarge my self further and further, upon the lands of my neighbours, without any limits of my purchases, but the rules of my concupiscence? Yea, since thou mayest do it by force of money: Shall I carry a port in my house-keeping, which is onely fit for Lords, sparing nothing from expence of the palate, nor from brave∣ry, in such sort, that my lackeys may daily jet up and down, as well adorned as Altars on sundays? Yea, since thou hast the golden branch in thy hand. Finally, * 1.59 this is to say very little, but if thou hast readie money, desire all thou wilt, it shall come to pass. For thou hast Jupiter shut up in thy coffer, (said the Satyrist.) See you not much infidelity, a great contempt of God, plain Atheism? Moreover, that which likewise makes this manner of proceeding more detestable is, [Reason. 3] that besides its Empire incompatible with God, it in∣sinuateth * 1.60 with such subtilities and pretexts of religi∣on, as if it were most devout. Black souls of sorcerers, given over to all manner of execration, make open war against God: they say they are altogether for Beelzebub, and keep the sabbath to yield him homage, and have renounced all the functions of Christian pi∣ety: in recompence whereof they raise mists in bright mornings, by the power which the evil spirits gives them, that hearbs and trees may die, or such like, for their witch-craft extends but to bodies: But this fu∣rious passion of interests which now adays so power∣fully swayeth, besides that it sucketh the bloud and marrow of the people, and bewitcheth souls which come near it with manifest contagion, appears with semblances of religion and true Christianity: although it be impossible to serve two Masters, according to the words of the Saviour of the world, and to accord the devil of proper interests with the Maxims of Jesus.

Enemies the most dangerous are ever the most co∣vert, it were better almost to fall absolutely into disor∣der, than to be flesh and fish, hot and cold, to halt sometimes on Baal's side, another while on the Tem∣ple of Solomon's part, and never to serve God, but with a shoulder; yea, with all manner of hypocrisie. I wish thou wert hot or cold, but insomuch as thou art * 1.61 luke-warm, being neither ••ot nor cold, I will vomit thee out of my mouth.

To all objections of Scripture and Saints, framed against this Maxim, we have but one onely answer: It is the world, we cannot live otherwise, the goat must brouze where he is tied. He who would live as an honest man, and not be according to the fashion, shall ever be poor. [Reason. 4] To which I answer. It is so far otherwise, that * 1.62 one cannot be rich, persisting in integrity, that who will well examine families and houses, shall find rich∣es the most stable, most honourable, and delightfull were ever on virtues side, as we may see in the exam∣ples of Abraham, Jacob, and David, if we will not learn it by our own experience. The blessing of God make the rich, and drives affliction from them.

But quite contrary, the fortunes which proceed by crooked and sinister ways▪ bring most dangerous ef∣fects along with them▪ for before their coming, they cause toyls and unspeakable anxieties; but being ar∣rived, they expose a man to publick scorn, in stead of making him worthy of regard; since they insensi∣bly are consummate, and in the end, always reserve to him who possesseth them, treasures of anger and vengeance. Would you see the proof of all I have said? Look on the travel bestowed in purchase of ill gotten goods, and you shall find it was for that, the Saviour of the world called riches, thorns, because thorns bear a fragrant flower; but the fruit is very bad, and which is more, they serve for a retreat to vi∣pers. A silly gain, which in the beginning smiles to the eye, is the flower of the thorn: but when it is swallowed with great convussion of mind and body, it proves an ill fruit, as likewise being involved in an impure conscience, it is as the viper among thorns. Will you therein observe publick sco••h and indigna∣tion? When you behold a man of base condition, * 1.63 who by unlawfull ways is come to great for ••••mes, he is looked on as the flea, which an artificer fettered with a chain of gold, to make matter for gazers O the flea (said one) it is well for her, she wears a gold∣en chain: the basest of vermine, bears the best of met∣tals! Is she not very miserable, to have her liberty so enthralled? Why was she not content to be a flea, and not to become a Ladie? Yet was this silly creature innocent: but whosoever excessively raiseth his estate by injustice, deserves he not well to be the object of all the aims of slander, and the anger of God? Our Lord (saith the Scripture) shall wither * 1.64 up the roots of proud Nations.

Will you see the progression and conclusion there∣of: The Grashopper, according to the saying of the Prophet Joel, hath a share herein▪ to wit, in bravery and riot of apparrel; the other part falls to the glut∣tonous flie, which is the superfluity of diet; and the last is eaten by rust, as are unprofitable treasures of the covetous, who almost all resemble the fountain of Jupiter Hammon, so cold in the day time, one can∣not drink of it, and so hot by night they dare not touch it. In the day of prosperity, they have bowels of ice for the miseries of the poor, and in adversity their goods are all on fire pillaged, burnt and carried away, by those who least deserve to enjoy them.

Finally, the day of Judgement must be undergone▪ to expiate many times by long torments the goods we can no longer enjoy. Do we not understand how the God of vengeance speaks to the rich of the earth, who are rich in iniquity? To thee I come, thee great * 1.65 Dragon, who lodgest in the midst of rivers of gold and silver, and sayest, These rivers are mine: I will put a bridle into thy mouth, and will fasten to thy scales so many little fishes, as thou on every side hast entrapped by so many injustices, so many concussi∣ons, so many falshoods, and I will take thee out of thy element, out of thy honours and riches, which thou hast abused, and I will thrust thee into the de∣sert on the sand, reproachfull as thou art, faint, and despoiled, nor shall any man compassionate thy mi∣sery. Oh, how poor are they always, who are rich with iniquitie.

(a) 1.66 But what if serving God faithfully in his vo∣cation [Reason. 5] he must be poor? O poverty, which didst re∣ceive the Son of God born, as between thine arms, in a wretched stable, and who sawest him conclude his innocent life in so great nakedness, that it had no other veil to cover it but the bloud which gushed from his wounds; must it needs be that having been so much honoured by the King of Monarchs and all Saints, who waited on him, thou here below shouldst be reputed as the dregs of nature, the scum of the world, the fury of humane life; must Christians come to that pass, rather to desire to be esteemed crafty, robbers, and excommunicates, than poor? No man * 1.67 (saith Minutius Faelix) how poor soever, comes to the poverty wherein he is born; we should possess all, had we learned to desire nothing: but the rage now a days frequent, to appear in the world what one is not, the madness which maketh frogs desire to swell like bulls, is the cause many stile a reasonable fortune with the title of poverty, whilest a thousand and a thou∣sand who live in the world, in the midst of extream miseries, had they hit upon thy fortune, would think them elves equal in point of felicity to Caesars.

One esteems himself poor, if he have not thirty, four∣ty, fifty thousand crowns to buy an Office; which is a fearfull exorbitance of our Age. One accounts himself poor, if he have not five and twenty thousand

crowns to give with a daughter in marriage, when the daughters of France had not heretofore above six thousand. One imagineth he is poor, if vails of an Office make not thirty or fourty thousand livres of rent, when the Chancellours of France had not in for∣mer time seven thousand. O insatiable avarice, the Cerberus, and gulf of mankind! whither hast thou transported our manners and understanding? No, no, there is not any man truly poor, who is furnished for necessities, without which, life is into lerable to nature: and that which affrighteth (say you) is the gnawing care of house-keeping, which shorteneth your days, and drencheth your life in gall and tears.

Weak and faithless that you are towards the Di∣vine * 1.68 Providence, do you not yet behold your di∣strust, your humane respects, your impatience is the source of all the evils which engulf you? Little birds that flie in the air and clouds; silly butter-flies which flutter through the meadows, painted with the en∣namel of flowers, and flowers themselves which are but hay, repose with all sweet satisfaction, under the royal mantle of the great Providence that covers all. Birds by his help, find grain fit for them. But∣ter-flies suck out the dew and juice of flowers; and flowers which live but one day, unfold themselves with beauties, that nothing yield to Solomon's magni∣ficencies. There is not any creature so little in the world, which lifteth not up its eyes to the paternal hand of God, distilling dew and Manna, and is ne∣ver frustrated of its hopes. There is none but you (O wretched creature) who having a reasonable soul, stamped with the image of God, suffer your discre∣tion to contribute to the excess of your miseries; do you not well deserve to be poor, since God is not rich enough for you?

Whose are the children which give you occasion of so much care? Is it you (O mothers) who have stretched their sinews, spun out their veins, number∣ed and knit their bones in your entrails? God hath made them, God will direct them, God will bear them on the wings of his providence, God will dis∣pose them where you imagine not. But you would not have them suffer any thing; why then did you produce them into the number of men, if you be unwilling they should participate in the burdens of men?

If you and they fal••ing from a flourishing estate, * 1.69 should be reduced to beggery, could you imagine you might be forsaken by the providence of God, yea, al∣though you under-went the strokes of warfare, which his beloved Son did here on earth? What shame would it be for you, if even those who have been in the world as great as Monarchs, are come to this e∣state? Belisarius, who thunder-struck three parts of the world by the lightening of his arms, who had possessed all which a great virtue might deserve, all which a great fortune might give, having seen him∣self engraven on gold & silver, almost equal to the Em∣perour Justinian his Master, came to that pass through extream disfavour, as to stretch out his hand for alms, yea, did it couragiously, braving his unhappi∣ness by an abundance of virtues: And you, who are much short of his quality, deject your spirit in a slight humiliation befallen you. Rusticiana wife of Boetius, one of the most glittering beauties of Rome, in pub∣lick miseries saw her self reduced to such poverty, that she was clothed as a countrey woman, no whit therewith dismayed; yea, appeared before the face of Kings in defence of her husband massacred: & you cannot endure to be seen at the Church in a modest habit, or a plain neck-kercheff. Alas your opinion, and your curiosity, is the greatest part of your evils!

Were it not better to undergo all the miseries of the world, in the fidelity we offer to God, than through disordinate love of proper interests, to be∣come a devil? For what fitter title deserves he, who doing all for himself, looks on himself as a Divinity, accounts other men who are under him, as flies and catterpillers, tyrannizeth over inferiours, tormenteth equals, striketh at superiours, breaketh laws both di∣vine and humane, to hasten unto gain or honour, and to anticipate his punishments, makes to himself an hell in his own conscience. If these truths perswade you not sufficiently the way of duty, consider a man of interest in the following example, and see by his success, that there is no greater unhappiness in the world, than to be fortunate contrary to the rules of a good conscience.

The tenth EXAMPLE upon the tenth MAXIM. Of liberalitie, and unhappiness of those who seek their own ends by unlawfull ways.

ANTIOCHUS the GOD.

I Resolved to present unto you in this History An∣tiochus * 1.70 the God, who made a God of himself, a man as much perplexed as unhappy in his aims; to oppose him against Ptolomeus Philadelphus, who was free and generous, to the end these Princes, as contra∣ry in qualities, as different in their successes, may make you the more sensibly see the truth of this excellent Maxim. When a great fortune and a prompt will meet together, they produce excellent effects of libera∣lity. This Ptolomey of whom we speak, had one by nature, the other from love. For he was naturally dis∣posed to magnificence, and the greatness of his con∣dition seconded his purposes. The revenue he received * 1.71 from Aegypt, might then amount to fourteen thousand eight hundred talents, which were the matter of his bounty, but the form rested in his heart. He thought nothing to be his, but what he could give, and was willing gold should be drawn from his treasures, to relieve mens necessities, as water out of the streams of his Nilus. To know how to give well, is a great sci∣ence. It belongs not to all (said Socrates) to mannage * 1.72 the Graces well. There are some who give so ill, and to such as merit so little, that the Graces being Vir∣gins by condition, are made prostitutes through the sottishness of their usage. But this Prince was as wise in choice of persons, as liberal to distribute fa∣vours. He willingly did good to those who made pro∣fession * 1.73 of true piety, and loved learning, well know∣ing it was to sow seeds in a land not ungratefull. It is observed in all times that Princes and men of qua∣lity, who have disobliged the Religious and learned, have had ill success in their affairs, and given their re∣putation as a prey to posterity. That is it which lost the miserable Antiochus, surnamed the Illustrious: for though his father had shewed him an example to ob∣lige the Hebrews, who then stood most eminent in re∣ligion and divine knowledges, he unhappily engaged himself to torment them, and by this means heaped after his life a thousand disturbances, and darkened his name in an eternal History.

Much otherwise Ptolomey favoured the people of God, with al sorts of courtesie. For not satisfied to have grāted liberty to more than a hundred thousand Iews, who were in his Territories, even to the redeeming slaves at his own charge from Masters who possessed them, he bestowed most costly gifts on the Temple of Jerusalem. From thence distending his benefits to men * 1.74 of learning, he furnished that incomparable Liberary, wherein in the end were numbered seven hundred thousand books, and having given the charge of it to Demetrius Phalereus, he caused to be brought thither, as we find in so many histories, the books of the law, with the seventy two Interpreters, who translated them into Greek, to be a singular ornament of his Li∣berarie.

All this passed over with ceremonies, magni∣ficencies, and the wonders which so many Authours recount, the King wept for joy, such affection he bare to things divine, in comparison of which he no more esteemed gold, than dirt. By which means he gained the affection of all men, causing himself to be beloved and adored by the whole world.

But Antiochus the God, being as the Antipodes, op∣posite * 1.75 in manners to him, esteeming himself as a Divi∣nity, thought upon nothing but to satisfie his ambi∣tion, augment his revenues, and seek his own ends, to the prejudice of equity, and all the most holy amities. Which was the cause, that undertaking a wicked de∣sign of invading the Kingdom of Aegypt, he set a huge Army on foot against Ptolomeus Philadelphus, of * 1.76 whom we speak, without any pretext, but the satis∣faction of an enraged ambition which possessed him. Ptolomey, who for the love of books abandoned not the sollicitude of war, had put his Kingdom into such order, that he was able to bring into the field two hundred thousand foot, and twenty thousand horse, besides he had two thousand carriages for the war, four hundred Elephants, an hundred and fifty tall ships. So that Antiochus coming with all the strength of Asia to surprize him, found one ready to talk with him: for the Aegyptian without any incommodity to himself, tyred and supplanted all his endeavours, which were grounded more upon passion, than good discretion. This man loth to return with so much shame, being unable to get a Kingdom, sought to win a wife. He passionately courted Berenice, daughter of Ptolomey, whether he were in love with her, or whe∣ther he would make use of this marriage, to give some colour to peace, which could not be conclu∣ded without leaving on his face the marks of his te∣merity. Ptolomy, a Prince very peaceful, readily inclin∣ed to the resolution of matching his daughter with him, that he might quit his Territories of him; but it was understood he had been already married to Lao∣dice, by whom he had children, which seemed to make this matter meerly impossible. Notwithstanding this unhappy Prince, who betrayed God and men with∣out reflecting on any thing in his designs but proper interest, sware deeply to give assurance, that he kept not Laodice in the quality of a wife and Queen, but of a concubine, whom he would dismiss so soon as the love of a lawful wife should possess his heart. They who desire are ordinarily credulous. It was wished peace might be purchased for the wearisom∣ness of war, and this Princess must be sacrificed as a victim, without consideration, that as faith and trea∣chery upon one side were incompatible in the person of Antiochus, so on the other Laodice, a Princess much like her husband, would not suffer another to lodge in her bed.

Notwithstanding, the marriage is concluded, Be∣renice * 1.77 is conducted to Damietta by her own father, who gave huge treasures with her in marriage, she is put into the hands of this false husband, who car∣ried her to Babylon, the capital City of his Kingdom. * 1.78 This beautiful Queen, who had all attractive graces on her cheek, and the caduceum of Mercury in her hands, by reason of the peace she made between two puissant Nations, was received with much applause. Besides there went along with her a great number of mules laden with gold, silver, and all the most splen∣did riches of Aegypt. For the father, who was so li∣beral towards strangers, had made spare of nothing to his daughter. The solemnity of marriage was per∣formed with extraordinary pomp, there was nothing but games, theaters, publick joys; Heaven smiled, and the earth assisted in these Hymeneal rites. There was none but Laodice, who being repudiated, looked on * 1.79 these triumphs with an owl-like eye, and a counte∣nance surcharged with the vapours of her envy, which hastened to raise a tempest.

She failed not to flie out in the beginning, and to speak whatsoever a desperate jelousie could suggest to her, to embroil affairs, and stir up the Kingdom: but finding her self not throughly seconded, she covered her discontent under silence, and the fury of her re∣venge, under an apparance of sweetness, supposing craft might afford that which force had bereaved her of.

Beholding her self far distant from Court, and put into a condition wherein she could not disturb any thing, she with a malicious prudence dissembled all that which lay on her heart, feigning to have no other pretence upon the Kings marriage, but that she onely desired to gain from him some solace, to sweeten the change of her fortune.

Forth with she wrote a letter to King Antiochus, ve∣ry cunningly excusing her self of all had passed, and shewing:

That if she at the beginning spake a little too boldly * 1.80 touching the alteration he had made in his Kingdom, it was a folly pardonable, since it onely proceeded from the love she bare him. That the disfavour she suffered by being deprived of a God, seemed at first so ha••sh unto her, that she could find no means to digest it: But that time had shewed her some part of her duty, and her evil fortune daily taught her the humility, she could never learn in Empire. That she acknowledged it was not for her to controul his affections, but observe them, and ra∣ther to entertain admiration for her who hath the ho∣nour to enjoy his love, than envy it. That she now hath no care to think on thrones and scepters, but that the so∣vereign happiness, wherein she desires to breath out the remainder of her miserable life, is to approach near his person, more dear than all the world, and to behold with an eye more innocent than she had done, the prosperity of his affairs.

Antiochus was very well satisfied with Queen Be∣renice, and already had by her a fair son, who was as the seal of marriage: yet touched at the beginning with some compassion to see Laodice so humbled, he gave her leave to come nearer him, which Berenice all made of goodness, and over-credulous, never sought to hinder.

She returned with shews of humility, pretext of amity, and admirable conformity. Antiochus saw her, and readily entertained her with discourse and wit∣ty merriments, thinking her unable to re-enkindle his affection: but she still had a commanding beauty accompanied with a wily wit, and a voluble tongue of power to win love, which the other very easily laid hold of, though he ever mannaged it to his own ends.

The Chronicle of Alexandria hath a remarkeable passage, telling, that Perseus looking on the head of Medusa, which he had cut off took in poyson from it, whereof he became blind. We must not too much trust these beauties and loves, which after a long course of sway seem dead, when they but disappear. Flames sometimes break out of wrinkles and ashes, to in∣flame hearts they had heretofore possessed.

Antiochus quickly felt the sting of this Gorgon, whose insolence he thought he had vanquished. For having formerly surprized him by slight daliances, she renewed her battery, and by force of her continual conversation, began to possess him as much as hereto∣fore. Berenice retained nothing in all this great pomp of her fortune, but countenances and shews; whilst the other became Mistress of his heart, and had so be∣witched the soul of this God, as to make him become a beast. The wicked woman staied not there, but infinitely desirous to place her son Seleucus in the throne of the Antiochuses, and fearing the muta∣ble condition of this unfortunate lover, preven∣ted his inconstancy, and gave him (as saith S. Hierom) not the Nectar of Gods, but the poison appointed for offendours, to send him speedily un∣to the other world. Presently after she caused

her son to be proclaimed King by the subtile pra∣ctise of two powerfull Favourites, who assisted her in this affair, and at the same time laid hold of the little son of Berenice, and gave him unto two murder∣ers, to butcher him.

Behold whither the mischief of a woman, aban∣doned by God, reason, and all humanity goeth, when incensed love, and blind ambition have let loose the rains to disorder. The poor Queen extreamly over∣taken by this disloyalty, came forth in publick with her great sorrow, conjuring all the world with tears and sighs, able to rent rocks asunder.

