The life of St. Anthony of Padoua With the miracles he wrought both before, and after his death. Written originally in Italian, and now done into English.

THE LIFE OF S^t. Anthony OF PADOUA.

The First Chapter.

EƲrope, which as Queen of the World, does wear as many Crowns on her head, as she hath Royal Cities in her Lap, is as glorious for Lisbone in Portugall, as fam'd for Rome in Italy. To parallel the one with the other, and say they both are heads of

the Country, both seated on the banks of two renown'd rivers; that both in their circuit encompass seven hills, and for their magnificent Fabricks, the concourse and traffick of Nations, their riches, and other rare circumstances, are the wonders of the World, is not now my design, nor intention. I only hint this, that in Lis∣bone Sir Martin Buglione was born, a-Gentleman, who besides a great fortune to support his estate the better, was fa∣vour'd by nature with all the endowments of the mind, and the body, to make him most accomplisht.

He therefore no less famous in the ma∣nagement of war, then of peace, and em∣ploy'd in the greatest commands of the City, and most eminent affairs of the publick, was generally held by all in much honour and esteem. But of all the prero∣gatives, which rendred him so qualified, none was more noble, and more visible, then his duty and devotion to Heaven.

He like a good Christian, acknowledg∣ed from God, whatsoever he had, and with all his heart, giving him dayly thanks, most earnestly besought him, to give him such a Wife, as might be as con∣formable to his divine will, as conducing to his own consolation, and quiet.

Heaven heard his prayers, and seconded his desires, for he married a Noble Lady of Lisbone called Mary of Taveri, a pattern of vertue, and living abridgment of what we can wish in a Woman. Whereupon in this State they holily contended in the way of perfection, and albeit his Wife was gorgeously clad in appearance, in or∣der to the fashion of the World, yet still she remembred to joyn to her bravery and feasting, mortification and fasting, and accompany soft pleasures with rough dis∣ciplines and penance.

A fortunate couple, which injoying in each others bosome, the chastest, and most Christian delights, neglected not at all the more holy, and more religious rites.

Near their Pallace stood a Temple, which in the age and vastness of the walls, the Magnificent and Royall Fabrick, and in the shady horrour of a religious obscuri∣ty, discover'd no less sanctity and vene∣ration, then infused devotion and reve∣rence. This, called St. Mary in the ends of the Earth, and renown'd for the re∣liques of St. Vincent, who lay there en∣tomb'd, was as famous for the structure, as the Concourse of People flocking thi∣ther.

Mary going thither dayly to Mass, mingled frequently her tears with her prayers, and asking God a child to inhe∣rit their fortune, shew'd her self a com∣panion, as well in the exercises, as desires of her Her Husband.

Heaven is not inexorable to the pray∣ers of the just. Mary therefore conceived, and when the time came, was delivered of a Son, whose birth assur'd the Father, the Stars had been propitious, and the Mother full of holy consolation, contained not her self for the grace she had receiv'd. Their joy being therefore imparted to their Friends, they gladly came thither, to admire him in the innocent cradle, who yet in a manner not knowing how to breath, began to give signs of his sancti∣ty. And they feeling themselves inwardly incited, to adore in the East of his forhead the immature raies of a powerfull Sun, be∣gan from the manner of his crying to pre∣sage in some sort, what his actions would be.

The day of his Baptism was solemn, as well for the great preparation, which e∣very where was splendid in the Pallace of Sir Martin; as for the Noble concourse of Ladies and Gentlemen, which either of his Kindred, or Friends, came to the sol∣lemnity.

The sacred function was celebrated in the Temple aforesaid, not so much that it seemed decreed, that he who in time was to be a great Saint, should receive in a famous sanctuary his baptism, as be∣cause that Church was the Parish of Sir Martin, and therefore ought to give him the principles of a Christian, who should with his miracles so illustrate Christianity. His Parents desired his name might be Fernandus, perhaps in some manner per∣swaded, a name supposed happy might have some secret vertue of bequeathing felicity to the owner.