To take pitie of a poor stranger, their lawfull Queen, and who had never sought any thing, but their good: whilest some not content to poison the King her hus∣band, had murdered the little innocent, who was lawfull heir to the Crown, and would for full accomplishment of cruelty, serve the mother so: Then shewing her bo∣som, added, She was readie to receive therein the bloudie sword, which had cut off the life of her most precious child, in an age so tender and lamentable, if the people thought it might be for the Kingdoms good; but what could it benefit them to see a deplorable Queen torn in pieces before their eyes, who had no other crime, but her integritie towards them?

The people were so moved with this discourse, that they caused Berenice to save her self in the best for∣tress of the Citie, and instantly demanded their young Prince might be brought forth. The mur∣derers (as Polyenus affirmeth) already misdoubting the peoples fury, had prepared a suppositious child, who marvellously well resembled the young Prince, and presently producing him clothed in his gar∣ments, they for some time appeased the sedition. The wicked Laodice, seeing her business succeeded not to her mind, feigned much to desire a reconciliation with Berenice, and by practise of the ministers of her fury, found means to get some companies to steal in∣to the Cittadel, whither she was retired, who cut the centinels in pieces, and killing all the Queens offi∣cers, came to her chamber to murder her. It was a pittifull spectacle to behold the poor maids, who were about her person; for standing in defence above the strength of their fex, they pulled the wea∣pons out of the souldiers hands, running up and down amidst swords and partisans, like Lionesses, until many all bloudy fell at the feet of their good Mistress, leaving an eternal monument of their va∣lour and fidelity. The poor Berenice was amongst the dead, unworthily massacred on the bodies of her servants Three maids survived this assassinate, who bathing the Queens body with their tears, and hum∣bly kissing all her wounds, clothed her again with Royal garments, and laid her on the bed, invoking Heaven and its powers to their aid. The people flocking with the bruit of this great murder, envi∣roned the Castle, and put the murderers to flights, who durst not then boast to have committed this exe∣crable assassinate.

The Queens maids on the other side carried them∣selves very discreetly among such extream dolours: for as yet forbearing to publish Berenice's death, for fear of giving advantage to Laodice's plots, they shewed themselves at a window, and told the people their Mistress had been wounded by the cunning practises of Laodice, but that (thanks be to God) the wound was not mortal, she onely stood in need of some little rest, and good attendance, to take breath and be cu∣red, to the end she might acknowledge their good services. Polyenus saith, that the business being drawn at length, and the people desirous to see the Queen, the maids put a counterfeit into the bed, dressed up for the purpose, and framed some words, feigning a low and mournfull accent of their Mistress. This cunning held the subjects in obedience, and the ene∣mies in fear, whilest a Courtier dispatched to Ptolomey the son of Philadelphus, advertised him of all had pas∣sed. He failed not to hasten speedily to Babylon with a potent army, where he surprized the Conspiratours, affrighted with the image of their crime. Callinicus fled, and was afterward slain by a fall from his horse. The wicked Laodice was taken and led to punishment, where the people understanding the death of Berenice, and the dreadful exorbitancies of this wretched wo∣man, meant to have torn her in pieces, loading her me∣mory and ashes with maledictions. The Kingdom was for a time reduced under the obedience of the King of Aegypt, who carrying away infinite riches, and esta∣blishing Governors in Provinces, returned to his own country. One may see by this history, that men of inte∣rest desirous to swallow all by ways unlawfull, loose their fortunes, honours, and lives, leaving their souls to the pains of hell, and their memory to the execra∣tion of posterity.

XI. MAXIM. Of CRAFT.

THE PROPHANE COURT.	THE HOLY COURT.
That the life of curious wits is not governed but by fiction, and that the deceiver still finds such as will be deceived.	That Sinceritie is the Queen of virtues, and that the deceiver is taken in the snare the prepareth.

CRAFT, one of the prime Maxims of an ill * 1.81 Court, is now adays become the lesson of all Ages, each sex, and condition; and it seems to many, that to prosper well in subtilities, is the flower of wisdom, and utmost period of felicity. All are not fit for arms, learning picks out wits with too much advise, arts are painfull, and require in those who profess them some ability, which is not produced but by time and much industrie.

But in the mystery of counterfeiting, dissembling, and guil, every one perswadeth himself he there∣in can quickly acquire some skill, and be able to triumph over simple silence; and if he must labour in it, to strike the best strokes by the help of the tongue.

From thence it cometh to pass, that children are framed to this exercise almost from their cradle. Wo∣men, yea, they who make account to refine in devo∣tion, keep now adays shops of counterfeiting: the * 1.82 great-ones think it is their trade; the mean, who are as their shadows, take the same course. The world becomes a Theater of fictions, where truth hath much ado to be known, so many false visages are

put upon it. To speak truly, one would say the earth had changed its nature, and were now become a Sea, where the simple, like poor creeping worms, are aban∣doned to the malice of the most subtile. It was a worthy speech of the Prophet, who said to God, Alas, Lord! have you then made so many mortals, like silly * 1.83 fishes, and wretched worms, which have no government? Deceit hath sowed its subtilities every where, it hath every where spred nets and snares, and never ceaseth to drive, take, and entrap: and it seems would catch the whole world with its book. It rejoyceth at its own crime, as if it were a virtue, and maketh sacrifices with the instru∣ments of mischief. It judgeth of happiness by the mul∣titude of preys, and acknowledgeth no other God, but its own good fortune.

2. Now as for you, who are perswaded in this Maxim, that to prosper in conversation with men and affairs of the world, necessarily the foxe's skin must be put on, simplicity being too sottish and dis∣armed to bear any sway in humane life. I pray at lei∣sure * 1.84 consider some reasons which I intend to present, and rather weigh them in the ballance of judgement than of Passion. First know, that in the instant you resolve to be crafty, to be a lier, a deceiver, you pro∣claim war against a great Divinity, which will fol∣low you step by step all your life time, which will discover you when you shall not know it, even to the bottom of your thoughts, which will overthrow all your pernicious intentions, and hold the sword of God's vengeance over your head, even to the gates of hell.

This puissant adversary against whom you under∣take * 1.85 resistance, if you as yet know it not, is truth, the most ancient and admirable of all virtues, which hath ever been, and which shall never end; nay, could you make your thoughts penetrate into an abyss of time, and could you flie through ten millions of A∣ges, there should you find truth. But if you say, it was not before Heaven and earth, and that in pro∣nouncing this word, you had some reason (which cannot be) at the least denying verity, and speaking truth, yet must you find truth; so necessary is its be∣ing. It runs through time (saith S. Augustine) not * 1.86 being under the laws of time; it passeth through all, and shifteth not place; it is hidden in night, not ob∣scured by night, it is in the shadow, not shut up in shadows; it is not subject to sense, since it swayeth over understandings. It is always near us, nay, let us rather say, It is within us, or we live in it; and al∣though it do not occupie place, it possesseth all place in its Empire. It exteriourly giveth notice, it ap∣peareth inwardly, it turneth all into the better, and is not changed by any into worse. Of it, unless be∣lied, one cannot think ill, and without it, unless by flattery of self presumption, we cannot enough discern. What then shall we say more, since God himself is Truth, verity of Essence, verity of Reason, verity of Speech, as Theologie teacheth us. All virtues are truly for him; but he is not called by their names, as he is by the title of truth (a) 1.87. It is the apple of his eye, his heart, his solace, his delight, his power, his wisdom, his throne, and dignity. All what God is, is nothing but verity. It penetrateh all virtues, as fire and light do all the parts of the world. There is not any thing so victorious or triumphant in all greatness; for it never ceased since the beginning of the world to crush heads which rebel against light. It hath un∣twisted so many webs, scattered so many wyles, over∣thrown so māy lies, brought to nothing so many sects, destroyed so many humane powers, trampled under foot so many dragons. And you who pretend to be the cunning and refined spirits of the time, renounce it; you take up arms against it, and are not afraid of it; you think to avoid it, but it will avoid you, and the first of your afflictions shall be to loose sight of it. O my God, what a bold enterprize is it to draw a strong adversary upon us, and to provoke thy justice, when we may enjoy thy Clemency!

Remember you the son of Cyrus, who closely at∣tempted * 1.88 on Aethiopia with his arms, and prepared to make war against it? But the King thereof to stay him, was pleased to send him his bowe and caused to be said unto him, Adbunc venus, that is, you come a∣gainst the Master of this bowe. He was so amazed at the sight of this armory, that he surceased from the temerity of his counsels, to provide for the safety of his person. Now had you seen the arms of truth, which from so many Ages have quailed so many monsters, and gained so many victories, you would fear to contest with such a Princess. She will never forsake you, if you renounce untruth, and if you do it not on earth, you will be enforced to do it in hell. Hyppocrates gave the eyes of a star to truth, but should * 1.89 he have seen her face more uncovered, he had said it was a Sun, which illuminateth by its light, animateth the best spirits by its vivacity, as it dissipateth the mists of lies by virtue.

3. Besides, not content with this, when you in this [Reason. 2] manner undertake discourses of silk, and promises of * 1.90 wind, to reveal a secret, to lay snares for the sim∣plicity of a man, to satisfie yovr passion, or serve your ends, you commit another crime most pernicious to humane society; for you seek by these sleights to ruin all belief and fidelity. The Ancients made so much account of humane saith, which is constancy and sted∣fastness of words consonant to the heart, and per∣formance of promises, that the Romans placed it in their Capitol, close by the side of their prime Divi∣nity, and one of their Poets durst say, Faith was * 1.91 before Jupiter himself, and that without it the world would not be, and that it was a Divinity which had a Temple in the hearts of men, the most purified and best worthy of God. If with one single glance of an eye, you might see the world as a huge Thea∣ter, you therein should behold Empires, arms, laws, Cities. Provinces, sciences, arts, riches, infinite mag∣nificencies, you would be enforced to say, the basis which supporteth all this great majesty of Com∣mon-wealths, is fidelity, without which, Cities would rather resemble Cyclopean caverns, than Temples of peace and justice. But if you destroy it, not by impro∣vidence or frailty, but by the form of a setled life and by example cause others to imitate you, is it not to overthrow all that which is best established, and to profane whatsoever is most holy?

4. You perhaps will say, publick virtues little con∣cern [Reason. 3] you, so you may advance your particular inte∣rests. * 1.92 I will not tell you, this answer better becomes the mouth of a Tartar, than a Christian; but I dare well assure you, these ways of craft and deceit, which so much please you are most prejudicial to your honour, and most fatal for your ruin. For first of all, say you be a man of quality, you are not so unnatural, but you have some sense of honour. Now rest assured nothing * 1.93 so much villifieth you as to be reputed a crafty man, who carrieth labyrinths in his heart, and snares in his tongue. Dyon Chrysostomus judiciously observed, that nature gave subtility as an inheritance to creatures, the most feeble and abject, as to Apes, Foxes, Cats, and Spiders: but the most generous, as Eagles and Lions, know not what slights and wiles mean. We must likewise affirm, all the most eminent and divine spirits are very naturally inclined to sincerity: and that it onely belongs to inferiour souls, and such as distrust their own ability to amuse themselves in search of in∣ventions and tricks, to involve those, who treat with them by the way of sincere freedom.

See you not, mirrours render forms when they are leaded? & think you natively to represent the draughts of verity, unless your soul be solid and stable, support∣ed by its proper weight, on constancy and magnani∣mity? Seneca noted, that women the most destitute * 1.94

of strength, are most inclined to fraud and double∣ness * 1.95 of heart, (what I speak, nothing concerneth the prudent and generous, who know how to correct infirmities of sex by virtue) but our daily experi∣ence teacheth us, that there are of them very crafty, and such as under a pure and delicate skin, with a tongue distilling honey, often hide the heart of a panther, all spotted over with subtility, as the skin of this beast with diversity of mirrours. Their throat is * 1.96 more slippery than oyl, (said the Wiseman) but in the end you find effects more bitter than worm-wood, and more penetrating than a two-edged sword. What sense is there that a Noble man, who would in all things seem more than a man, should take up∣on him the vices of women, and inclinations onely fit for silly creatures?

It is a strange thing to see what the light of nature * 1.97 dictated to the souls of infidels, so alienating them from all manner of deceit, that they made scruple to treat with their enemies by way of dissimulation. We learn in Titus Livius, that one called Philippus, * 1.98 giving an account to the Senate, what he had nego∣tiated in the Court of the Macedonian King, decla∣ring particularly the course he took to entertain Per∣seus, under pretext of peace, and to feed him with fair words; the old Senatours stood up, and aloud protested much to disavow such proceedings, as mat∣ters opposite to Roman generosity. Violence (said * 1.99 that great Captain Brasidas) though it seem unjust, is always more excuseable in a man of authority than craft, which secretly contriveth some black busi∣ness under colour of amitie. What could there be more odious in nature, than a man, who to deceive the world, might have the art to change faces every hour, and seem sometimes white, sometimes black, * 1.100 sometimes gray, another while grizly, sometimes hai∣ry, another while beardless; in such sort, as to be meerly unknown to those who should treat with him? Now what deceivers cannot do on their fa∣ces, they act in their souls, through a strange profa∣nation of Gods Image, they take upon them a thou∣sand countenances, and a thousand impostures, to train a poor victim into the snare. They flatter, they promise, they swear, they protest, they call Heaven and earth to witness; you would take all their words for eternal truths: but if you speak to them an hour after, and that it be time to pull off the mask, they with a brazen brow will deny all they said, they will mock at all they promised, and disavow all they have done, with the same lips which before contrived it. What Behemoth, what Leviathan was ever beheld so * 1.101 prodigious in nature?

I know Ctesias among the great rarities of the In∣dies, makes mention of a Martichore, a beast which hath the face of a man, and the body of a Lion, who counterfeiteth the sound of flutes to charm passengers, and then entrappeth and kills them with the tayl of a scorpion, all bristled with pricks, and which is more, makes the same serve for bowe, arrows, and quiver. Needs must this be terribl but to see it be∣fore our face, is to have one beast for an enemy, which may by prudence be avoided, which may by force be vanquished, and with weapons mastered: but in a faithless man, you discover under a smiling brow, a thousand plagues, a thousand Centaurs, a thousand Geryons, infinite many Charybdes, and Syrens, who lay snares for you, who undo you, who ruin you, who strangle when they seem to embrace you. Can you then admire, if among the six abominations of the * 1.102 heart of man, deceit be one of the first? Laws have not severity enough, arms terrour, nor scaffolds pu∣nishments to chastise, affright, torment a man with a double tongue and heart, who persecuteth truth, killeth faith, poisoneth friendship, and many times plotteth effects of death even in a banquet, the solace of life.

5. All this is to no purpose, will some Polyphemus [Reason. 4] say, so that one prosper in the world, either by trea∣son * 1.103 or craft; little heed must be given to the judge∣ments of certain men, who are onely able to bark at our fortune, not to hinder our felicity. Here now is the knot of the business, wherein we must consider, that besides that the ways of treachery are laborious and shamefull, they always carry along with them the confusion, misery, and ruin of those who embrace them. Who diggeth a pit (saith the Wise-man) * 1.104 shall fall into it, and the stone shall return back on his head who threw it. The reputation of honesty is so necessary in the mannage of affairs, that such as lost integrity of manners, sought to retain the bark, to cherish a renown amongst men, swoln up with smoke and imposture. A deceiver fears nothing so much as to be discovered, and to lay open the face of designs which he closely worketh for the ruin of o∣thers. Judge now how hard a matter it is, to practise at this present in the world with such proceedings, in an Age most vigilant, and where little children are almost grown wise. What a trouble is it to hide * 1.105 your jugling in a Court, where are so many Argus eyes, who perpetually watch upon all actions. If one be surprized before the act, he must expect to be flouted even by foot-boys, and used like one who cannot hit upon it to be wicked, although this trade be very easie, and who having sold his conscience to devils, knows not how to evict payment, unless he plead it in hell. But if a man some one time come to the point of what he projected, which he can hardly keep from breaking through the ears of others, they who are deceived, seldom wanting eloquence either in themselves or their own ashes, were they dead, to decrie treachery; yet must he hereafter for one trick of craft, loose reputation and credit, two pillars of di∣scretion. All the world will avoid you as a rock or a monster; what ever you do, you have but one heart, and one tongue, to invent and tell lies: but you shall raise a thousand against you by it: For all those who know you practise this trade, and that you make it your endeavour to deceive, will bend all their sinews and strength, to entrap you in the same snares you laid for other; in such sort, that you shall be∣come a prey aimed at (if it were possible) by all the world.

Where have we ever seen a deceiver to prosper in * 1.106 all his enterprizes to the very end? You may as well number the waves of the sea, and leaves of trees, as recount the lamentable and tragical events of all these common cheaters, who never had the power to avoid God's vengeance. The pernicious Machiavel, who taught the art to deceive, produceth the example of an infamous Prince, whose impostures succeeded so ill, that by mistaking, he drank the poison prepared by himself for another in a banquet, and ended his detestable life. Is not this man abandoned by reli∣gion, wit and reason, to seek to perswade treachery with so weak examples? If he will work this way, let us oppose both against him, and the like experi∣ence of passed Ages, to set (as it is said) the Sun in full splendour before their eyes.

The eleventh EXAMPLE upon the eleventh MAXIM. Of Craft.

VIce many times hath a shop near unto Vir∣tue (as said Origen) and deceives Merchants under colour of selling good commodities. Craft readily counterfeiteth wisdom, and some there are also, who make the wise to pass for subtile. But there is so much difference between them, as between glass and diamond. Craft is a false prudence, which maketh use of subtilities against right and justice; but true wisdom, though it be subtile, is never craf∣ty: For it pretends nothing at all against equity and good conscience.

If you desire to know wary wisdom, and to di∣stinguish * 1.107 it from craft, look upon what the Empe∣ress Theodora did, one of the worthiest women of her Age. She was married to the Emperour Theophilus, an Heretick, and a capital enemy to the honour of Images, which he forbade to be kept or esteemed, upon pain of death▪ Notwithstanding this pious Princess, who maintained Religion in the Empire what she might, and sweetened with much wisdom the wild humours of her husband, spared not to have in private pictures and holy Images, affording them singular veneration. It happened one day, that Dender the Emperour's fool, who played this part at Court, rather through natural blockishness, than dis∣simulation, came (as he was roaming up and down) into the Emperesse's chamber, and found her reve∣rencing those Images. He failed not in dinner-while to give the Emperour notice of it, at which time he used to entertain him with a thousand merriments, saying aloud, He found Manna (so he called the Emperess) with her babies, and that she was sudden∣ly surprized with it. Theophilus presently doubted it was Images his wife honoured, and at the rising from the Table, he sought her out all foaming with anger, and asked, where those puppets were she a∣dored in the presence of Dender? Truly we must consess, devout women have sometimes a marvellous dexterity to excuse a business; for she suddenly hit upon a handsom evasion, which freed her from the importunity of her husband. For in stead of seeming troubled and overtaken, she smiled very sweetly, ha∣ving therein an excellent grace: Behold Sir (saith she) verily one of the prettiest knacks happened in your Court of a long time. This fool Dender, who still doth somewhat worthy his name, came into my chamber, as I stood before my looking-glass with my women, and confusedly saw our faces represent∣ed in the glass, he thought they were images so sub∣tile wittied he is. Is not this an excellent jest? Then causing the fool to be taken by the arm, they set him before the looking-glass, saying: How now Dender, are not these thy habits? The Emperour was so sur∣prized with the wittie conceit of a discreet Princess, that he believed she had reason, and all the matter was instantly turned into laughter.

I term not this example a piece of craft, but a pru∣dence, * 1.108 as the stratagem of a Captain called Chares, who enjoyning his souldiers some labour upon his fortifications, and seeing they undertook it coldly, because they feared to marre their garments, which were handsome enough, he presently commanded every one should uncloth, and take the apparrel of his fellow. That done, and all the souldiers being perswaded their cassocks would not be spared by those who put them on, they wrought in good ear∣nest, and very quickly performed the task imposed upon them.

This ought to be stiled with the name of wisdom, rather than any other title. But if we observe what passeth in the world, we shall find there are two sorts of crafts. Some are politick addresses and sub∣tilities, which proceed not fully to injustice; but which notwithstanding aim at interest, at reputation and glory, by ways not sincere.

So there are men who resemble those houses, which * 1.109 have goodly gates, and most magnificent stair-ca∣ses, but never a fair chamber: they have some sweet∣ness of spirit, some readiness and prattle, which is never wanting, but no depth nor capacity, yet will seem able among company: which is the cause, that not daring to examine or solidly debate a point of doctrine, or a business, they presently flie to the conclusion, and find handsom evasions. Others have admirable tricks to seem wise, by making use of an∣other mans labour, and like droans eating the honey which the Bees gathered. Other, in handling af∣fairs, and seeking to get dispatches, amuze and daz∣zle with variety of discourse, such as they negotiate with, to the end to entrap them. Other, to cross a business, cause it to be proposed in the beginning by a man, who understands nothing thereof, of pur∣pose to give some ill impression of it. Other, break off a discourse they began upon some matter, to draw on the more appetite. Others, make a shew to have nothing less in their thoughts, than what they most desire, and let their main texts creep in the manner of a gloss. Other, have tales and histories in store, wherein they can enfold in covert terms, what they will not openly affirm. Other, in things important cause the foord to be sounded by men of less note, and many (as it is said) pull the chest-nuts out of the fire with the cats foot.

These are sleight merchandizes taken from the shop of worldly policie, which proceed not so far as to great injustice. But there are black and hydeous sub∣tilities, which tend to the subversion of humane socie∣ty, and deserve to be abhorred by all living men.

Such were those of Tryphon, (of whom it is spo∣ken in the Book of Macchabees) which were most * 1.110 fatal to the people of God. This wicked man, being the Tutour of young Antiochus, shewed himself in the beginning very zealous in al which concerned the good of his service, and having a design to subdue Syria, he would first have surprized the Macchabees, who were then very eminent in arms. But when he saw Jonathas come towards him with an Armie of fourty thousand men, the fox played his ordinary pranks, he received him with a pleasing counte∣nance, and overwhelmed him with heaps of cour∣tesies. He told him he desired to live with him as a faithfull brother, and that he accounted it too hea∣vie a charge, to keep so great an Army on foot in full peace, which could not but be prejudicial to the repose of the people. That he might walk con∣fidently every where how he pleased, without any other armour, than the amitie of King Antiochus, which was an assured buckler for all those who would make trial of his protection. This crafty companion not content with meer complements, carried Jonathas into all the places of his charge, with such honour and respect, that he caused him to be attended as himself, making shew, that wheresoe∣ver he set foot, there roses and lillies sprang. Ne∣ver doth any man take with a snare, until he have some bayt suitable to the appetite of him who catch∣eth at it. Jonathas a little loved honour, and his senses were dazeled with the lustre of pomps, and charmed with the sweetnesses of conversation in this subtile fellow. He believed, he trusted, his whole Army was cashiered by the perswasion of a man who wished him not well. He onely kept a thousand men with him to be as a Guard, and entered with Try∣phon

into the Citie of Ptolemais, where he presently saw himself arrested, and his souldiers cut in pieces. The Impostour, desirous to extend his plot further, wrote to Symon brother of Jonathas, that he should not be troubled at what was past, and that his bro∣ther was onely detained for some money due to the King, which being satisfied, he should have liberty, onely let him send him a hundred talents of silver, with the two sons of Jonathas in hostage, to bring the business to the period he desired. The poor Sy∣mon who doubted the plot, had more wisdom to know him, than force to avoid him. For, fearing lest the people might murmur if he accepted not the ways of accommodation proposed, he sent the mo∣ney and children, whereof the one was despoiled, the other massacred with their father, by the com∣mand of the treacherous Tryphon. This factious and cruel man pursued his plot to the usurpation of the Diadem, and dispatch of his pupil. But in the end, after a reign of two years, Heaven, elements, and men conspiring against him, he was knocked down like a ravenous beast, and buried in ruins and pub∣lick desolations.

I would willingly know, to whom hath treache∣ry ever been fortunate? Was it to Saul, who after he had so many times promised David the safety of his person, yet not ceasing to persecute him, was redu∣ced to such necessity of affairs, that he slew himself with his own hands, leaving finally his spoils to him whom he meant to beguile? Was it to the unhap∣pie * 1.111 Ammon, who using treachery to draw his sister Thamar into his chamber and dishonour her, was af∣terward murdered at the table by his brother Abso∣lom? Was it to Joab, who moistened with his bloud the Altar whereunto he fled, after he had slain Ama∣sa in saluting him? Was it to Amasis King of Aegypt, * 1.112 who lost both Kingdom and life, for having foisted in another daughter than his own, whom he feigned to give in marriage to Cambyses King of Persia?

So many Impostours there have been, who in all * 1.113 times sought to usurp Scepters and Crowns by ad∣mirable inventions: were they not all shamefully ruined in the rashness of their enterprizes? Smerdes the Magician who had possessed the Kingdom of Persia by tricks and incomparable sleights, was he not torn in pieces as a victim by Darius, and other Princes? The false Alexander, who rebelled under Demetrius Soter, after some success, was he not van∣quished under Nicanor, and slain in Arabia? Arche∣laus, who called himself the son of great Mithridates, overcome by Gabinius? Anduscus a man of no worth, who falsely boasting himself to be descended from Perseus King of Macedonia, and durft confront the Romans arms, was he not subdued by Metellus? Ariarathres, who affected the Kingdom of Cappado∣cia * 1.114 by the same ways, sent to punishment by Caesar? The false Alexius, who durst aspire to the Empire of * 1.115 Constantinople, slain by a Priest with his own sword, under the reign of Isaacus Angelus?

Josephus relateth, that pursuing the same ways, * 1.116 there was a young Jew who had been bred at Sydon, with the freed-man of a Roman Citizen, who having some resemblance of Alexander the son of Herod, whom the father had cruelly put to death, feigned he was the same Alexander, saying, Those to whom Herod had recommended this so barbarous an exe∣cution, conceived such horrour at it, that they re∣solved to save him, yet to secure their own lives up∣on the command imposed, they promised to conceal him till after the death of his father; which was done, he remaining unknown in the Citie of Sydon: But that he was now returned as from the gates of death, to demand his right, as being the indubitate and lawfull heir of the Kingdom. This Impostour had gained a subtile fellow a servant of Herod's hous∣hold, who taught him all the particulars of the Court, the better to colour his counterfeiting. He led the Bear through all the Citie with good success, and great applause of the people, who embraced this false Alexander, as a man returned back from the other world. For besides that the Jews were credu∣lous enough in any thing which flattered them, they were ever much inclined to the race of poor Mariam∣ne, whose son this man counterfeited to be: under this pretext he was very welcome into all the Cities where there were any Jews, and the poor Nation freely impoverished themselves, to afford some rea∣sonable support to this imaginary King.

When he saw himself strong in credit and coyn, he was so confident as to go to Rome, to question the Crown against Heroa's other sons; there wanted not those, whereof some countenancing him by cre∣dulity, others through the desire they had of alter∣ation, bare him to the throne. He failed not to pre∣sent himself before Augustus Caesar, the God of fortune and distributour of Crowns, shewing he had been condemned to death by his own father through false rumours, but was delivered by the goodness of the God he adored, and the mercifull hands of the mi∣nisters of execution, who durst not attempt on his person; beseeching him to pitie a fortune so wretch∣ed, and a poor King, who threw himself at his feet, as before the sanctuary of justice and mercy. Every one seemed already to favour him: But Augustus, a Monarch very penetrating, perceived this man tast∣ed not of a Prince, for taking him by the hand, he found his skin rough, as having heretofore exerci∣sed servile labours. Hereupon the Emperour drew him aside, saying: Content thy self to have hitherto abused all the world; but know thou art now be∣fore Augustus, to whom thou must no more tell a lie, than unto God. I will pardon thee, on condi∣tion thou discover the truth of this matter; but if thou liest in any one point, thou art utterly lost. This man was so amazed with the lustre of such maje∣sty, that prostrating himself at his feet, he began to confess all the imposture. Augustus perceived by the narration, he was none of the most daring in impo∣stures, and said: Friend, I give thee thy life, on con∣dition thou ransom it in my Galleys; thou hast a strong body, and canst well labour, the Scepter would have been too full of trouble; I will have thee take an Oar in hand, and live hereafter an honest man, without deceiving any.

As for the Doctour, who had been Tutour to this counterfeit Alexander, the Emperour observing him to be of a spirit more crafty, and accustomed to evil practises, caused him speedily to be put to death. One might make a huge Volume of such Impostours, as have been entrapped in their tricks; but satisfie your self with experience of Ages, and if you dare believe me, take in all your affairs a manner of proceeding noble, free, sincere, and true, throughly perswading your self, what the Wise-man said, That he who goes forward with simplicity, walketh most confidently.

XII. MAXIM. Of REVENGE.

THE PROPHANE COURT.	THE HOLY COURT.
That it is good to reign over men like a Li∣on, and take revenge, not permitting fresh fa∣vours to abolish the memorie of old grievances.	That mildness and pardon is the best re∣venge.

THis maxim of the prophane Court more properly proceeds from the throat of Tygres and Lions, than the lips of men: but being harsh in execution, it is ever direfull in it's effects. The experience * 1.117 of Tiberiuses, Caligulaes, Neroes, Domitians, Herodes, and so many other, who have pursued this with events so tragical, and lives so monstrous, are fit les∣sons to convince a heart, which yet retaineth some humanity.

All power imployed onely to hurt is ever pernici∣ous, * 1.118 and having made havock, it resembleth the ruins of buildings, which overwhelm not any, but such as they oppress by falling on them. Man is a creature more tender than any other, and must be handled with much respect: Nor is there any bloud so base, which ought not to be spared, as much as justice and reason may permit.

The most part of men in these miseries and weak∣nesses of nature, seldom hit upon innocencie, but by passing through many errours. He who cannot tole∣rate some one, banisheth all virtue. He must neces∣sarily excuse many things within himself, who par∣dons nothing in another. If he think himself a God, his nature ought to be mercie, and if a man, the ex∣perience of his own faults should render him more favourable to the like in another.

It is a strange folly to think greatly to prosper by rigour. For all done through fear being forced, can∣not be of long lasting, unless the course of humanity fail. The savage beast is then much to be dreaded, when he sees the knife on one side, and rails on the other. There is no strength so feeble, which becomes not fierce upon the defensive, within the limits of ne∣cessity. A man who menaceth every one with blows of a cudgel, sword, or fire, should remember he is not a Briareus with an hundred hands, and hath but one life. Now becoming cruel and inexorable, he makes himself an enemy of all mankind, which hath so many hands and so many lives. Such an one thinks he is well accompanied in revenge, who shall find himself all alone in peril.

Then let us here say, there is nothing so Sovereign * 1.119 for the government of men, as the love of a neigh∣bour, clemency, and pardon, and that the character of an excellent nature is to forgive all other, so much as reason may permit, and to pardon nothing in himself. Love is the first law of nature, and last accomplish∣ment * 1.120 of our felicity. Love from all eternity burneth in the bosom of the living God: and if he breath with his Word, as he doth with a respiration substantial, he breaths nought but love. He respiteth this love by necessity within himself, he inspireth it by grace out of himself, and lastly draws all to himself by love. The worthy S. Dyonisius in the book of Divine attributes, * 1.121 distinguisheth three sorts of love, one is called circu∣lar, the other love in a right line, and the third oblike. Circular love properly is that which carrieth the soul with full flight into the bosom of God, and there holds it, as in a sweet circle of ravishing contempla∣tions, which transport it from perfection to perfecti∣on, never finding end or beginning in the Divinity. Love in a right line is that which tends directly to creatures, by wayes not onely lawful and lawdable, loving them for God, of God and in God but wayes likewise easie, and yielding to natural inclinations. Oblike love is that, which holdeth of both the other, and which imitating the Angels of Jacobs ladder, climbs to God by creatures, and descends to crea∣tures by the love of God. But behold a love of ene∣mies commanded by God, which seemeth not com∣prized in this division, so much it seeketh out wayes alienated and inaccessible to nature; yet I intend to shew, it may be found in the third part of this list, and that it is a love, which by the love of God de∣scendeth unto the love of man to love him according to God: A love which I maintain to be possible, * 1.122 glorious, and necessarie in three proofs that shall make three heads of this discourse.

2. To deny the possibility of the love of enemies, is * 1.123 to bely the Gospel and reason; the Gospel which commandeth it, reason which fortifieth the justice of the commandment. The words spoken by our Sa∣viour, Love your enemies, is not a counsel but a com∣mandment: so explicateth the Councel of Carthage the fourth, chap. 93. the Councel of Agde Can. 22. and all holy Fathers, who lent the light of their stile to the first light in the Gospel. Now to say God commandeth a thing impossible, is to make a tyranny of the Divinity, and to make a God like to the cruel duke of Muscovia named Basilides, who commanded from his subjects a tribute of sweat and of nightin∣gales in the midst of winter.

Reason dictateth to us this commandment is not * 1.124 onely of Divine right, but of nature; so far is it from being contrarie to nature, that to speak naturally, we judge that should be done to our neighbour, we would have done to our selves: and we desire to be beloved by all the world, yea, by those whom we have offended; we then necessarily conclude, we are bound to love those who have done us some injury. Besides, we well see, that to seek revenge by proper authority is to destroy the right of nature, and to make of a ci∣vil life, the life of a Cyclop, which were to have no other reason than strength, nor limit but the sword.

Some will say it were good, could love as easily be * 1.125 put on as a shirt, but if we have much ado to love things indifferent, how can we affect bad and offen∣sive? Love ever pursueth good as the shadow the bo∣dy, and God who made both love and nature, will not that it settle it self unless there be some attractive or appearance of good, which inviteth it to love. Now what is lovely in an enemy, in whose person all is odious, yea, the very name? Behold how carnal Philosophy with strong passions, and weak reasons, strikes at the eternal Word; as if in the worst man in the world, there could not ever be found something which may be an object of reasonable love. We are not commanded to affect him with a love of tenderness, but of reason. It is not

said, you must love him as vicious, you must endear * 1.126 him as injurious or wicked, for that were to force nature; but we are commanded to love him as a man, to love him as a Christian, to love him as the work of God, and as a creature capable of life eternal: All things in the world (said an Ancient) have two han∣dles, and two faces. Take a good hold-fast, look on the good countenance, and you shall find that easie, which you thought impossible.

Let us also pass with Divinity to a reason more eminent, and say, it is not a thing against nature to love above nature, by the commandment of him who made nature. It is asked, whether a creature can naturally love God more than it self, since all that nature loveth, it loves as a thing united to it it self, according to the * 1.127 saying of Philosophers: & all well considered, the most learned Divines answer, that the soul of man remai∣ning within the lists of natural reason, should love the Creatour, more than its own life; because naturally the will well rectified hath a strong inclination to its end, which is the Sovereign Good, and the under∣standing necessarily judgeth the subsistence of essence increate and independent, which ought rather to be preserved than that of essence create. And if that be done by ways of nature, how may one say it is against nature to love an enemy, when there is the com∣mandment and honour of God in it?

Nay, it is so much otherwise, that I will adde a rea∣son, which perhaps may seem strange, but it is un∣doubted true. I say, it is much more hard to love ones self well, than an enemy. For I beseech you, why was * 1.128 it that the Son of God so much spake, laboured, wept, and bled, if not to teach how we should aptly love our selves? And wherefore were so many Saints, fifty, yea, threescore years at school in desarts, but to learn this hard lesson? And who hath ever thought * 1.129 any thing more difficult to be repressed than self-love, which powerful in fury, and impotent within it self, forgetful of God, & still mindful of its own interests, ever gluttonous and still hungry, swalloweth like a gulph, sweepeth along like a torrēt, beateth down like thunder, and in the end is buried in the ruins it made?

If well to love ones self, this monster be necessa∣rily be to tamed; who sees not there is much difficul∣ty therein, and that on the other side there is nothing to be done but to love the gift of God in man, which cannot be ill but in your imagination? Why create we so many impediments in the love of an enemy, and find none in the love of our selves? Were it not natu∣ral, * 1.130 why in the Law of nature did Cato smilingly wipe away tough phlegme, which an enemy spit on his face when he pleaded a cause? Why was Socrates content, having received a blow on the cheek from an insolent man, to set over his head the scroul used on ancient tables, Lycus faciebat? Why did Augustus in an abso∣lute sovereign power of revenge, tolerate with so much courtesy a certain writer named Timagenes, who perpetually barked against him? Traytours that we are to nature, so to cover our neglect and weak∣ness with the pretext of nature.

3. Let us yet adde more force to truth, and more * 1.131 scope to our pen. Let us enter into the second point of this discourse which teacheth us the greatness and glory of a man, who knows how patiently to suffer an injury. The maxims of the world cease not to perse∣cute us, and say: That by tolerating a first affront a se∣cond is provoked, that mildness and mansuetude serve as matter of mirth to insolency, and that a man never so much undervalueth himself, as by publishing his little courage in the revenge of an affront. Behold goodly propositions▪ which so oft have drawn bloud out of the veins of France in these detestable duels nourish∣ing afterward covert hatred and everlasting aversi∣ons. O ignorant that we are of Gods greatness, and ever unfaithful to his word! We fear by pardoning to be contemned, when the onely reason which God useth in the Gospel to perswade us unto pardon, is the excellency and glory derived from this action: for he * 1.132 saith. It is the means to become the children of God, who causeth his Sun to shine upon the good and the bad, who lets his showrs fall as well on the offenders, as the innocent.

What beauty, what lustre, what splendour to enter into the number of the children of God! What eleva∣tion to be transported with full flight into conformi∣ties with the Omnipotent! The Prophet Isaiah saith, God measureth the waters with his fist, and poizeth the heavens in the palm of his hand; to signify, he go∣eth with a shut hand to punishments, signified by the waters, but proceeds with the whole extent of his goodness to reward, represented by the heavens. The rain-bow which God hath taken for the simbole of his reconciliation with man, environeth the throne of his Majesty in the Apocalips; and it is a bow with∣out arrows (saith S. Ambrose) to instruct us, this di∣vine * 1.133 Majesty is sweet and peaceful. So in the Prophet Ezechiel, after the description of this terrible cloud, which serves as a chariot for the God of Hoasts, you read these words: (a) 1.134 And upward a face smiling with light; where Theodotion (as saith S Hierom) hath trans∣lated: (b) 1.135 The west hath the highest place with the Crea∣tour, meaning, the mildness of western winds, and cooleness from scor chings, is in the pavillion of glo∣ry, where this Sovereign Monarch inhabiteth. O wonder! God, who is a Sovereign Majesty, Sovereign Greatness, and Sovereign Justice, shewed himself in all times so patient to suffer men, who are the worst of all evils, that he had rather we doubted his Divinity, than make any question of his mildness: he had rather that by so patiently tolerating such infidels & sinners, the lips of blasphemers should receive encourage∣ment to say there is no God, than by taking revenge * 1.136 on every sin in the heat of crime, it should be truely said there is a God, but he is ever armed with light∣nings, & is inaccessible to the miseries of men, as those mountains, which all flaming cast out their entrails. O Prodigie! God maketh it so great a matter to par∣don * 1.137 an injury, that he rather permitteth his essence to be touched, than his clemency; his title of God to be taken away, than the glory of pardon: Shall we then place greatness in revenge?