As soon as Fernandus was Christen'd, and recarried from the Temple to the house of his Father, 'tis probable his Mo∣ther taking him into her arms, laid her lips to his face, and kissing him with the fulness of joy, with her eyes rais'd de∣voutly to Heaven, said the following words. O Lord if the child thou hast fa∣vour'd me with, will be for the encrease of thy glory, quicken his tender limbs, and give life to his new blood, that he growing to thy praise, may be a living testimony of the Graces thou hast done me. But if with the eye of thy knowledg, thou seest, as he encreases, he will offend thy goodness, deprive him now of life,

for if he will decline from thy holy Com∣mandements, his body cannot have a bet∣ter Coffin, then the arms now support∣ing him. 'Tis better he dye, though hardly born, if he live not after death, and advancing in age, adds as many de∣crees of torments to his Soul, as he mul∣tiplies the years of his life. Thou knowest what will become of this work of thy hands, and I as a Mother cannot choose but weep over this doubt, since 'tis the decree of thy will, that no body know whither he be worthy of hatred or love.

And here filling her eyes with tears, we may very well imagine her intent in con∣templating on her Son.

Fortunate Mother, if she could have known then, that the bosom beating weakly in her hand, and the heart, which with the motion of her milk, lay pant∣ing in her armes, were in time to be the forge of the most ardent charity enfla∣ming a Christian, and receptacles of the most noble vertues becoming a Gentle∣man.

Now when they had taken a nurse in∣to the house, that the child by the Parents constant presence together with his milk, might suck that education, which was most agreable to a Son of their family, they u∣sed

all means to breed him with care. In the mean time he grew up, and as it were a picture, in which every day, some new line or other was drawn by the pensil, he dayly more resembled his Father. And he scarce had the use of understanding and reason, when he, exercised by his pa∣rents in the acts of Christian piety, began with his weak and pretty hand, to make on his breast the sign of the cross, and fashion his yet stammering tongue, to the pious expressions of verball supplica∣tions.

What principles of unspeakable sweet∣ness, would not the name of Jesus and Mary, infuse into his heart, since God had design'd him, for the most Noble Taber∣nacle, that contained Religion and San∣ctity. What joyes his Angel Guardian would not feel, while he saw him so ear∣ly to begin, to tread in that pulpit, in which he was to walk like a Giant.

Turn about sooner O Heavens, the un∣changeable periods of Years, and hastning the course of the seasons, contract a whole lustre into a single compass of the Sun, for if in Fernandus age only is re∣quired to make him the wonder of the World, we brook not the delay, but in order to our nature, would have him

work miracles in an instant. What shall we not see, to the glory of our God, as soon as this new Josuah stops the Sun of his life, in the Heaven of the holy Church?

So the Angels would say, every time they looking down on the Earth, disco∣cer'd nothing thereof greater admiration; the Fernandus riper years.

Being seven years old, he was sent to School to that noble Temple of St. Mary, and committed to the charge of a vertu∣ous Priest, who teaching him no less the first rudiments, then manners, instruct∣ed him in all things relating to huma∣nity.

His Parents were much pleased, to see with what forwardness and capacity, he outstripped his years, in the studies and life of a Christian, so as they taking hour∣ly delight, in the living and little Garden of their Son, gave hearty thanks to Hea∣ven for the great and rare fruit, they hop'd to have in time, from such young and tender blossomes.

But Fernandus, on whom a noble Tem∣ple was not vainly bestow'd for a School, learning no less usefull lessons from the Quire, then his Master, when he had made an humble oblation, of his tender

age to God, shar'd equally his hours, a∣mong divine offices and his studies. Every one that knew him, admired him, and edi∣fi'd by his good example, extolled his Fa∣mily and Name.

He lived in this manner to the age of fifteen years, when begining a course in the more grave sciences, he learn'd with all facility, Rhetorique, Logique, Phi∣losophy, and Theology. Can an Angel in behaviour, be otherwise then an An∣gel in wit? Knowledg and goodness go often together. Fernandus made such pro∣gresse in these studies, that opening to himself a broad way, in the sense of the holy Scriptures, he stopt there the flight of his desires, and was at a stand, to ine∣briate his soul with contemplating on the most hidden mysteries.