How many Pyrates are there, to whom God daily openeth seas? How many Idolaters, for whom he caus∣eth stars to give light, fountains to stream, corn to grow, harvests to become yellow, and vines to ripen? How many ungrateful children, who take benefits from him as hogs do acorns, by grumbling against the tree which gave them, and never casting an eye to heaven? God notwithstanding suffereth them, and confounds their ingratitude by continually conferring favours, in an absolute power of revenge.

What answer we to that? Shall we make it our glory to do like the silly mouse, which bites that which pincheth her; or rather imitate the perfections of God, who never appears so great as in pardoning great injuries? What may we hope in revenge, but to enter into the community of a bruitish life? That is it bears do, tygers, serpents, and so many other crea∣tures, which imploy their teeth, horns, poyson, and all the arms they have from nature to pursue revenge: Yet many times they measure it by the necessity of their defence: but to pardon an ungrateful man and an enemy, is to go out of our elements, and the base dross of earth, to enter into a sphere of glory and light, ranked in the number of sovereign beauties, to be an associate with so many noble and illustrious souls, who have in all Ages placed their glory on actions of mildness and patience.

Let us, I pray you, enter into it with a firm footing * 1.138 & a bright▪ forehead. There shall we see Moses at the feet of the Tabernacle to pray▪ & almost bind up the hands of God, to stay the course of his revenge against those, who persecuted him even to the Tabernacle.

There shall we see an Aaron in the majesty of his Priest∣ly habit, bearing all the world, with the incensory and Sacrifice in hand, to appease the anger of God against his persecutours, when heaven was all on fire over their heads, and the earth became a gulph under their feet to swallow them. There shall we see a David bear honourable wounds, which the envenomed tongue of Shimei had thrown on his reputation, and to mount to the throne of Saul by the steps of patience witnessed in suffering Saul. There shall we see all the Martyrs laden with torments, opening as many mouths as they had wounds, to beg pardon for those who persecuted them, and in the midst of all the Martyrs, Jesus, the great and faithful witness, quickning by effusion of his bloud, even those who shed his. There finally shall we see Constantine laughing at his statues they stoned, a Theodosius pardoning such as dragged his an Andro∣nicus, who at the taking of a Citie, embraced in sight of all the world him, who most eagerly had opposed him with all manner of outrage

Let us now judge which is most glorious, either to enter by pardoning into the most noble and generous society, or in seeking revenge, to become of the num∣ber of certain wranglers, ruffians, men of the damned crew, and lastly creatures the most bruitish in the world, wholly inclined to revenge.

4. Let us conclude finally with the third reason, * 1.139 and withal say, that to pardon injuries is not so much an election of virtue, as a necessitie of salvation, since God will not we hope remission of our sins, but on condition we banish the resentment of injuries. Necessitie of salvation, since prayer and sacrifice, essen∣tial parts of our salvation, cannot subsist without the pardon of our neighbour. And pursuing this precept, we have a tradition from the Hebrews which saith: He who being entreated to pardon, after warning given before competent witnesses, if he shewed himself in∣exorable, was surnamed as with a title of infamy the Sinner, and held as one excommunicate, as a rotten member, and cut off from the society of the faithfull. I likewise say, necessity of salvation, since according to S. Augustine, without this virtue all devotion is but * 1.140 hypocrisie, all religion blasphemy & all faith infidelity.

To what purpose is it (saith this Prelate) to believe and blaspheme, to adore God in his head, and blaspheme him in his members? God loveth his body which is his Church; if you dissever your self from his body, he will not for all that forsake his own members. Hear you not the head which speaketh to you from heaven, saying: O Man, it is in vain thou honourest me, hating thy neighbour? If any one, whilst he is giving thee low obeysance with his head, tread on thy foot, thou wouldst in midst of all his com∣plement cry out: Sir, you hurt me.

What is there either more powerfull or persuasive, * 1.141 than these reasons? Yet notwithstanding among so many lightnings and thunders which encompass us on every side, there are to be found infinite many black souls in the world, which practise hatred, some in se∣cret, some in publick, & make vaunts to eternize their revenge in the everlastingness of their punishments. What a horrour is it to see a man, who besought and entreated with all earnestness to pardon a brother, who hath offended him▪ answereth with disdain, furi∣ous and intolerable, he will never agree nor hold cor∣respondence with him, no more than with a Turk or Moor? Ah Barbarian▪ Shut up that mouth, unhappy creature, and never open it, at least never open it be∣fore the wounds of Christ which bleed against thee. Thou wilt embrace no other friendship with thy bro∣ther but such as may be found between Turks and Moors. Lyer that thou art, seek yet out words more out-ragious to express the gall of thy passion: For, if thou knowest it not▪ Turks and Moors retain the ami∣ties and sense of man, whereof thou art despoiled. Turks even in the general desolation of Moors, enter∣tained them into their Countreys, and afforded them helps, which thou hast denied thy flesh and bloud. If that seem worthy of thee, take a turbant, and become a Turk: But when thou hast put it on, yet shalt thou find laws which will oblige thee to love a man. The Turks have their Behiram, a feast, wherein they pardon all injuries; and wilt thou turn Turk to retain an inju∣ry? Out of God's Church, out of the society of men, out of nature, bloudy monster as thou art. Where wilt thou any longer find place in the world, when thou once hast pulled down the Altars of clemency?

That also which is spoken in choller and hasty pre∣cipitation, might seem pardonable in repentance, were it not there are some, who in cold bloud foster suits, and immortal pertinacities, and which is worst, many times in publick shewing a fair face, in secret they transfix the heart of a poor man, like unto witches, they rip up the bowels of wife and children, to sa∣tisfie a revenge. Barbarous man, eat, rather eat the miserable heart, than pierce it perpetually with thy infernal bodkins. I would in the rest be silent, if there were not women, who being infirm in all things, get diabolical strength for revenge. What may we say of a creature of this sex, who being very slightly offended by another of the same sex, whilst she, advised by her Confessour, disposed her self to all duties of satisfa∣ction, the other looked on her with a Gorgons eye, and foaming with anger, spitefully reviled her with bloudy words, so that nothing now remained but to take her by the hair, and drag her on the floar; which violence reproved by other, she repeated the burden of the old ballad, That she wished her not ill, but would never see her again. Inhumane and furious creature, a Maegera, not a woman, what mouth will you hereafter bring to the Altars, which you seem to honour? Have you any other than that, by you pol∣luted with this poisonous choller? What heart re∣mains in you for God? Is there any part of it not steeped in gall? What expect you at the hower of death, and in the instant of your souls separation, but that God repeat unto you your own words: I wish thee no ill, I will not put thee upon the wheel nor the rack, I have neither rasors nor flames to torment thee; but thou never shalt see my face? Wilt thou then cherish quarrels, maintain sides, spread rumours either true or false, secretly undermine the fortune of men, and make thy self as inexorable to reconciliation, as thou art inflexible to reason? Lord have mercy on us, * 1.142 a cruel Angel will be sent against thee, an ill suit commenced, a ruinous business, a tedious sickness, a loss of goods, a confusion of understanding, and then shalt thou see, whether fire being in the four corners of thy house, thou still retainest the itch of revenge.

But, you generous souls, march on by union to the chief of unities, and think the onely revenge, is well to be revenged on your self. If as I have shewed▪ par∣don be possible, glorious, and necessarie, why foment we our curiosities to enflame our feavours? Let us take away these silly humane respects, this slender pride, which often broodeth under silken devotions, and which is the cause, that God is daily beheld and adored upon both the knees, by those who will not see nor speak to any that have committed some slight indiscretion, whilst feigning to honour God the Ma∣ster with lips, the servant within the heart is strangled.

Say (O Christian) say to thy self: Am I more powerfull * 1.143 in my small family than God in the universe? He daily endureth so many injuries, not threatening mortals with his thunders; what am I, who have ears so ten∣der? Many have forgiven their deaths, and I cannot pardon a cold countenance, a silly word, a slender ne∣gligence. Is it a child, is it a young man hath offended? age excuseth him; is it a woman sex; a stranger? liberty; a friend? familiarity. He hath offended, he hath displea∣sed * 1.144 thee once, and how many other times hath he done thee good offices? But this is not the first time; so much the better shall we bear, what we already have suffered.

Custome of injuries is a good Mistress of patience. He is a friend, he did what he would not; if an enemy, he hath done according to the world, what he ought. If he were wise, he hath not done it without reason; if simple, he de∣serves compassion. Who ever bit a dogg because he was bitten by a dogg? Or who ever entered into a combat of kicking with a Mule? If he did it in anger, let us give him leisure to come to himself, and he will correct himself without our trouble to give assistance. If it be a superiour or man of eminent quality, let us suffer that which God hath set over us; if a person of base condition, why by striving against him, shall we make him our equal? What pleasure hath a woman whose hands are so delicate, to seek to foul them with crushing flies and catterpillars? Let us reflect on the carriage of humane things, we are all faulty, and live among errours. There is no wise man whom some indiscretions escape not. We shall never live content, if we learn not to excuse in another what our selves are. Are we not ashamed to exercise in a life so short eternal enmities? Be hold death comes to separate us, although we forcibly hold one another by the throat: let us give a little truce to our reason, light to our under∣standing, and rest to our ashes. JESUS in his last words recommended forgiveness to us, moistned with his tears, and bloud. Go we about to tear his Testament, that we af∣terward may pull his Images in pieces? The bloud of Just Abel still bubleth on the earth, and is unrevenged; shall we then seek to revenge it? O my God, we utterly renounce it with all our hearts, and are ready to seal peace with our bloud, that by thy bloud thou maist sign our mercy.

The twelfth EXAMPLE upon the twelfth MAXIM. Of Reconciliation. CONSTANTIA.

THere is nothing more certain than that he, who seeks revenge, shall find the God of re∣venge. It followeth those who pursue it, and when they think to exercise it on others, they feel it falling on their own heads. It is onely proper to base and infamous spirits to endeavour to glut themselves with bloud, and to delight in the miseries of mortals, but souls the most noble, are ever beautified with the rays of clemency.

Theophilus, one of the most bloudy Emperours that * 1.145 ever ware the diadem, an enemy both of heaven and earth, of Saints and men, as he had lived on gall, would end in bloud. He felt his soul on his lips flying from him, and saw death near at hand, which he could not escape. It was time, he should now yield up life to others, when it appeared he could no more take it from them: But this wicked man, holding at that time Thephobus, one of his prime Captaines impriso∣ned in his own Palace, upon certain jealousies con∣ceiv'd he was too able a man, and well worthy of Em∣pire, commanded a little before his death, to have his head cut off; and causing it to be brought to his bed side, he took it by the hair, held it a long time in his hands, so much was he pleased with this massacre; then seriously beholding it, he cried out: It is true I shall no langer be Theophilus, nor art thou any more Theophobus. And many times repeating these words, he yielded up his damned ghost like a ravenous wolf, which passed from bloud to infernal flames, although certain revelations spake of his deliverance. Behold how having taken in his youth evil habits of cruelty and revenge, he persevered in them to his death, be∣ing besides most unfortunate and infamous in all his enterprises.

But contrariwise it is observed, all great-ones dis∣posed to clemency, have been very glorious and most happy before God and men. I could here reherse very many, yet pursuing our design, I rest contented with relation of a notable pardon given by a Queen to a Prince, on a Friday in memory of our Saviours Passion.

It cannot be said, but so much the greater and more outragious injuries are, so much the more difficult is their pardon, especially when one hath full power of revenge in his hands. Now the injury whereof we * 1.146 speak, was the death of poor Conradinus, which well considered in all its circumstances, rendereth this cle∣mency whereof I intend to speak much more admi∣rable. Know then this Prince, son of the Emperour Conradus, went into Italy with a huge army to defend the inheritance of his Ancestours▪ pretending it to be unjustly usurped by the wily practises of Charls of An∣jou: He stood at that time in the midst of his armies, sparkling like a star, full of fire & courage, when Pope Clement the fourth seeing him pass along with so much Nobility, said: Alas, what goodly victims are led to the Altar! His valour in the tenderness of his age, was as yet more innocent, than wary, and he had to do with a Captain, whom warlike experience had made more subtile in this profession.

Charls being ready to give him battel, resolved it * 1.147 was best to weary out this young vigour, & to afford him the bait of some success in appearance, the more easily to draw him into his snare. He gave the leading of one part of his army to a Captain of his called A∣lardus, commanding him to bear all the royal ensings, as if he had been Charls of Anjou's person. Conradinus thinking he had nothing to do but to conquer what he saw before his eyes for decision of the difference, ad∣vanced his troups, which falling like a tempest upon the enemies, quickly dispatched Alardus, who was slain in the battel, as some histories record, carrying from all this ostent of regallity, a fatal glory into a tomb.

This young Mars, supposing the war ended by the death of his Adversary, presently proclaimed victory, at which time Charls of Anjou, who lay hidden in a trench with the activest troups, as yet very fresh, came suddenly upon him. He did all that for his defence, which a brave spirit might in an evil fortune. But his army being cut in pieces, he was enforced to save him∣self, after the loss of twelve thousand dead in the place.

His calamity caused him to change the habit of a King, into that of a horse-keeper for his greater se∣curity, so much he feared to be known by those, who would decide the dint of war by his bloud. He em∣barked * 1.148 with his cousin Frederick of Austria, to pass unto Pisa, committing himself in this disguised ha∣bit to a Pilot, who much importuned him for his hire. He had not then about him either bread or mo∣ney, so that he was constrained to pull off a ring, and leave it in pledge to the Pilot to assure the debt. He seeing these young men of a graceful garbe, and con∣sidering this jewel was not a wealth suitable to their habit, doubted some trick, and gave notice to the Governour, a crafty man, who complying with the times, laid hold of the Princes, and put them into the hands of the Conquerour.

Charls of Anjou much fearing this young Lion, for∣gat * 1.149 all generosity to serve his own turn, and did a most base act, detested by all understandings that have any humanity: which is, that having kept Conradinus a whole year in a straight prison, he assembled certain wicked Lawyers to decide the cause of one of the noblest spirits at that time under heaven, who to second the passion of their Master, rendered the laws criminal, and served themselves with written right, to kill a Prince contrary to the law of nature, judg∣ing him worthy of death, in that (said they) he distur∣bed the peace of the Church, and aspired to Empire. A scaffold was prepared in a publick place, all hang∣ed with red, where Conradinus is brought with other Lords A Protonotary clothed after the ancient fashi∣on, mounteth into a chair set there for the purpose, and aloud pronounceth the wicked sentence. After which

Conradinus raising himself, & casting an eye ful of fer∣vour and flames on the Judge, said: Base and cruel slave as thou art, to open thy mouth to condemn thy Sovereign.

It was a lamentable thing to see this great Prince on a scaffold, in so tender years, wise as an Apollo, beau∣tiful as an Amazon, and valiant as an Achilles, to leave his head under the sword of an Executioner, in the place where he hoped to crown it. ••e called heaven & earth to bear witness of Charls his cruelty, who un∣seen beheld this goodly spectacle frō an high turret. He complained that his goods being taken from him, they robbed him of his life as a thief, that the blossom of his age was cut off by the hand of a hang-man, taking away his head to bereave him of the Crown; lastly throwing down his glove, demanded an ac∣count of this inhumanity. Then seeing his Cousin Frederick's head to fall before him, he took it, kissed it, and laid it to his bosom, asking pardon of it, as if he had been the cause of his disaster, in having been the companion of his valour. This great heart want∣ing tears to deplore it self, wept over a friend, and finishing his sorrows with his life, stretched out his neck to the Minister of justice. Behold how Charls, who had been treated with all humanity in the pri∣sons of Sarazens, used a Christian Prince: so true it proves, that ambition seemeth to blot out the cha∣racter of Christianity, to put in the place of it some thing worse than the Turbant.

This death lamented through all the world, yea, which maketh Theaters still mourn, sensibly struck the heart of Queen Constantia his Aunt, wife of Pe∣ter of Arragon: She bewailed the poor Prince with tears, which could never be dried up, as one whom she dearly loved, and then again representing to her self so many virtues and delights, drowned in such generous bloud, and so unworthily shed, her heart dis∣solved into sorrow. But as she was drenched in tears, so her husband thundred in arms to revenge his death.

He rigged out a fleet of ships, the charge whereof he * 1.150 recommended to Roger de Loria, to assail Charls the second, Prince of Salerno, the onely son of Charls of Anjou, who commanded in the absence of his father. The admiral of the Arragonian failed not to encoun∣ter * 1.151 him, and sought so furiously with him, that ha∣ving sunck many of his ships, he took him prisoner, and brought him into Sicily, where Queen Con∣stantia was, expecting the event of this battle. She failed not to cause the heads of many Gentlemen to be cut off in revenge of Conradinus, so to moisten his ashes with the bloud of his enemies. Charls the Kings onely son was set apart with nine principal Lords of the Army, and left to the discretion of Constantia. Her wound was still all bloudy, and the greatest of the Kingdom counselled her speedily to put to death the son of her capital enemy, yea, the people mutined for this execution: which was the cause, the Queen having taken order for his arraignment, and he thereupon condemned to death, she on a Friday morning sent him word, it was now time to dispose himself for his last hour. The Prince, nephew to S. Lewis, and who had some sense of his uncles piety, very couragiously received these tidings, saying.

That besides other courtesies he had received from the Queen in prison, she did him a singular favour to appoint the day of his death on a Friday, and that it was good reason he should die culpable on the day, whereon Christ died innocent.

This speech was related to Queen Constantia, who was therewith much moved, and having some space bethought her self, she replyed:

Tell Prince Charls, if he take contentment to suffer * 1.152 death on a Friday, I will likewise find out mine own sa∣tisfaction to forgive him on the same day, that Jesus signed the pardon of his Executioners with his proper bloud. God forbid I shed the bloud of a man, on the day my Master poured out his for me. Although time surprize me in the dolour of my wounds, I will not rest upon the bitterness of revenge. I freely pardon him, and it shall not be my fault, that he is not at this instant in full liberty.

This magnanimous heart caused the execution to be staied, yet fearing if she left him to himself, the people might tear him in pieces, she sent him to the King her husband, entreating by all which was most pretious unto him, to save his life, and send him back to his Father. Peter of Arragon, who sought his own accom∣modation in so good a prize, freed him from danger of death, yet enlarged him not suddenly. For his deli∣verance must come from a hand wholly celestial.

Sylvester Pruere writes, that lying long imprisoned in the City of Barcellon, the day of S. Mary Magda∣len aproaching, who was his great Patroness, he disposed himself to a singular devotion, fasting, con∣fessing his sins, communicating, begging of her with tears to deliver him from this captivity. Heaven was not deaf to his prayers. Behold on the day of the feast he perceived a Lady full of Majesty, who commanded him to follow her, at which words, he felt as it were a diffusion of extraordinary joy spread over his heart He followed her step by step, as a man rapt, and seeing all the gates flie open before her with∣out resistance, and finding himself so cheerful, that his body seemed to have put on the nature of a spi∣rit, he well perceived heaven wrought wonders for him. The Lady looking on him after she had gone some part of the way, asked him where he thought he was; to which he replied▪ that he imagined him∣self to be yet in the Territory of Barcellon. Charls you are deceived (said she) you are in the County of Pro∣vence, a league from Narbon, and thereupon she va∣nished. Charls not at all doubting the miracle, nor the protection of S. Mary Magdalen, prostrated him∣self on the earth, adoring the power of God in his Saints, caused a fair Church to be built to this most blessed woman, and a Cross to be erected in the place where she left him, which was called the Cross of the place: Thus was God pleased to ratifie by so great miracles the pardon Constantia had given to Prince Charls.

I will shut up this discourse with a passage of so rare clemency of a Monarch, offended in the honour of a daughter of his, by a mean vassal, as it seems could ne∣ver have fallen but into the heart of a Charlemaigne.