But the Devil, who discover'd, that the multitude of vertues resplendent in Fernandus, would prove a living machine for the ruine of his Kingdom, as well to repair the damages of hell as obstruct the benefactors of Christendome, began with strong batteries to try, if he could make a breach in the holy youths heart.

Whereupon suggesting inwardly to him the cogitations of pride, he represented to his intellect, how much 'twas misbe∣coming

his birth, to performe the base actions of a poor religious man, and whol∣ly abandon the exercises of a Gentleman. That if God had desired, he should have been born, to serve him in the humble∣ness of religion, he would not have made him descend, from a family so noble in his country, nor have given him such a∣bundance of wealth. That considering he might live like a Gentleman, yet be a good Christian, he should make reflexion, how much better a sword would appear in his hand then a book, with how much more decorum, he might manage a horse then a pulpit, and how much more glo∣ry acquire, by his fighting then disputing.

Then passing to libidinous temptations, he made him remember, how solicitous and keen the provocations were of nature, and how proper for one of his age, to swim in those pleasures whose unconque∣rable force, neither Sampson, nor Solomon, could withstand. That to deferr them, without a clear assurance to orecome them, was to spur on his senses, and in∣duce him to plunge into them with a grea∣ter desire. That finally the sin of the flesh, because most agreable to humanity, was most of all practised, and most of all pardonable, and since he would begin, it

being impossible to refrain all the dayes of his life, 'twould be better to begin, when the fault best deserved compas∣sion.

Then he tempted him with gluttony, and framing as subtile arguments against fasting, as they seem'd to be forceable, en∣deavour'd by all wayes, to divert him from each holy action.

In fine, when Fernandus encountring any Lady saluted her out of civility, the Devil with illusions, and shews, made her appear fairer to him, and when in the Church he devoutly said his prayers, he suggesting to his thoughts many vanities and distractions, diminished the force of his orisons, When shut up in his closet, he fell to his studies, Satan causing him to distaste them, made him careless and neg∣ligent of the course he had begun, and when at the table, to practise sobriety, he abstain'd from any meat, he stirring up his concupiscible faculty, made the flesh seem more delicate, the sauce more plea∣sing, and the fruit more delicious. Nay even in his bed, when Fernandus wast fast∣est asleep, th•• Devil disturbing his phancy, with many obscene and filthy apparitions, endeavourd at least, while he took his rest, to make him a sinner.

What course wilt thou steer, O Fernan∣dus, in so many straights of thy mind, since he that undertook, to dry up the devotion in thy breast, leaves no blast of Hell unattempted.

He prostrating often himself before a Crucifix, whose many bleeding wounds shew'd the greatness of the love, that had brought him to that state, opened two living Fountains at the veins of his eyes, and bathing one by one, the remembran∣ces of the graces, even to that very mo∣ment received, said probably, as fol∣lowes.

O my good God, who shall take me from thy sight? who will ever be able to cancell from the sensiblest part of my heart the bloody image I see thee trans∣formed into? shalt thou my Creator, hang naked upon a hard trunk, have thy body all rended with whips and with nails, and breath out thy Heavenly soul, in the bitterness of gall, and of vinegar, and shall I not be able, to endure for thy sake, the mortification of a single desire, the privation of a shew, abstinence from some delicate meat, and the exercise of one humble act? what are Worldly means, the qualities of Gentlemen, the pastimes of loves, and delights of ease and joy,

since thou born poor in a stable, discove∣ring thy self abject of condition, blame∣less in behaviour, and an enemy to sin, didst do nothing else all the dayes of thy life, but shew thy self patient, humble, charitable, exemplar, beneficiall, and loving? Ah, my Christ, how weak are the arguments of the Devil, in perswa∣ding of Man, in case he have recourse to thy School, and learn of thy Cross how to answer them? Yet Satan can dispute in that manner, as none without thy Grace, may presume to convince him. Suffer him not O Lord to darken my intellect. The beginning of all knowledg is to fear thy holy name. Before these sacred feet, which here I adore in all humility, and kiss, I profess I will serve thee eternally, and alwaies be mindfull, thou hast given me my being, and fitted me for thy grace, by causing me to be born among thy faithfull people, and given me an under∣standing, a will and a memory, to be a∣ble to know, and to love thee, and re∣member thy benefits. Ile alwayes be mindfull, true nobility is in thee, since thou art the Lord of the World, that thou hast behaved thy self like a true Cavalier, in fighting for me against death, and with Hell, and hast the true delights, since in