It is to this purpose recounted, that one Eginardus, * 1.153 who was Secretary to the Prince, having placed his affections much higher than his condition admitted, made love to one of his daughters, which was in mine opinion natural; who seeing this man of a brave spirit, and a grace suitable, thought not him too low for her, whom merit had so eminently raised above his birth. She affected him, and gave him too free ac∣cess * 1.154 to her person, so far as to suffer him to have re∣course unto her, to laugh, and sport in her chamber on evenings, which ought to have been kept as a sanctuary, wherein relicks are preserved. It happened upon a winters night, these two amorous hearts, ha∣ving inwardly so much fire that they scarcely could think upon the cold, Eginardus, (ever hastening his approches, and being very negligent in his re∣turns) had somewhat too much slackened his depar∣ture. The snow mean while raised a rampart, which troubled them both when he thought to go out. Time pressed him to leave her, and heaven had stop∣ped up the way of his passage. It was not tolera∣ble for him to go forward. Eginardus feared to be known by his feet, and the Lady thought it not any matter at all to see the prints of such steps about her door. They being much perplexed, love, which taketh the diadem of majesty from Queens, so soon as they submit to its tyranny, made her do an act for a lover, which had she done for a poor man, it would have been the means to place her among the great Saints of her time. She tooke this

Gentleman upon her shoulders, and carried him all the length of the Court to his chamber, he never set∣ting foot to the ground, that so the next day no im∣pression might be seen of his footing. It is true which a holy Father saith, that if hell lay on the shoulders of love, love would find courage enough to bear it. But it hath more facilitie to undertake, than pru∣dence to hide it self, the eye of God not permitting these follies should either be concealed or unpunish∣ed. Charlemaign, who had not so much affection in store for women, that he spent not some nights in studie, watched this night, and hearing a noise ope∣ned the window, and perceived this prettie prank, at which he could not tell whether he were best to be angrie or to laugh.

The next day in a great assembly of Lords, and in the presence of his daughter and Eginardus, he pro∣posed the matter past in covert tearms, asking what punishment might a servant seem worthie of, who made use of a Kings daughter as of a Mule, and caused himself to be carried on her shoulders in the midst of winter, through night, snow, and all sharp∣ness of the season. Every one gave hereupon his opi∣nion, and there was not any who condemned not this insolent man to death. The Princess and Secretarie changed colour, thinking nothing remained for them, but to be flayed alive. But the Emperour looking on his Secretarie with a smooth brow, said: Eginardus, hadst thou loved the Princess my daughter, thou oughtest to have come freely to her father, who should dispose of her libertie, and not to play these pranks, which have made thee worthy of death, were not my clemency much greater than the respect thou hast born to my person. I now at this present give thee two lives, the one in preserving thine, the other in delivering her to thee, in whom thy soul more sur∣vives, than in the body it animateth. Take thy fair portress in marriage, and both of you learn to fear God, and to play the good husbands. These lovers thought they were in an instant drawn out of the depth of Hell to ascend to heaven, and all the Court stood infinitly in admiration of this judgement. It appears by the narration, what was the mild temper of Charlemaign in this point, and that he followed the counsel of S. Ambrose, who advised a Father named * 1.155 Sisinnius to receive his son with a wife he had taken for love. For receiving them both (said he) you will make them better, rejecting them, render them worse. The goodness of these great hearts for all that, justi∣fieth not the errours of youth, which grievously of∣fendeth, when it undertaketh resolutions in this kind, not consulting with those to whom it oweth life.

XIII. MAXIM. Of the Epicurean life.

THE PROPHANE COURT.	THE HOLY COURT.
That the flesh must be daintily used, and all possible contentment given to the mind.	That life without crosses, and flesh void of mortification, is the sepulcher of a living man.

EXperience teacheth us, there is in the World a sect of reformed Epicures, who do not openly profess the bruitishness of those infamous spirits, which are drenched in gourmandize and lust, but take Maxims more refined, that have (as they say) no other aim, but to make a man truly contented. For which purpose, they promise them∣selves to drive all objects from their minds, which may bring the least disgust, and to afford the bodie all pleasures which may preserve it in a flourishing health, accompanied with grace, vigour, and viva∣city of senses.

Here may the judicious observe, that such was the * 1.156 doctrine of ancient Epicurus. For although many make a monster of him, all drowned in ordure and prodigious pleasure, yet it is very easie to prove, that he never went about to countenance those bruitish ones, who through exorbitance of lusts ruin all the contentments of the mind and bodie: But he wholly inclined to find out all the pleasures of nature, and to banish any impediments which might make impressi∣on on the soul or bodie. For which cause I think * 1.157 Theodoret mistook him, when he made him so glutto∣nous, as to contend with Jupiter about a sop, and that Nicetas, who representeth him so licourish after honied tarts, well understood him not: For Tertul∣lian, S. Hierom, Laertius, and Seneca, who better no∣ted his doctrine; assure us he was a very sober man, and speaketh not in his writings but of pulse and fruits; not for the honour he bare to the virtue of tempe∣rance, but for that it seemed he found himself better disposed in this frugality, than in superfluities, the tormentours of health. Yet notwithstanding he is ever greatly reprehensible, in that he so deifieth the contentments of nature, and this kind of life free from bodily pain and minds unquiet, that he makes a Sovereign God of it, honouring and adoring it as a Divinity.

From this principle he derived conclusions, which led to a life wholly replenished with easeful idlenese, much prejudicial to civil society. For he would not have a wise man intermeddle in state-affairs, nor un∣tertake designs for the good of Common-wealths, for fear of troubling the repose of his mind, and gave a most infamous advise, to tast the pleasures of mar∣riage, without taking care for the education of chil∣dren, because it was painfull: whereupon Arianus in * 1.158 Epictetus reprocheth him, that his father and mother would have smothered him in the cradle, had they known such pestilent words should come from his lips.

He now-adayes is waited on by many, who take other wayes than he did, to arrive at the practise of his Maxims. For they use their bodies to such effemi∣nacie, that they seem single in their kind, and seed their minds what they can with tender thoughts, free from any care or affair, which may divert content∣ment, so that they suffer themselves with all endea∣vour to be dissolved in an easie truantly life, wholly to enjoy themselves.

2. Now you, who incline to this Sect, by ill habits * 1.159 taken in the great service you daily do your bodies, I beseech you consider how far it is allenated both from reason and Christianity. First, see you not that to imagine here on earth a life without pain, is to frame chymraes in your mind; since the world is a soil as natural for thorns, as barren of violets. All the sons

of Adam (saith the Scripture) have trouble enough to carrie their yoke. Where find you this perpe∣tual quiet of mind, this freedom from bodily di∣sturbances which you figure in your thoughts? It is in my opinion not unlike the little Island of am∣ber-grece, whereof Garcias speaketh, which was per∣ceived by certain merchants, who sayled along on the Ocean. But they much labouring to take it, in such proportion as they advanced towards it, it re∣coyled back, and when they thought to touch it, it was lost in the waves. I dare affirm you pursue an Island more imaginarie than that, running with full speed after the false pleasures of Epicurus. It is a fan∣tasie that mocketh you, and which amuzeth you on the surges of this life, to make you perish, seeing ac∣cording to Clemens Alexandrinus, sensuality is the * 1.160 ship wrack of spiritual life.

A man must not be born of a mother to escape worldly molestations, since the Scripture, which can∣not lie teacheth us, travell is as naturall for the chil∣dren of women as flight for birds. How could there * 1.161 be pleasures of bodie without pain, since pleasures would never be pleasures if they had not been pre∣ceded by some incommodities? It is a witty reason of the Philosopher Simplicius, which was well con∣sidered by S. Bernard. (a) 1.162 Take away hunger (saith he) and there is no pleasure in viands; take away thirst, and the most chrystal fountains would be unto you but as marishes. Hot things must be had to seek for coolness, and cold to be delighted with heat. If you take away evil and necessitie, you take away the most active spur which sensualitie hath over nature.

The world which is so old, the earth so fertile, ex∣perience so knowing, and histories so curious, could not this day produce one sole man absolutely happie and content. The great Genius of nature Plinie, who searched into all the corners of the world to meet with a man, such as Epicurus framed in his idaea, as∣sureth us, that after a very long enquiry, he found but one, a Musician named (b) 1.163 Xenophilus, who was said to have arrived to the age of an hundred and five years, free from disquiet or sickness. This is a Rodo∣montado of Greece, which went about to make him brave it on paper: But might we have penetrated in∣to his heart, and taken all the parts of his life asunder, I am perswaded we might presently find somewhat, for which he should be banished out of the imagina∣rie Palace of felicitie. I can as soon believe Xenophi∣lus came into the world free from original sin, as imagine he went out of it exempt from any dolour. It were as easie to sayl prosperously amidst the tem∣pests of the Ocean, having no other vessel but a tor∣toyse shell, as to live in the world without suffering. We are condemned to it before we are born, and our tears teach us this decree before we issue from our mothers womb.

What remaineth (sayes S. Bernard) to finish the de∣scription * 1.164 of man, and to make him a true picture of ca∣lamity, since he entereth into the world by the gate of sin, with a bodie frail, a mind barren; weakness of mortal Members, and stupiditie of heart being given him as a portion of his birth, and a necessitie of his condition? The miserable Epicurus, who was the first Authour of this lazie life, and who sought by speculation and practise into all he could imagine, bending all his thoughts and actions to this purpose, found he satis∣faction in this search? Histories tell us, this great fa∣ther of the happie had a stone in his bladder, which infinitly pained him: and this being a time, that knew not the operations now in use to deliver mortals from these vexations, he carried his affliction to the grave, dying with enraged dolour. Upon this you shall ob∣serve, that it seems God, nature elements, and men conspire to torment one, who seeks with over-much curiosity, and too seriously the contentments of his bodie, and the ease of his mind.

3. But, that I may here produce a second reason, [Reason. 2] although you were permitted to please your sensuality throughout the whole latitude of your desires, and the capacitie thereof, what should you elss do, but serve a miserable bodie, and tie your self all your life time to the preservation of a fool and sick man? If * 1.165 you live according to the flesh, you shall die, said the A∣postle to the Romans. All great spirits, who have a feeling of their extraction, the beauty and nobility of their souls, take not the necessities of life but with some shame and sorrow. They regard the flesh as the prison of a spirit immortal, and think to flatter it, is to strangle the be••ter part of themselves, which resteth in the understanding. The Philosopher Plotinus, who * 1.166 was renowned as the worlds Oracle, could not en∣dure to have his picture taken, saying, he had trouble enough to suffer a wretched bodie, without multi∣plying the figures thereof by the help of painting; and you imagine it is a virtue of the times to adore it, and afford it submissions which pass to the utmost period of servitude. How much the more we profit in the libertie of God's children, so much the more we proceed in disengagement from sense, and enter as into the sanctuarie of souls, there to consult on truths, and understand reasons, which vindicate us from the dregs of the world, to give us passage into the societie of Angels.

It is a strange matter, that the subtile Divine Scotus * 1.167 thinks, that to understand and know objects by sen∣sible representations, passing through the gate of our sense, and striking our imagination, is a punishment from original sin. He finds it is a harsh subjection, to make application to the bodie, to derive colours, odours, and sounds from it, which notwithstanding seemeth as innocent as the purchase of bees, who suck honie out of flowers: and shall we think there can be any felicitie to plunge our judgement into all the voluptuous pleasures of flesh?

Know we not, it many times doth to the soul, as the * 1.168 heron to the faulcon? He endeavoureth to flie above him, and to wet his wings with his excrements, to make his flight heavie, and render his purpose unprofi∣table. Alas, how many times feel we the vigour of our reason enervated by the assaults of concupi∣scence, which contracteth the like advantage from it's ordures, for the enthralment of the spirit! And why would we second it's violence by our weakness? * 1.169

I moreover demand of you, what can you hope from so punctually observing your bodie? You are not a Geryon with three heads and three throats: There needs but a little to fill you. For though your concupiscence be infinite, yet are your senses finite, & many times pleasure overwhelms them before they afford themselves the leisure of tasting them. If you resolve so curiously to attend the search of pleasures, you should desire the spirit of a horse, to enjoy them with the more vigour and liberty. But what sense is there to have the soul of a man, and seek to be glutted with the mite of the earth: as if one would feed a Phoenix with carrion, on which ravens live? when you have done all you can to make your self happie by di∣versity of worldly pleasures, beasts will ever have more than you. For their sensitive souls much sooner meet the height of nature; and as their pleasures are free from shame, so they drag not sorrow after them. They are not gnawn with cares by desiring things needless, they take what the elements afford them, and what the industry of man manures for them, & know not what it is to find poisonous mala∣dies in the most ardent pleasures sensuality may ima∣gine. But admit you were resolved to become a beast with the disciples of Epicurus, yet ought you not for all that, according to your own limits, surpass the brui∣tishness of beasts. And I pray tell me, where is the beast which hath never so little generosity, would not think it self most miserable, if it were condemned to eat and

drink perpetually, and grow lazy in an idle life? They frame themselves very willingly to the exercises na∣ture appointed them for the service of man; and a man thinks it a great Philosophy to consecrate all the parts of his bodie to sensuality, no whit considering, he is made for the contemplation of things Divine, for the love and fruition of the first cause.

Avicen, an excellent wit, by the unhappiness of his * 1.170 birth ranked in the sect of Mahomet, coming to con∣sider this false Prophet had placed the beatitude of the other life in the injoying sensual pleasures, was so ashamed of it, that he shrunk from his Prophet, that he might not betray his reason. The law (saith he) which Mahomet gave us, considered beatitude and miserie within the limits of the bodie: but there are promises, and hopes of other blessings much more excellent, and which cannot be con∣ceived but by the force of a most purified under∣standing. Which is the cause, wise divines ever set their * 1.171 love on the blessings of spirit, without any account ta∣ken of those of sense, in comparison of the felicitie we one day pretend to have in the union of our immor∣tal spirit with the first Verity. What can our world∣lings answer to this Arabian? Should they not blush with shame, to see a man bred in the school of Epicurus, gone out of it to teach us the Maxim of Christianity?

4. Finally, to conclude this discourse with a third [Reason. 3] reason, although the service of the bodie were possible, * 1.172 and not shameful to you, do you not well see it is ty∣rannical, and that Epicurus himself, wholly bent to plea∣sure, cut off all he could from nature for this onely cause, which made him think over-much care of the body was extreamly opposite to felicitie? The Plato∣nists * 1.173 said, our souls were of an extraction wholly cele∣stial, and sent from heaven to serve God on earth, in imitation of the service Angels do to him in heaven, but that many of those poor souls forgetting their ori∣ginal, instead of going directly to the Temple of virtue, stood amuzed in the house of a Magician, which was the flesh, that enchanted them with his charms, & had cast them into fetters, where they were enforced to suffer a painful bondage, from whence there were but two passages, wisdom, or death. To this Synesius * 1.174 made allusion in his Hymns, complaining, his soul from a servant of God was become a slave of matter, which had bewitched it by wily practises. And verily who can sufficiently express the servitude a soul suf∣fers, fast linked to flesh, and which onely endeavours to dandle it, hoping by this means to give true con∣tentment to the mind? First, pleasures are not exposed now-adayes to all the world, as the water of a river: * 1.175 such an one there is, who hath sold himself for the life of a hog, who will never have his fill of hogs draft, as S. Peter Chrysologus said of the prodigal child. Men covetous of bodily riches would willingly make themselves horns and claws of iron, to speak with the wise Plato, of purpose to take and defend, the one his wealth, the other his loathsome pleasures. Many times iron gates must be broken to purchase a fruition, * 1.176 which draweth along with it a thousand disturbances. Behold how a man who is excessively enamoured of his own health, becomes suppliant and servile to his bodie. He fears his proper dyet, all kind of airs are dreadful to him; nor can he take but with distrust those very comforts which afford him life. He makes of his stomach a soyl of drugs; he perpetually consult∣eth with his Physicians; he tells his infirmities to all the world; he seeks out extraordinarie cures, as he of∣ten hath imaginarie diseases; he lives in an afflicting equality, & would many times rather transgress Gods ten commandments, than fail in one of Hypocrates aphorisms. I leave you to think, what death were not much sweeter, than health so religiously preserved.

See now on the other side a worldly woman, who * 1.177 feeleth her beautie (that short tyrannie) already in the wain, and yet would cherish it in the opinion of men, who heretofore adored it; or of such likewise, who may be taken in the same snare. What doth not this silly creature to make her self to be esteemed fair? What time wasteth she not to seem slender, to wash, paint, to divide the white, well to mingle the red, to powder her hair, to make her self ey-browes, to pre∣serve the whiteness of her teeth, to set a vermillion tincture on her lips, little patches like flies on her cheeks, choose stuffs, and think of new fashions. What torture inflicteth she not on her bodie with those iron stayes and whale-bones? How many turns maketh she dayly before a looking-glass? What perplexities of mind, what apprehensions, least her defects may appear? And what discontent, when after such torments so miserably ended, she sees her self despised by men, be∣fore she becomes the food of worms? What Captain of a Galley was ever so cruel to fettered slaves, as va∣nity, and love of the body are to the soul? Pursue the track of all other pleasures, and you shall find them painful and dolorous; and in the end you will be en∣forced to say, there is no worse bondage than that which is afforded to wretched flesh. The Prophet * 1.178 Esay speaking of punishments due to sinners & world∣lings, saith, they are written on box, whereupon we may say with S. Hierom, it is to shew the lasting of it, since characters graven on such kind of wood, cannot so easily be taken off. But I here consider a secret, which teacheth me box bears no fruit, onely satisfied to produce a flower, which otherwise making a good∣ly shew, killeth bees that suck it. The Prophet in this figure presented to us a lively image of pleasure, which surprizeth the eyes by a vain illusion, whilest it con∣veieth poison into the heart. Rest then assured, you shal never meet with solid contentment of mind, but by the wayes the Saviour of the world shewed us on earth to transfer us to Heaven. The just are here below, as * 1.179 little halcyons on the trembling of waters, or nightin∣gales on thorns. They find their joys amongst holy tears, and their delights in austerities of life. There is nothing so Sovereign, as early to accustom to depend little on your body, and quickly to forsake, a thousand things by election, which you shall be enforced to abandon of necessitie. When a manner of virtuous life is chosen, and which hath some austerity in it, custom makes it sweet, grace fortifieth it, perseverance nou∣risheth it, and glorie crowns it. How many worldlings dayly putrifie in a miserable condition, who have from their tender age yielded all submission to their flesh, and how many delicate bodies in monasteries have we seen, which the whole world condemned to the beer from their entering into religion, to go out of hair∣cloth, ashes, & fasts, as a Phoenix from her tomb? A life without crosses is a dead sea, which breedeth nought but stench and sterility: but austerity is like the Aegy∣ptian thorn, which had an excellent grace in crowns. We are called to Christianity, to bear a God crucified * 1.180 on our flesh, and as it were impressed with the Chara∣cters of Divine love. Let us carefully preserve our selves from prostituting members to sensuality, made to be the Temple of the living God, and the ornament of Paradise. Holy Job was in state so lamentable, that those who beheld him could scarcely tell, whether it were a man reduced into a dunghil, or a dunghil into the shape of a man: Notwithstanding, in the midst of these smarting dolours, which over-ran all his body, and the afflictions which assailed his mind, he received so unspeakable comforts from God, that himself con∣fesseth to have nothing so strange in his own person, as his proper torments. Behold the reason why he ex∣alted * 1.181 himself on his dunghil, as upon a throne of vir∣tue, he adorned himself with his wounds as with a royal purple, he took the Scepter in hand over all ef∣feminacies of body and pronounced Oracles unto us, which to all Ages shew, that there is neither evil nor affliction wherein God maketh not his miracles of our pains, and his glorie of our rewards.

The thirteenth EXAMPLE upon the thirteenth MAXIM. The Miserable event of Lust. AMMON the Son of DAVID.

IT is not one of the least miseries, of the greatest of all evils, I mean sin, that the ill example which of∣ten accompanieth it, doth likewise survive it. It is, to say truly, a most bitter fruit of this direful tree, or rather a scien which it in growing produceth, and which being fed from it's sap, stands upright after the fall of it. Nor is it strange, that when once the mercy of God, (onely able for this great work) hath stifled the monster sin in the soul of parents, yet fails it not (though wholly dead) to infect their families, and poison their posteritie with the stench of it's ordure.

David that great Prince, that King according to Gods heart, had lost the affections and sweet indul∣gencies of it, by an adultery and an homicide. He af∣terward weepeth, he humbly prayeth, he lowdly cries, and God, who is willing to be moved, turneth his eyes from his crimes, and that he may no more hereafter see them, applies the sponge to cleanse them: yet be∣hold long after Ammon, one of his children, who casteth an eye on these bad lessons, & though blotted out, fails not to read them, and to learn thence the science of his own ruin. This unhappy Prince scorns to reflect on the mild temper, the pennance and zeal of his father, to look on his exorbitancies. He cannot see this Sun but in eclipse, and not seeking to make choice among so many eminent virtues, which had made him hap∣pie, he will not follow his steps but in a path, where needs he must meet with ill adventures.

Although the holy Scripture speaketh not of the wicked deportments of this Prince until his incest, yet there is a great probability he began not at the end, nor mounted this tower of confusion by the top, but rather arrived thither by the degrees of a life irregu∣lar, effeminate, and freed from the care of the soul, wholly to resign himself to the service of the bodie and it••s concupiscence. But in so much as loathing, which always waits very near upon the most exquisite pleasures, is wont every moment to put the levity of sinners upon new objects, and in that, besides the pride of those who hate thee, (O God supremely amiable) perpetually mounteth, until their giddiness precipitate them into the abyss. Behold here our wicked one, our * 1.182 Epicure, before there was an Epicure in the world, who rejecteth mean crimes, distasteth common pleasures, and projecteth an incest with his own sister, not consi∣dering how unreasonable it is to sacrifice the honour of the royal house, the tranquility of his father, his soul and salvation, to the distemper of his fancy.

He turneth his eyes from heaven, and from the God of heaven, whose wonders his father had so often sung unto him; he is wholly for passion which predo∣minateth over him nor entertains any other cogitati∣ons but to satisfie it. Already this feaver, which takes away his sense, hath enflamed his bloud, leaving him nought in his veins, but the fire of hel, which more and more encreaseth. The contagion of this unsound soul spreads over the bodie. Behold (saith the historie) he fals sick for the love of his sister, who hath nothing at all in her, which can displease him, but her chastitie; because that sets before him the great difficulties of his enterprize. He hath a friend, and this proves his main unhappiness; a worldly wise one, a flattering friend, a companion of his riots: but such amities which deserve not the name, resemble false fires, which seeming all enflamed, are nothing elss but smoke very easily dissipated, and whose bright splendour onely serves to lead into precipices.

This was Joadab, one of David's Nephews, who ha∣ving * 1.183 searched into the change both of his counte∣nance and humour, quickly understood the reason of it from his lips, so that too easily complying with his passion, he lastly gave him this counsel: Lie (saith he) on your bed, counterfeit sickness, the King doubtless will visit you, you shall beg of him that your sister Thamar may come to you to prepare your diet, and he without doubt will assent to it.

Cruel friend, nay rather soothing enemy, what doest thou? Thou well knowest that thus flexibly to serve the passion of this violent spirit, thou subjectest him to the extremitie of all unhappiness. Thou stranglest this Prince whilst thou flatterest him, and in lieu of good offices, givest him a hand to lead him down into ruin. Were it not better to use fire and steel for the cure of this mad man, than to comply with his malady to ren∣der it incurable? Were it not better with a bitter, but charitable correction, to purge his bad humours, than to powr into him a pleasing poison?

There is nothing more faithfully or more readily executed, than an ill advise; quickly our amourist is in his bed, he entreateth Thamar of the King, who came to visit him; where behold the father, too good for so bad a son, grants what he demandeth. The poor vir∣gin likewise obeyeth the commands of her father, and the suggestions of her own heart, which had but too much tenderness towards so execrable a brother. She runs like an innocent victim to the knife, which must cut her throat, she follows the bait not doubting the hook, and goeth fearless into a place, where she must loose all. This dissembling sick man at first refuseth * 1.184 the broths she had prepared to procure him an ap∣petite, but having given command all should depart out of the chamber, desires his sister to bring them in: she who nothing doubted the practise, readily goes in, offers them to him, but the enraged creature seizeth on her, and requires to lie with her.

The poor Princess surprized in this attempt, seeks * 1.185 to temper him with sweet words. Alas, dear brother (saith she) commit not such a violence upon me, remem∣ber with your self this abomination is without example in Israel. Banish such thoughts from you, and take heed you enterprize not an act, which will among the wisest be esteemed an unspeakable folly. Whither shall I go af∣ter such a shame, or what will you do, when you have purchased so ill reputation? By all means speak to the King, he is a good father, he perhaps will freely afford you that, which you by violence would take. The enraged monster will not so much as understand her, he for∣ceth her, he finds himself to be the stronger, and makes use of this advantage for the satisfaction of a passion, nay rather of a fury, which even the most part of bruit beasts abhor.

It is a strange thing, how those who seek their con∣tentment in the contempt of God and his ordinances, make an ill reckoning. They meet with worm-wood even in honey: their fingers are pricked whilst they gather roses, the odour of which so soon paineth them, and in a word they see, that loathing conclu∣deth, what was begun by disturbances and impatience. This inconstant spirit promised himself pleasures with∣out anxiety or period, but behold him foiled in the first fruition. This infinite love finds it's end in the be∣ginning, or rather it's change into aversion & hatred.

Behold he presently despiseth his sister, yea, exces∣sively; * 1.186 mark the Scripture: The hatred was much greater, than was ever the affection. He commands her to be gone, and she exaggerating the second of∣fence committed by him, his so unworthy usage of her after such an outrage, he willeth one of his ser∣vants to drive her out, and shut the door after her. Who can describe the griefs and agonies of this affli∣cted creature, defamed by her brother, and thrust by a groom out of a house, wherinto she came not but to do him service? She cast ashes on her head, rent her garments, lifts her hands over her head, goes away

weeping and lamenting like one distract, to seek out her brother Absolon, to give him an account of her dolours and to ask revenge.

This Prince (one of the most prudent and politick * 1.187 of his time) at the first dissembleth his resentment; to make it seasonable appear, he endevoureth to sweeten the acerbity of his soul by fair words, adviseth her to be silent, sheweth when all is done he is her brother, and that she should not take such an injury to the heart. Needs must the smoke of pleasure, turn the course of things into flames, and a momentarie con∣tentment transmit sorrow and sadness over to poste∣rity.

Behold Thamar lives in her brothers house, quite disconsolate, King David is enraged, nor can be ap∣peased, and Absolon hides under the ashes of his dissi∣mulation a fire not to be quenched, but with the bloud of this caitive.

Two years passed, and he spake neither well nor ill of this act, that he might not by his speech betray the desire he had to avenge it. In the end, at the time of his sheep shearing in Balhazor, he took occasion to invite all the Kings children to his house. He invited the King likewise, but he making excuse to charge him with so great a train, he entreats that at the least his brother Ammon might be his guest. He shrinks not back, not upon the first denial, he enforceth by the eagerness of importunitie, where behold the misera∣ble man goes with his brothers, not knowing he must be the victim of a Sacrifice, prepared by the Justice of heaven, which hath ever undertaken the revenge of violated chastity. See in the midst of a banquet, when Ammon had taken in a little wine, and was full of jollitie, Absolon cries out, kill; and his servants * 1.188 following the direction he had given them, fell upon him, struck him, and left him dead in the place. The other brothers affrighted, rose from the table, got on horse-back, and came to Sion, where they satisfied the King, who thought his whole family had been massa∣cred. They at their enterance cried out aloud, they wept with their father, who gave to the desolation of his house what remained of tears, after those torrents which had heretofore dropped from his eyes, and where his sins had happily made ship-wrack.

The murderer escapeth & forsakes the Kingdom, and David lanquisheth with sorrow for his absence, being unable to endure that one death alone should bereave him of two of his children. Lastly he comforted himself in it, and admired the judgements of God upon his house, who permitted that two of his sons were par∣takers in his crimes, and had surmounted his adultery and homicide, with an incest and a fratricide.

XIV. MAXIM. Of TRIBULATION.

THE PROPHANE COURT.	THE HOLY COURT.
That one must be evil to be happy, since the Just are most afflicted.	That all is happie for the Just, yea, even tribulation.

IT is a wonderfull thing how the Pro∣phane Court dares propose this maxim, refuted by the experience of all Ages, observations of all histories, understand∣ings of all people, and common voice of nature.

Camerarius in his Problems, wherein he pursueth the tracks of ordinarie life, without search into other considerations more Divine, makes a question, why those who are addicted to Religion, are alwayes most happy. And on the contrarie, from whence it is, that the wicked are most unfortunate: Affirming it to be observed throughout all histories. Now this Authour, who plainly sheweth in this Treatise he is none of the most Religious, gently toucheth some reasons, saying among other things, there is some power which plea∣seth to depress the wicked, because ordinarily they are of a spirit fierce and insolent; as if impiety alone were not sufficient for their infelicity. The punish∣ments of the wicked are so frequent in histories both Divine and humane, that in so great an Ocean of ex∣amples, which may take up more than fifty Ages, scarcely can we produce one sole notable felicitie, which felt not some great mishap. That we many times may have cause to make use of S. Augustines, and S. Eucherius argument, who say, that although God punish not a crime in this life, he doth it to assure us there is a great tribunal, and a puissant justice in the other world. It were a thing superfluous at this time to oppose this maxim by effects, which are so evident, and whereof I think I have produced sufficient ob∣servations in preceeding Tomes: I had rather here employ reason, and shew all to be happy to the just, yea, tribulation.

That the Providence of GOD excellently ap∣peareth in the afflictions of the Just.

MEn curious in their censures, and distrustfull in their actions, have never ceased in all times to argue with Divine providence about the afflictions of the Just, but I with the assistance of hea∣ven intend at this present to prove the eternal Wis∣dom maketh it self visibly appear, by the same things wherewith many think to overthrow it. Now I make it good by four reasons: the first whereof shall shew, worldly blessings cannot be great but by the expe∣rience of evils. Secondly, that tribulation is the nour∣sing-mother of all virtues. Thirdly, that there is no spectacle more glorious among the works of God, than an innocent afflicted for Justice, and patient in affliction. Fourthly, that it is a proof of beatitude.

We then deliver in the beginning of this discourse * 1.189 a notable maxim drawn out of Aeneas Gaza, an ancient Authour, inserted in the Bibliotheck of the Fathers: Never do we sufficiently know the sweetness of good, without the trial of evil. Joseph mounted upon the triumphant Chariot of Pharao by prisons and fetters: David to the throne of Saul by many persecutions: And their great prosperities were much more sweet unto them, because they were fore-gone by sharp af∣flictions. We see the same in nature; where the Sun is more resplendent after it's eclipse, the sea more calm after a tempest, and the air much brighter after a shower, which made a great States-man say: Storms * 1.190 and tempests contribute to the clearness of the heavens, and the smoothness of the sea. The condition of mortals hath this proper, that adversities grow out of prosperities, and prosperities from adversities. God hideth from us the seeds both of the one and the other, and many times

the causes of blessings and evils are covered under one and the same appearance.

One may here object, that if we must alwayes have evil to tast good, we might infer the Angels were not sufficiently happy, because they arrived at beatitude without passing through tribulations, these being the flower-de-luces of God's garden, which neither wrought nor took pains to be clothed with the robe of glorie: we might conclude, God himself had some defect in his felicitie, since he alwayes hath a most ac∣complished beatitude, with exclusion of all manner of evil. I answer to that, there is very much diffe∣rence between the condition of things eternal and temporal. Angels entered almost as soon into feli∣citie as into being, because they were placed in the upper region of the world, where miseries cannot ap∣proch, and who having besides a singular knowledge of God's favour, stood not in need to be aided by the counterpoize of adversities. But as for us, we are not onely born in a soil, which is as fertile in calamities, as forrests in brids, and rivers in fish; but besides, we are extream ignorant of God's grace, when we long enjoy prosperity; which is the cause that adversity, though necessarily tied to our condition, maketh us notably open our eyes to know the felicities which follow it, and to understand from what source they proceed. As for that which concerneth the Divinity, it cannot, to speak properly, endure any thing contrary by reason of the condition of it's essence, which is ful∣ly replenished with all sorts of beatitude. God (said Philon) is incommunicable to tribulations, he is alwayes vigorous, ever free from dolour or pain, perpetually in action without weariness, still plunged in a sea of most pure delights, as being the height, end, and aim of felicitie.

Thereupon unable to suffer, (as he is God) and and yet willing to undergo some special part in the great sacrifice of patience, which began with the world, he took a body, and in that body drank the cup of the passion, shewing evidently to all mortals, that tribulations by their darkness avail to the bright∣est rayes of glorie, which S. Augustine spake in very express terms.

The onely Son born of the substance of the Father, and * 1.191 equal to the Father in Divine essence; the Word, by which all things were created, had nothing to suffer, as God, and is clothed with our flesh to participate in our punish∣ments.

2. The second reason, which visibly sheweth the se∣cret of Divine providence in the tribulation of the Just, is, that God being the Sovereign Sanctitie, was necessarily to procure and plant it in the souls of his elect, by all the most effectual wayes which his wis∣dom had ordained. Now there is not any shorter way to virtue, than a well mannaged affliction, and therefore it was necessarie to maintain adversity in the world, as the nource of great and generous actions of Christianity. It was necessarie (saith the Scripture) to trie thee by tribulation, because thou wast acceptable to God.

It is a matter almost impossible to preserve a great virtue in perpetual prosperity; one must be more than a man, and to have a double spirit: which is excellent∣ly well observed by S. Augustine, upon the words of Elizeus: I intreat your spirit may be doubled in me. Eli∣zeus (saith he) begged the spirit of Elias might be double in him, because he was to live in the favour of Court and worldly prosperities, where the way is more slippery and dangers most frequent. His Master Elias had passed his life in many persecutions, where∣fore a single spirit was sufficient for his direction, ad∣versity being not so difficultly borne as prosperity. But insomuch as eminent fortunes are subject to deep drunkenesses, and supine forgetfulness of God, the Prophet saith by an instinct of the Divinity: Let your * 1.192 spirit be doubled in me.

Prosperity under the shew of felicitie deceiveth us; tribulation is ever true: the one flatters us, the other instructeth us; the one tied up our senses and reason, the other unbinds them; the one is windy, empty, giddy, ignorant, the other sober, reserved, and pru∣dent; the one withdraweth us from real good by the allurements of vanity, the other reduceth us by a wholesome way into the duty from whence we wan∣dered. S. Bernard saith excellently: Prosperity is in * 1.193 weak and inconsiderate souls, as fire to wax, and the sun's rayes to snow. David was very wise, and Solo∣mon much more, yet both charmed by the great suc∣cess of affairs lost understanding, the one at least in in part, the other wholly. We must affirm, there is need of a strong spirit to subsist in adversity, without change of reason or constancie: but it is much more hard to tast very pleasing prosperities, and not be deceived. This is the cause why wise providence, ever to keep virtue in breath, ceaseth not to excercise it in this honourable list of great souls and we behold, that fol∣lowing these proceedings, it thence deriveth great advantages and many beauties. The Scripture no∣teth that Job (a) 1.194 returning into the lustre of his for∣mer state, gave titles to his three daughters, much ob∣served: for he called one by the name of Day, the other Cassia, or as some Interpreters say Amber, and the third Amaltaeas Horn, so the Septuagint translate it. We must not think so holy a man would herein do any slight thing, or not to some purpose. But if we believe Holy Fathers upon it, he meant by these three names to signifie the three conditions of fortune. The first, (which was before his great adversities) is compared to the day rejoycing us with the natural sweetness of it's serenity. The second, which was that of his calamity, to amber because it is properly in tri∣bulation, where virtue diffuseth her good odours. It resembleth aromatick spices, which more shew their virtue when they are pounded and brought into powder in a morter; or incense, which never lets it so much appear what it is, as when it is cast on coals: so that this motto of the Wiseman may be attributed to it: (b) 1.195 A resplendent fire, and incense burning in the fire. In the end issuing forth of tedious tribulations, and having been hardened and fortified under storms, it openeth it's bosom, and unfoldeth admirable fruits, which fitly make it to be called the Horn of abun∣dance. Whereof we say with S. Ambrose (c) 1.196 there is a certain beatitude in dolours, which virtue full of sweetness and delight represseth, from whence it ac∣quireth palms, and inestimable riches, as well for sa∣tisfaction of it's conscience, as the condition of glory.

3. For we affirm for a third reason, that God hath not a more glorious spectacle on earth; than a Just man afflicted and patient. Is it not that which God himself meant in the book of Job, where the Prince of darkness, telling he had gone round about the world, he said not to him: Hast thou seen the Mo∣narchies and Empires, which bow under my Scepter, and circumvolve under my laws? Hast thou seen Pa∣laces of Kings and Princes, whose turrets penetrate the clouds? Hast thou seen armies all enclosed with swords, making the earth tremble under the clashing of their arms? Hast thou beheld the theaters, beauties, and triumph of greatness? Hast thou considered all the wealth which nature reserveth for me in maga∣zins? He sayes nothing of all that. What then? (d) 1.197 Hast thou looked on my servant Job, who hath not his like on earth? And what maketh him more admirable, than that which Cassianus (e) 1.198 mentioneth? A man was seen abounding in all sorts of blessings, become very poor, having not so much as wherewith to cover his nakedness, fallen from a most perfect health into a prodigious malady, which disfigured his whole body, and having lost so many goodly

farms, reduced to the extremity of being the inhabi∣tant of a wretched dunghil: But he out-braving his miseries, and shewing himself to be nothing curious, took a rough stone to wipe his wounds, and putting his hand far into the bottom of his ulcers, drew thence the corruption and worms, which made him honou∣rable by the lights of his patience. Have we not cause to crie out with Tertullian: (f) 1.199 Oh what a trophey hath God erected in this holy man! O, what a standard hath be advanced in the sight of all his enemies? I dare freely pronounce it, there is not any approcheth more near to God, than a man laden with afflitions, and become invincible in the arms of patience. And I ask of you what made Tobie to be called the Good God (g) 1.200 but this admirable virtue? I say although many have been honoured with marks of the Divi∣nity, by reason of their favours and benignities to∣wards men, (there being nothing which so charm∣eth people as the profusion of benefits) yet interest was the cause great men were flattered with such titles above their deserts; whereas quite otherwise, praise rendered to patience is much more sincere, as being expressed by a certain veneration afforded to a virtue obsolutely heroick: which makes me conclude, that men, ravished with the sight of this notable patience which shined in Tobie, when having done well evil was retributed, surnamed him the Good God, not for any other reason but his admirable constancy, having this maxim well engraven in their hearts, that God hath not on earth a more perfect Image of his great∣ness, than a patient man. S. Denis (b) 1.201 likewise plainly calleth patience the imitation of the Divinity, and ad∣deth, Moses was honoured with the rayes of Divine vision for his singular mansuetude.