Heaven thou beatifi'st the Souls of thy faithfull, in an endless felicity, which cannot be expressed. Ah behold not my defects, nor the negligences, and careles∣ness of my service and duty, but remem∣bring that I am the work of thy hand, and the price of thy dear blood, help, defend, encourage, and direct me, in the way of thy holy Commandements.

So rising from the Earth, like another Antaeus, more vigorous, and stronger, he proposed to himself a life more becoming a Christian, insomuch as reforming his manner of living (though it had been ever faultless) he avoided all he could, his com∣panions conversation abhorr'd all licen∣tious discourses, and applied himself di∣ligently to hear the word of God. He neglected all the pomps and vanities of youth, and contracting a friendship with silence, and never using laughter, was grave compos'd retir'd, and devout.

Satan therefore, who the more he saw Fernandus withdrawn from the love of the World, endeavoured the more, to hold him the nearer to it with his dayly al∣lurements, invading him with a never ceasing warr of Temptations, would not let him have one hour of repose. Where∣upon the holy youth perceiving it was

difficult, to be in the middle of thornes and yet not be prick't, deliberated in the most secure manner, to provide for his life.

Without the City not far from the wals was a Monastery of Canon Regulars, call'd St. Vincent of the Order of St. Augustine, which as Famous as Exemplar for all things, beseeming a House of Devotion, was by every one esteem'd, a true Sanctu∣ary of Religion, and true harbour of Chri∣stian tranquility. To this place Fernan∣dus repair'd, and taking there the habit with great edification, added whiteness to his robe with the purity of his manners, and equall'd those religious mens sanctity, with the holiness of his life.

It is not against Piety to believe, that Fernandus his dear Parents, beholding an action so remote from their ends, wept at the advice, yet submitting to Gods will, they patiently bore the loss of their Son to the World. But in the mean time, his breast-plate no sooner was on, which seem'd to him the fitter to defend him, from each spot of sin by how much the more he saw it all white, but he knowing he had really changed his manner of liv∣ing, began to lead a life so full of perfecti∣on, that we cannot wish a better.

To dilate my self in telling his prayers, his Fastings, Disciplines, Studies, and contemplations, would be to undertake an impossible thing. Fernandus remained in that Monasterie for the space of two years, in the period of which, he think∣ing the visits of his Friends disturbed him much, went into Cohimbria, with the leave of his Superiour, to the Convent of the Holy Cross, whosoever loves truly, loves solitude.

There Fernandus more then ever, using exercises of devotion, applyed himself particularly to the Scripture, and Pulpit, and shewing in his Sermons no lesse light∣ning of Doctrine, then Sanctity, made a very great impression in the Souls of his auditors.

The Second Chapter.

WHile the Order of the Canon regu∣lars flourisht thus in Fernandus, the Seraphin of Assisi, who then was alive, and admired by all the world, was resplen∣dent with as many living miracles, as the Friars in his new order. The vice of the times had no greater a scourge, then

those practisers of penance, who begirt with a course cord, epitomized in them∣selves, whatsoever lay scattered among the rest of men, that was vertuous and ex∣emplar.

Now the confines of Europe were too narrow, for those active fires of Paradise, which concealed in a habit of ashes, did passe into Africk, to kindle mens hearts in Christian Religion. Some therefore a∣mong others, that went into that Coun∣trey, arriving in the City of Morocco, were so zealous in preaching the Gospel, those barbarous people could finde no o∣ther way, to quench the growing flames, then by putting them out, with the prea∣chers own blood, so as after several tor∣ments they beheaded them at last.