4. Lastly I say tribulation confirmeth us in the faith of future things, as being a manifest proof of beatitude. For reasoning, though never so little by the light of nature, we judge if there be any justice in men, it is in God as in it's source, with an imcompa∣rable eminency, and therefore we cannot imagine a Divinity without the inheritance of goodness, and equity, which perpetually accompany it. Now when we see innocent men continually afflicted, who go out of this life by bloudy and horrible wayes, many times oppressed by the tyranny of men, and having none to revenge their ashes, we necessarily conclude, there is in the other life another justice, and another tribunal, where causes must be decided in a last Court of judicature. We say with S. Paul: (i) 1.202 The expe∣ctation of the creature looketh for the revelation of Gods children: For every creature is subject to Nothing, not of his own liking, but by the ordinance of him, who hath subjected him with hope of rising again: For creatures shall be delivered from the servitude of all corruption into the liberty of the children of God. That was it, which comforted all the Martyrs in hydeous tor∣ments, when their souls were torn out of their bo∣dies with incomparable violence. For although mor∣tal members yielded to the sword of persecution, yet they beheld, though with an eye drenched in bloud and tears, the bright glorie which waited on them, and saw as in a mirrour the thrones of those prodi∣gious sufferings disposed all into Crowns. There S. Stephen, saw his stones changed into as many rubies to serve for matter of veneration to pietie, and an ex∣emple of courage for all posteritie. There S. Lawrence looked on his flames turned into roses and delights. There S. Felicitas, the mother of glories and triumphs, beheld seven sons, who received her with palms in their hands into the beautifull pavillions of heaven, where all torments made an end to give beginning to infinite comforts. That is it which animated all the just in so great a heap of tribulations, and which made them speak these words of Tertullian: (k) 1.203 God is payable enough, in that he is the Arbiter and Feoffe, of your patience. If you commit an injury to him, he is the Avenger of it; if a loss of goods, he is the restorer; if a pain or malady, he is the Physician; since it makes God himself the debtor, who by the condition of his indepen∣dent nature, being not accountable to any, doth notwith∣standing particularly bind himself to patience.

Let us conclude with four excellent instructions to be observed in adversity, which are expressed in the book of Job; (l) 1.204 for it is said: He rent his gar∣ments, and having cut off his hair, and prostrated himself on the earth, adored and said: Naked I came out of my mothers womb, and naked I return into earth.

Note, that rising up he rent his garments, to shew he couragiously discharged himself of all exteriour blessings, which are riches and possessions, signified by garments. He cut his hair, which was a sign he put the whole bodie into the hands of God, to dispose of it at his pleasure. For as those Ancients sacrificing a victim first pulled off the hair and threw into the fire, to testifie the whole bodie was already ordained to sacrifice; so such as for ceremony gave their hair to temples, protested they were dedicated to the ser∣vice of the Divinity, to whom the vow was made. In the third instance, he prostrated himself on the earth, acknowledging his beginning by a most holy humili∣ty. And for conclusion, he prayed and adored with much reverence. Behold all you should practise in tribulation well expressed in this mirrour of patience.

First, are you afflicted with loss of goods, either by some unexpected chance, or by some tyranny and in∣justice? Abate not your courage, but considering the nullity of all earthly blessings, and the greatness of eternal riches, say: My God, although I have en∣deavoured hitherto to preserve the wealth thou ga∣vest me, as an instrument of many good deeds, yet if thou hast ordained in the sacred counsel of thy pro∣vidence, that I must be deprived of them for my much greater spiritual avail, I from this time renounce them with all my heart, and am ready to be despoiled, even to the last nakedness, the more perfectly to enter into the imitation of thy poverty. Say with S. Lewis * 1.205 Archbishop of Tholouse: Jesus is all my riches, and with him I am content in the want of all other wealth. All plenty, which is not God is mere penurie to me.

If you be tormented with bodily pain, by maladies, by death of allies, say: My God, to whom belongs this afflicted bodie? Is it not to thee? Is not this one of thy members? It now endureth some pain, since thou hast so appointed, and it complains and groaneth under the scourge: where are so many pre∣cepts of patience? where is the love of suffering? where conformity to the cross? S. Olalla, a Virgin * 1.206 about thirteen or fourteen years of age, as she was martyred, and her bodie torn with iron hooks, beheld her members all bloudy, and said: O my God, what a brave thing is it to read these characters, where I see thy trophies and monuments imprinted with iron on my bodie, and written in my bloud. A creature so tender, so delicate, shall she shew such courage in the midst of torments, such transfixing pains, and can∣not I resolve to suffer a little evil with some manner of patience? If be the death of an ally, behold that bodie, not in the state wherein it now appears, but in the bright lustre of glorie, wherewith you shall behold it in the day of the Resurrection, wiping away your tears, say what Ruricius did: Let them bewail the dead, who cannot have any hope of Resurrection. Let the dead * 1.207 lament their dead friends, whom they account dead for ever.

In the third place arm your self with profound hu∣mility, and looking on the earth from whence your body came, say: My God, it is against my pride thy rod is lifted up in this tribulation. Shall such a crea∣ture as I, drawn out of the dust become proud against thy commandments, and so often shake off the yoke of thy Law? I now acknowledge from the bottom of my soul the abjectness of my nothing, and protest

with all resentments of heart my dependence on thee. The little hearb, called trefoyl, foldeth up the three leaves it beareth, when thunder roareth, thereby wil∣ling to tell us, it will not lift a creast, nor raise a bristle against Heaven. Lightening also, which teareth huge trees asunder, never falls upon it. My God, I hear thy hand murmuring over my head in this great afflicti∣on, and I involve me within my self, and behold the element whereinto I must be reduced, to do the ho∣mage my mortality oweth thee. Exercise not the power of thy thunders against a worm of the earth, against a reed which serves for a sport to the wind. Lastly, take courage what you may, in the accidents * 1.208 that happen, and by the imitation of our Saviour, re∣tire into the bosom of prayer, which is a sovereign means to calm all storms. Jesus prayed in his agony, and the more his sadness encreased, the more the mul∣tiplied his prayers. Say in imitation of him: My God, why are my persecutours so encreased? Many rise up a∣gainst me. Many say to my soul, there is no salvation for it in God. But Lord, thou art my Protectour, and my glo∣rie, thou art he who wilt make me exalt my head above all mine enemies.

The fourteenth EXAMPLE upon the fourteenth MAXIM. Of Constancie in Tribulation. ELEONORA.

WE are able to endure more than we think. For there are none but slight evils, which cause us readily to deplore, and which raise a great noise, like to those brooks that purl among pibbles; whilest great-ones pass through a generous soul, as huge rivers which drive their waves along with a peacefull majesty.

This manifestly appeareth in the death of Sosa and * 1.209 Eleonora, related by Maffaeus in the sixteenth book of his history of the Indies. This Sosa was by Nation a Portingale, a man of quality, pious, rich, liberal, and valiant, married to one of the most virtuous women in the whole Kingdom. They having been already some good time in the Indies, and enflamed with the desire of seeing their dear Countrey again, embarked at Cochin, with their children very young, some gen∣tlemen and officers, and with about six hundred men. The beginning of their navigation was very prosper∣ous; but being arrived at Capo de bona speranza, they there found the despair of their return. A westerly wind beat them back with all violence; clouds gather∣ed, thunders roared, Heaven it self seemed to break into fire over their heads, and under foot they saw no∣thing but abysses and images of death. If they would anchor, the Ocean tosseth them, if return to the Indi∣an coast, contrary winds blow to stay their passage. Their sayls are torn, Mast crack'd, Rudder broken, their Ship shaken with surges, beginning to leak, indu∣stry of men fruitless, and all let loose to the sway of tempests. To conclude their unhappiness, another Southern wind violently thrust them into the port, where they met with ship-wrack. They must avoid this counter-buff, if they would not be buried in the waves. They cast anchor to stay the ship, and leaped into cock-boats, to recover shore with the more safe∣ty. Sosa first of all saved himself, his wife, and chil∣dren, carried with him his gold, silver, and jewels, so much as so imminent danger would permit. The boats after a return or two, were scattered, the cable unto which the anchor of their ship was fastened, brake, the sides leaked, the keel opened, every man sought to save himself, many were drowned, other strugled with the Ocean, golden coffers, painted cab∣binets, and the goodly riches of the Indies swum with men half-dead, tossed by the waves amongst fardels and packs, and loosing life, lost not (as yet) the sight of that which made them live. Some became black with the buffets they received, others bedewed the sea with their bloud, yet all desired to reach the ha∣ven; so much desire of life possesseth us Scarcely got they thither, but they saw their vessel sink down to the bottom, leaving them not any hope of return. The dead bodies of their companions, with the dolefull baggage utterly spoiled with sea-water, were cast up at their feet. On what side soever they reflect, nothing is seen but calamity. Here the dead which begged burial, there the living all drenched in water, laden with wounds, overwhelmed with toyl, worn with hunger, to arrive in a savage Countrey, where having nothing almost to hope, they have all to fear.

All that poor Sosa could do, was to kindle fire, and draw out some tainted victuals, wherewith to take re∣fection; his heart was seized with apprehension of this disaster, in which he saw all he esteemed most preci∣ous involved, notwithstanding clearing his brow, he comforted this afflicted company, and said:

It was not time to think upon their losses, but to give God thanks he had saved their lives. That they were not so ignorant of the sea, as not to know full well, when one makes account to embark thereon, he must expect hunger, thirst, losses, ship-wracks, and all the miseries of mankind. And therefore when they happen, they must be regarded as things alreadie foreseen, and profit made of evils for expiation of sins. As for the rest, being so destitute of all things in a strange Countrey, there was no better riches than mutual correspondence, which would preserve the whole bodie adhering together, as discord infallibly ruin∣eth divided members. He added (fetching a deep sigh) They might behold their poor Ladie with their tender in∣fants, in the extremitie of peril, and that although both sex and age required they should be somewhat assisted, he would neither spare himself nor his, for the common safety.

All answered with tears in their eyes, he might confidently lead them where he pleased, and that they had no further hope of their lives, but in the obedience they resolved to yield to his commands. Having then remained thirteen days in this miserable Port, barri∣cadoed with huge stones and coffers, left as remain∣ders of their ship-wrack, to defend them by night from thieves and wild beasts, they put themselves in the way to bend towards the East, directly to a great river, which the Portingales had heretofore named the Holy Ghost. Sosa went foremost with his wife, who shewed a masouline courage in a tender constitution: she had her little children by her sides, whom turn by turn every one carried. Andrew de Vase the Pilot, was in the same rank, bearing the standard of the Cross, attended also by about four-score Portingales, and an hundred servants who bare arms. Then followed marriners poor creatures, and other inferiour people, who were not yet cured.

The good servants moved with compassion of Ele∣onora, whom they beheld walking on foot, framed her a kind of litter, and sought all they might to comfort her: but that lasted not long. Needs in the end must the poor Lady travel through places, where nothing was to be seen but wild beasts, and Cafres more inhu∣mane than beasts; over rocks inaccessible, mountains which raised their heads above the clouds, valleys not to be looked down into without horrour, torrents swoln with showrs, marishes cloyed with mud, and which was most irksom, they must go at random through ways of which every one was ignorant, nor could any direct them; so that they made an hundred leagues of thirty. Their little store of victual failing, they eat first pieces of rotten whales, and other garba∣ges of the sea, then wild fruits, leaves, and lastly spa∣red not the carcases of beasts, which they found in the desert. From that they fell into a great scarcity of water, and if they would have any something tole∣rable,

they must seek it among Moors and tygers, and buy it at eight crowns the pint. There were many, who over whelmed with these hydeous disasters, left the spoil of their bodies to cruel Aethiopians, to birds and beasts, bidding a sad adieu to their companions, with the last words they desired to be delivered to their friends and kinred. But the fears and present ca∣lamities of every one, made them to forget the dead with their requests. The unfortunate Sosa oppressed with sorrow, considering so many mishaps redoubled one upon another, and beholding his wife, who to comfort him, shewed her self indefatigable both in mind and body, she carrying her children in her turn, and encouraging all the rest, it most sensibly wounded his heart to see a Lady so tenderly bred, endure with such constancy the utmost of worldly miseries.

At last, after four moneths travel, they came to the river of the H. G. ere they were aware, where a petty King commanded, who very courteously received them, partly moved with the sight of so great a cala∣mity, and partly also desiring by this opportunity to make use of the Portingale's favour, whereof he stood in need for his affairs. He let them understand, as well as he could, his desire of their stay with him, in expe∣ctation of the commodity of re-embarking. Other∣wise, should they hazard themselves to proceed for∣ward on their way in this miserable equipage, they would be in danger to be robbed by a neighbour-Prince, one of the greatest thieves in the Countrey.

The more this Barbarian King shewed himself courteous, so much the more Sosa grew suspicious of his proceedings, and sinisterly judged, that such sweetness in a man unknown, was but the cover of an evil purpose. He thanked him for his favour, and ve∣ry earnestly besought him to accommodate them with boats to pass the river, which the other unwil∣lingly did, seeing the peril whereinto they hastened to fall. They went, there remaining not above six-score of five or six hundred men, and having been five days on the river, they landed at adventure, rather con∣strained by night, than invited by the commodiousness of place. The next day, they descried a squadron of about two hundred Aethiopians, who came towards them, which made them prepare for defence: but trou∣bled at their arms, they shewing themselves peacefull enough, the other by gesture and signs discovered their infinite miscries. These people wholly practised in tricks of deceit, and who would make benefit of this occasion, let them with much ado understand, they might pass along to the Kings Palace, where they should be very well entertained; which they attempt∣ed, but approching to the Citie in arms, the King of these Barbarians timorous, and wicked, forbade them enterance, and confined them to a little wood, where they remained certain days, passing the time in a poor traffick of knives and trifles, which they bartered for bread. But this treacherous Prince, who meant to catch them in the snare, seeing they had some commo∣dities, sent word to Sosa, he must excuse him that he denied enterance into the Citie, and that two causes had put him from it. The first whereof, was the dearth of victual among his people, and the other, the fear his subjects had of the Portingales arms, they never, as yet, being accustomed thereto. But if they would deliver their weapons, they should be received into his citie, and his people consigned to the next towns, to be well entertained. This condition seemed somewhat harsh, but necessity digested all. They agreed with one consent to satisfie the King, Eleonora onely excepted, who never would consent to betray their defences in a place where they had so much need of them. Behold them disarmed and separated, some dispersed into se∣veral villages here and there: Sosa with his wife, his children, and about twenty other brought to the re∣gal Citie. Scarcely was he arrived, but all his compa∣ny were robbed, beaten with bastonadoes, and used that very night like dogs; whilest himself had little better entertainment: For this Prince of savages took all his gold and jewels from him and drave him away as a Pyrate, leaving him onely life and his poor gar∣ments. As they went out of this calamity, deploring their misery, behold another troup of Cafres, armed with javelins, who set upon them, and let them know, they must leave their apparel if they meant not to for∣sake their skins. They were so confoūded, they neither had strength nor courage to defend themselves: be∣hold the cause why they yielded, what was demand∣ed, as sheep their fleece. There was none but Eleonora, who preferring death before nakedness, stood a long time disputing about a poor smock with these sava∣ges: but in the end, violence bereaved her of that, which modesty sought by all means to keep.

The chast and honourable Lady, seeing her self na∣ked in the sight of her domesticks, who cast down their eyes at the indignity of such a spectacle, present∣ly buried her self in sand up to the middle, covering the rest of her body with her dissheveled hair, and every moment having these words in her mouth, Where is my husband? then turning towards the Pi∣lot, and some of her Officers there present, she said to them with a setled countenance: My good friends, you have hitherto afforded to my husband your Captain, and to me your Mistress, all the dutie may be expected from your fidelitie: It is time you leave this bodie, which hath alreadie paid to the earth the moitie of its tribute. Go think upon saving your lives, and pray for my poor soul: But if any one of you return to our native Countrey, be may recount to those who shall please to remember the unfortunate Eleonora, to what my sins have reduced me. Having spoken these words, she stood immoveable in a deep silence some space of time, then lifting her eyes to Heaven, added: My God, behold the state wherein I came from my mothers womb, and the condition whereun∣to I must quickly return on earth, one part of me being al∣ready as among the dead. My God, I kiss and adore the rods of thy justice, which so roughly, though justly, have chastised me. Take between thy arms the soul of my most honoured husband, if he be dead. Take the souls of my poor children, which are by my sides. Take mine, now on my lips, and which I yield to thee, as to my Lord and Father. There is no place far distant from thee, nor any succour impossible to thy power.

As she spake this, Sosa her husband came, having e∣scaped out of the hands of these thieves who had rob∣bed him, and finding his wife in this state, he stood by her, not able to utter a word. The Lady likewise spake onely with her eys, which she sweetly fix'd upon him, to give comfort in the violence of the insupportable afflictions. But he feeling his heart wholly drenched in bitterness, hastened into a wood of purpose to meet with some prey, at least to feed his little childrē, which were as yet by their mothers side. Thence he ere long returned, and found one of them already dead, to which with his own hands he gave burial, immediate∣ly after he went again into the forrest, to hunt as he had accustomed, finding no other comfort. His heart was perpetually in Eleonora's, where he survived more than in his own body, & coming to behold her once again ▪or his last, he perceived she was already decea∣sed, with his other child, who died near her; there be∣ing onely left two poor maids, who bewailed their Lady, and made the wilderness resound with their sad complaints. He commanded them to retire a little a∣side, then taking Eleonora by the hand, he kissed it, standing a long time with his lips fixed unto it, & no∣thing to be heard but some broken sighs. That done, with the help of the maids, he buried her near his two children, without any complaint or utterance of one word. In a short space after, he returned into the thic∣kest of the forrest, where it was thought he was devou∣red. So joyning his soul at least to hers, who had tied her heart to his in death, with examples of her con∣stancie.

Notes

• * 1.1

  The cause wherefore Devotion is subject to so many illusi∣ons.
• * 1.2

  Goldē calves taken for Cherubins. The practice of the Lacede∣monians.
• * 1.3

  Gross and af∣flicting De∣votion.
• * 1.4

  Isaiah 58.
• * 1.5

  Dissoloe colli∣gationes impie∣tatis, solve fa∣sciculos depri∣mentes.
• * 1.6

  Three blemi∣shes of anxi∣ous devotion
• * 1.7

  The Bat em∣ployeth her eyes to make her wings.
• (a) 1.8

  An ex∣cellent speech of Chancel∣lour Gerson. In vitis pa∣trum libro de discretione, littera S. fol. 171. citatus a Richardo Allo. Et quomodo vi∣num potantem decipit, sic erit vir superbus. Habac. 2.
• * 1.9

  Ecce te••endi•• ante pedes no∣stros laqueos infinitos, & omnes vias no∣stras variis re∣plevit decipu∣lis ad capien∣das animas n••∣stras: Ecqui•• effugiet? La∣queos posuit in divitiis, &c. Aug. solil.
• * 1.10

  Cassian. col∣lat. 2. de di∣scretione. Horrible issue of a hollow devotion.
• * 1.11

  S. Thom. 1. 2. q. 37. art. 4.
• * 1.12

  Glorificate, & portate Deum in corpore ve∣stro. Notable ad∣vise of Do∣ctour Gilber∣tus. Portari vult Christus non trahi, non est faenum Chri∣stus sed flos campi, & fa∣sciculus myr∣rhae inter ••be∣ra sponsae. Superstitio ••∣mandos time••, quos colit, vio∣lat. Senec. Epist. 114.
• * 1.13

  Quaint De∣votion.
• * 1.14

  All exteri∣ourly.
• * 1.15

  Aug. lib. de haeres. c. 7.
• * 1.16

  The pomp, and practises of it.
• * 1.17

  Senec. lib. 3. de benefi. cap. 16.
• * 1.18

  Callipedes.
• * 1.19

  Reasons of the nullity of this devotion
• * 1.20

  Omnis planta∣tio quam non plantavit Pa∣ter meus, era∣di••abitur. Matth. 15. Deus in omni opere fons, & finis. S. Paulinus.
• * 1.21

  Aug. solil. 13. Et tu Domine vita mea bea∣ta, fac ut mise∣riam meam confitear tibi, &c.
• * 1.22

  Isaiah 36. 5. Ecce confidis super baculum arundineum.
• * 1.23

  Plin. l. 1. c. 25.
• * 1.24

  Transcend∣ent Devoti∣on.
• * 1.25

  Sublime pray∣er.
• * 1.26

  Rich. l. 1. de contempt. c. 3.
• * 1.27

  Synes. in hym. 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉.
• * 1.28

  Divers de∣grees of con∣templation.
• * 1.29

  S. Ambros. l. 3. de virginibus. Influentibus divinis corpo∣reus peregrina∣tur affectus, & usus ille exte∣rioris hominis ex••les••it.
• * 1.30

  S. Thomos in 3. dist. 52.
• * 1.31

  The ordinary manner of proceeding in things divine.
• * 1.32

  Illusions of this transcen∣dent devoti∣on.
• * 1.33

  The word of God altered in chairs, by the extrava∣gant opinions of hearers.
• * 1.34

  Sapientiae, at∣que facundiae caupones. Tertul. l. de anima. c. 3.
• * 1.35

  True devo∣tion. 1 Cor. 13. 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉. Hermes.
• * 1.36

  An Epistle to Demetrias, written by an Ancient, and translated by a great per∣sonage of this Age.
• * 1.37

  Non est census super census salutis corpo∣ris, non est ob∣lectamentum super cordis gaudium. Eccles. 30.
• * 1.38

  Renuit conso∣lari anims mea, me•••••• fui Dei, & de∣lectatus sum, & exercitatus sum, & defecit spiritus me••s. Psal. 76.
• * 1.39

  Tertul. de spe∣ctaculis. Haec spectacul•• sancta, perpe∣tua, gratuita. Quid j••••un∣dius quàm Dei patris, & Do∣mini recomi∣liatio, quàm ve∣ritatis revels∣tio, quàm e••••∣ris cognitio, quàm tantorum retro crimin•••••• venia? &c.
• * 1.40

  S. Lewis the true Table of the most so∣lid Devotion.
• * 1.41

  Divers La∣dies excellent in piety.
• * 1.42

  See the reve∣rend Father Hilarion of Costa.
• * 1.43

  Good wives of bad hus∣bands.
• * 1.44

  Katherine of England. Flor. Re∣mond.
• * 1.45

  Disloyalties that spring from this ma∣rim.
• * 1.46

  Practise of worldly men. Ingratitude.
• * 1.47

  Kingdom of particular in∣terest.
• * 1.48

  〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉.
• * 1.49

  Reasons a∣gainst this Maxim, and first its tyran∣ny.
• * 1.50

  Agens primus propter finem non agit, quòd ••o nobilius non sit propter quod possit agere.
• * 1.51

  Quod non est ex hoc, sed tan∣tum est hoc, il∣lud vere est id, quod est. Boet. l. 1. de Trinit.
• * 1.52

  Qui appendit tribus digitis molem terrae, & libravit in pondere mon∣tes, & colles in staterâ, &c. Isaiah 40.
• * 1.53

  It is a great sacriledge to make a Divi∣nity of pro∣per interest.
• * 1.54

  Feathers of the Eagle im∣perious. Plin. l. 1. c. 3.
• * 1.55

  〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉. Authent. Ju∣stinia. Jus ca∣nonicum. August. ad Li∣centium.
• * 1.56

  Osea 5. Victimas decli∣nâstis in pro∣fundum.
• * 1.57

  Lignu•• offen∣sionis est au∣rum sacrifi∣cantium. Eccl. 31. 17.
• * 1.58

  〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉. Pecuniae obe∣diunt omnia. Pecuniae re∣spondēt omnia. Eccles. 10. 19.
• * 1.59

  Parva loquor, quidvi•• num∣mis praesenti∣but opta, ••ve∣niet, clausum possidet arca Jovem. Satyricon. Pet.
• * 1.60

  False pretext of interests.
• * 1.61

  Ʋtinam frigi∣dus esses aut calidus, sed quia teyidus es, & nec frigi∣dus, nec cali∣dus incipiam te ••vomere ex ••re meo. Apoc. 3.
• * 1.62

  Benedictio Do∣mini divites facit, nec soci∣abitur eis af∣flictio. Proverb. 10.
• * 1.63

  Simon Majo∣lus.
• * 1.64

  Radices super∣barum gentium arefaciet Do∣minu••. Eccles. 10. Residuum lo∣custae comedit bruchus, & re∣sidium bruchi comedit erugo. Joel. 1. Plin. lib. 2. cap. 103.
• * 1.65

  Ezech. 29. Ecce ego ad te Draco magne qui cubas in medio▪ flumi∣num & dicis meus est sluvi∣us, ponam fr••∣••um in maxil∣lis tuis, & ag∣glutinabo pisces fluminum tuo∣rum squammis tuis, & extra∣ham te & pro∣jiciam te in desertum.
• (a) 1.66

  Against too much hor∣rour of po∣verty, which nourisheth the fervour of interests.
• * 1.67

  Nem•• tam pau∣per potest esse quàm natus est, omnia si non concupiscimus, possidemus. Minut. Faelix.
• * 1.68

  Against the pusillani∣mous.
• * 1.69

  Resolution of great cou∣rages in po∣verty.
• * 1.70

  Drawn from the Prophet Daniel. 11. S. Hierom up∣on Daniel. Polyenus. Appian.
• * 1.71

  Magnificence of Ptolemey.
• * 1.72

  Socrat. apud Stobaeum. 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉.
• * 1.73

  It is very dangerous to disoblige pi∣ous and lear∣ned men.
• * 1.74

  Ioseph. l. 12. c. 1. Liberary of Ptolomey.
• * 1.75

  Manners of Antiochus.
• * 1.76

  War against Ptol••mey.
• * 1.77

  It was ended by a marriage
• * 1.78

  Berenice daughter of Ptolomey en∣tereth into Babylon.
• * 1.79

  Laodice repu∣diated.
• * 1.80

  Her cunning.
• * 1.81

  Dissimulation
• * 1.82

  Dissimulation reigneth eve∣ry where.
• * 1.83

  Habac. 1. 14. Facies homi∣nes quasi pi∣sces maris, & quasi reptiles.
• * 1.84

  1. Reason a∣gainst coun∣terfeiting, the blemish of truth.
• * 1.85

  The power of truth.
• * 1.86

  August. l. 2. de liber. arb. Non peragitur tempore, non migrat locis, nec nocte in∣tereipitut, nec u••bra includi∣tur, nec sensi∣bus corporis subjacet: om∣nibus proxima, omnibus sempi∣terns, &c.
• (a) 1.87

  Ego sum via, veritas, & vita. Joan. 14. 10.
• * 1.88

  A notable Act or a King of Aethiopa. Herod. l. 3.
• * 1.89

  Hippoc. ep. 10.
• * 1.90

  Dissimulation ruineth hu∣mane faith.
• * 1.91

  Excellency of fidelity. Cato Censo∣rius. Silius. Ante Jovem generatum est tantum in pe∣ctore Numen.
• * 1.92

  Craft shame∣ful to the au∣thour of it.
• * 1.93

  Debasement.
• * 1.94

  Subtile wo∣men.
• * 1.95

  Seneca in O∣ctaviâ. Pectus instruxit delis, sed vim nega∣vit.
• * 1.96

  Novissima illi∣us amara quasi absinthium, & acuta quasi gladius biceps. Prov. 5. 4.
• * 1.97

  Sincerity pre∣served in the light of na∣ture.
• * 1.98

  Tit. Liv. l. 2. Decad. 5.
• * 1.99

  Thucid.
• * 1.100

  Hatred and horrour of doubleness.
• * 1.101

  Phot. Bibliot. p. 67.
• * 1.102

  Linguam men∣dacem, cor machina••s co∣gitationes pes∣simas. Prov. 6.
• * 1.103

  Craft perni∣cious.
• * 1.104

  Qui sodit fo∣veam incidet in eam, & qui voloit lapidem, revolvetur ••d eum. Prov. 26. 27.
• * 1.105

  Troubles & miseries of dissimulation.
• * 1.106

  Dreadfull e∣vents of de∣ceivers.
• * 1.107

  The wittie conceit of Theodora. Zonaras in Theophilo.
• * 1.108

  Stratagem of Chares. Polyenus. l. 2.
• * 1.109

  Baro. de astu∣tiâ. Craft of the world.
• * 1.110

  1 Macch. 12.
• * 1.111

  2 Reg. 12.
• * 1.112

  Herod. l. 2.
• * 1.113

  Impostours surprized.
• * 1.114

  Vol. l. 9. c. 16.
• * 1.115

  Nicet. l. 3.
• * 1.116

  False Alexan∣der discover∣ed.
• * 1.117

  How this maxim op∣poseth com∣mon sense.
• * 1.118

  Notable ve∣rities.
• * 1.119

  The scope of the discourse.
• * 1.120

  Excellencie of love.
• * 1.121

  Division of love. 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉. S. Dyoni.
• * 1.122

  Three proofs of this di∣scourse.
• * 1.123

  First reason, possibility of the love of enemies. Diligite ini∣micos vestros.
• * 1.124

  Right of na∣ture.
• * 1.125

  Answer to an objection.
• * 1.126

  Omne animal diligit simile sibi, sic & om∣nis homo pro∣ximum sibi. Eccl. 13. 19.
• * 1.127

  Amicabilia ad alterum su∣mumtur ex amicabiltus ad se. Arist. Ehick l. 4. c. 8. D. Tho. 2. 2. q. 26.
• * 1.128

  A remarka∣ble conside∣ration.
• * 1.129

  Self-love ve∣ry hard to be▪ repressed.
• * 1.130

  Effects of the love of ene∣mies in the Law of na∣ture. Senec. l. 3. de irâ c. 38.
• * 1.131

  Second point of proofs drawn from the glory of pardon.
• * 1.132

  Ʋt sitis filij Patris vestri qui in coelis est, & qui solem suum facit ori∣ri super bonos & malos, & pluit super justos & in∣justos. Mat. 5. Isaiah. 40.
• * 1.133

  Ambros. 16. de arc•• & Noe. 17. Arcus conten∣tus at carens sagitta magis terrere vult quàm ferire.
• (a) 1.134

  Et sursum quasi aspectus splendoris.
• (b) 1.135

  Aura in supernis Dei.
• * 1.136

  Non est De••••.
• * 1.137

  Tertul. de pat. c. 2.
• * 1.138

  Goodly com∣pany of courteous.
• * 1.139

  Third point of reasons, drawn from necessity. Dimitte nobis sicut dimitti∣mus. Yade prius re∣conciliari fra∣tri tuo, & tune veniens offer munus tuum.
• * 1.140

  August. super Joan. homil. 10. Quid prodest quia credis & blasphemas? Adoras illum in capite, bla∣sphemas in corpore, &c.
• * 1.141

  The horrour, and confusi∣on of re∣venge.
• * 1.142

  Semper jurgia quaerit malus, Angelus au∣tem crudelis mittetur con∣tra eum. Proverb. 6.
• * 1.143

  Goodly con∣siderations to pacific the mind.
• * 1.144

  Vid. de I
• * 1.145

  Zonar. Theophilus. a bloudy Em∣perour.
• * 1.146

  Conradinus.
• * 1.147

  He gave bat∣tle to Charls of Anjou.
• * 1.148

  His taking.
• * 1.149

  His sentence and death.
• * 1.150

  Collenutius histor. Nea∣pol. l. 5. c. 4. & 5.
• * 1.151

  The son of Charls of An∣jou taken.
• * 1.152

  An excellent passage of clemency.
• * 1.153

  Curio l. 2. re∣rum Chrono∣logicarum.
• * 1.154

  Goodness and in dulgence of Charlemaigne.
• * 1.155

  Epist. l. 8. ep. 64. Si bonam du∣xit, acquisioit tibi gratiam: Si erravit ac∣cipiendo me∣liores facies, refutando de∣teriores.
• * 1.156

  The Philoso∣phie of Epi∣curus sway∣eth in the world.
• * 1.157

  Thedor. l. 2. Therap. Nicet. 2. The∣sau. c. 1. Tertul. apol. c. 38. Hieron. 2. in Jovin. Laertius. lib. 10. Senec. l. de vitâ beatâ.
• * 1.158

  Arian l. 4. c. 20.
• * 1.159

  1. Reason a∣gainst this Maxim of riot. Occupatio ma∣gna creata est omnibus homi∣nibus, & ju∣gum grave su∣per filiis A∣dam. Eccl. 40. Isle of amber, felicitie of E∣picurus. Garcias.
• * 1.160

  Clemens A∣lex. Paedag. l. 3. c. 7.
• * 1.161

  Homo nascitur ad laboreth, & avis ad vola∣tum. Job 57. Reason of Simplicius.
• (a) 1.162

  S. Bern. tract. de gra∣tiâ, & lib. ar∣bitrio. Tolle famem, & panem non cu∣rabis; Telle si∣tim & limpi∣diss••mum fon∣tem quasi pa∣ludem respi∣cies; umbram non quaerit nisi aestuans; solem non curat, nisi algens.
• (b) 1.163

  Plin. l. 7. c. 50. One soleman happie.
• * 1.164

  Bern. l. 2. de consid. c. 9. Quid enim ca∣lamitate vacat nascenti in peccato? fra∣gili corpore, mente sterili, cui infirmitas corporis fatui∣t••s cordis, cu∣mulatur tra∣duce sortis mortis additio∣ne. The whole world an enemy of cu∣riositie.
• * 1.165

  Rom. 6. Great spirits enemies of the flesh.
• * 1.166

  Plotin. Por∣phiry upon his life.
• * 1.167

  Discourse of Scotus, con∣cerning sense. Scotus locis disquisit. 1. indicatis.
• * 1.168

  An observa∣tion of Ca∣merarius con∣cerning the heron.
• * 1.169

  Instance up∣on the weak∣ness and mi∣serie in ser∣vice of the body.
• * 1.170

  Avicenna lib. de primâ Phi∣losoph. 9. c. 1. apud Javellum. Notable say∣ing of Avicen.
• * 1.171

  Foelicitas est conjunctio cum primâ Veri∣tate.
• * 1.172

  Tyranny of ryot.
• * 1.173

  Opinion of Platonists.
• * 1.174

  〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉. Syness. hym. 3.
• * 1.175

  Miser qui por∣cum esurit, & defecit in saginam. Chrysol. serm. de prodigo. Plato. 9. de Rep.
• * 1.176

  Inorditate love of health.
• * 1.177

  Slavery of women. Cultus magna cura, magna virtulis i••¦ria. Cato Censo∣rius.
• * 1.178

  Scribe ei super huxum. Isai 30. 8. Observation upon Esay. Flower of box.
• * 1.179

  Life of the Just.
• * 1.180

  Glorificate, & portate Deum in corpote ve∣stro.
• * 1.181

  Mirabiliter me crucias. Job. 10.
• * 1.182

  Ammon plot∣teth incest with his si∣ster.
• * 1.183

  Jodab coun∣selleth Am∣mon to incest with his sister Thamar.
• * 1.184

  Ammon dis∣sembleth sick∣ness.
• * 1.185

  Thamars ad∣vise.
• * 1.186

  Ammon de∣spiseth his dishonoured sister.
• * 1.187

  Absolon close in his re∣venge.
• * 1.188

  Ammon slain.
• * 1.189

  〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉.
• * 1.190

  Maris Coelique temperiem, tur∣bines tempesta∣tesque commen∣dant: habet has vices conditio mortalium, u•• adversa secun∣dis, & adversis secunda na∣scantur. Oc∣cultat utro∣runque semi∣na deus, & ple∣rumque bono∣rum & malo∣rum causae sub diversâ specie latent. Plin. in Panegyr. Trajan.
• * 1.191

  Ʋnicus ille de Patris substan∣tiâ Natus, ae∣qualit Patri in formâ Dei, Ver∣bum quo facta sunt omnia, non habebat ubi flagellaretur, ad hoc autem earne indutus est, ut sine fla∣gello non esset. August. Quia eras ac∣ceptus Deo, ne∣cesse fuit ut tentatio proba∣ret te. Tob. 12. 13. Reg. 4. 2. 9. S. Aug. l. 2. de mirab. Scrip. Obsecro ut siat in me duplex spiritus tuus.
• * 1.192

  Fiat in me du∣plex spiritus. Boet. de conso. l. 2. pros. 8.
• * 1.193

  Quando hoc incautis non fuit ad disci∣plinam, quod ignis ad ce∣ram, quod solis radius ad ni∣vem velgla∣ciem. Sapiens David, sapiens Solomon, sed blandientibus nimis secundis rebus alter de parte, alter ex toto desipuit. Magnus qui incidens in ad∣versa non ex∣cidit vel pa∣rum a sapien∣tia, ne minor cui praesens fae∣licitas si arri∣sit, non irrisit.
• (a) 1.194

  Job 42. Merserus in Job.
• (b) 1.195

  Quasi ignis refulgens, & thus ardens in igne. Eccles. 50. 10.
• (c) 1.196

  Est ergo beatitudo in doloribus, quos plena suavita∣tis virtus com∣primit, & coer∣cet, ipsa sibi domesticis opi∣bus abundans vel ad consci∣entiam vel ad gloriam. Ambro. offici. l. 2. c. 4.
• (d) 1.197

  Numquid considerâsti servum meum Job, quod non sit ci similis in terrâ? Job. 8.
• (e) 1.198

  Ex l••cuple∣te pauperri∣mus, nudus ex divite, ex va∣lido tabidus, ex in ••yto & glorioso 〈◊〉〈◊〉 il••••, st••r••uilinii factus habitator, & velut qu••••••m corporis sui sae∣vissi••us carnis••••, te••t•• rad•••••••• ••••••i••m & membrerum gle••••s, vermesque è profundis vul∣neribus ••anibus detrahebat. Cassia. Colla. 6. de nece Sanctorum.
• (f) 1.199

  Quale in illo viro fere∣trum Deus de diabolo ex∣truxit! quale vexillum dé inimico sue gloria extulit? Tertul. de pat. c. 13.
• (g) 1.200

  〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉. Clem. Alex. Paedag 2.
• (b) 1.201

  〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉. S. Dionis. Ep. 8.
• (i) 1.202

  Expectatio creaturae reve∣lationem filio∣rum Dei ex∣pectat: vani∣tati enim creatura sub∣jecta est, non volens, sed propter eum qui subjecit cam in spe: quia & ipsa creatura libe∣rabitur a ser∣vitute corru∣ptionis in li∣bertatem glo∣riae filiorum Dei. Rom. 8.
• (k) 1.203

  Satis ido∣neus patientiae sequester Deus, si injuriam deposueris pe∣nes eum, ult•••• est; si dam∣num, restitu∣tor est; si do∣lorem, medicus est, si mortem resuscitator. O quantum pa∣tientiae licet us Deum habeat debitore n! Tertull. de pat. 15.
• (l) 1.204

  Job 1. Tunc surre∣xit, & seidis vestimenta sua, & tonse capite corruens in terram adora∣vit, & dixit: Nudus egressus sum, &c.
• * 1.205

  Divitia mea Christus, desixt caetera. Omnis copia qua Deus meus non est, mibi inopia est.
• * 1.206

  Quam juvas bos apices le. gere qui tus Christe tro∣phea notant. Prudent.
• * 1.207

  Fleant ••n∣tuos qui spom resurrectionis habere non possunt. Flems mortui mortuos suos, quos in perpetuim ex∣istimant in∣teriisse.
• * 1.208

  Factus in ago∣nia prolixius erabat. Domine, quid multiplicati sunt qui tribu∣lant me. Multi insargunt ad∣versum me, multidicunt a∣nimae me•• non est solus ipsi in Deo ejus. Tu autem Domine susceptor meus, &c.
• * 1.209

  Maffaeus hist. Indicar. l. 16.