Their fame being therefore grown pre∣tious, by the treasure of their veins cut asunder by the ax, was held in admirati∣on by all, and triumphing in each place, made the name of Martyrs glorious in the City of Lisbone.

In the mean time Don Peter the Infant of Portugall, lay sick in his bed, and was a living hospital to himself, whose disease being wholly incurable, admitted not of hope for a remedy. But when he had heard, many graces were obtained by

the Martyrs intercession, he resolved to go to Morocco, as well as he could, to adore those holy Reliques, and beg some com∣passion on his miseries.

He went, wept bitterly, and prayed, and recovered his health, whereupon in acknowledgment of so eminent a favour he caus'd the holy bones to be brought into his Country, which the Citizens of Lisbone and the neighbouring Clergy met devout∣ly in procession. The air no lesse resound∣ed with the noise of bells, then the roar∣ing of guns, and the concourse and throngs of the People, together with their joy, shewed by so much the more their devotion to be the greater, by how much the more, they made it fly to Heaven on the wings of many bonfires.

Fernandus among, other Religious, was present at the ceremony, and seeing with what characters of holy veneration, they honoured all those, that had dyed for their faith, he so earnestly desired to be Martyred for Christ, that now no other torment, but that of delay, he imagined could be felt. The Fryars of St. Francis ran continually in his mind, and conside∣ring their course habit, their exemplary life and heavenly profession, he condemn'd his own garments as too soft, and his order as to easy.

Fernandus supposing he could not bet∣ter imitate Christ, then by practizing a vo∣•…•…untary poverty, began to nourish thoughts of changing his life, and frequenting the Franciscans, discover'd his desire of receiv∣ing their habit, in case the superiour would permit him, to go preach to the Infidels.

The proposition pleas'd those Fathers, for they knowing by his exemplary life, with what zeal and what Spirit, Fernandus was incited to that enterprize, presaged from his transplantation, the fruits of greater glory to Christendom. Having therefore discussed it with the Guardian, Fernandus was received without oppositi∣on, whereupon he no sooner heard the news, but with joy overflowing in tears, began to beg the leave of his superiour, in the monastery of the holy cross, which was with great difficulty obtained, since Satan, who saw that from the cross, he would go to be crucified, feared no less his own losses, then a new Martyrs tri∣umphs.

So going in the company of the Friars, to a monastery of St. Francis called St. Antho∣ny, he soon put on their cloath, in the mix∣ture of whose homely thrids he saw in∣terwoven humility, and thinking it meet,

while he changed his life, to change t•…•… his name, taking it from the convent, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 which he took his habit, he desired t•…•… name of Anthony for the future.

Now when he had compleated in hi•…•…¦self this religious Metamorphosis, a•…•… saw he was begirt with the cord, whi•…•… he certainly believed, would drag him 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Martyrdom, who is able to expresse t•…•… tendernesse of his heart, and the amoro•…•… extasies of his Soul? Being entered t•…•… new cell, where on every side he saw n•…•…¦thing but an emptiness, caus'd by a ho•…•… poverty, 'tis probable, he prostrati•…•… himself with great zeal on the earth, kiss•…•… weeping devoutly the ground, then sig•…•…¦ing out his Soul, said as followes.

My Christ! Now I am in that sphear•…•… where I may, as I desire, shew my s•…•… to be active. Now I am in the way•…•… where 'tis not hard for me, to follow th•…•… footsteps. The solitude of these wall•…•… this naked straw-bed, and this wretche•…•… and contemptible habit, what are the•…•… but mute Masters, which teach me wi•…•… the tongue of an eloquent silence, wh•…•… thou hast endured for me, and how for m•…•… sake, thou hast liv'd? My affections 〈◊〉〈◊〉 therefore aspire to higher marks. I 〈◊〉〈◊〉 in this state for thy sake, but I am not co•…•…¦tent.

One pricking alone of thy thornes, •…•…rpasses farr in torments all the mise∣•…•…es I can suffer. Shall I before mine eyes, •…•…ave thee alwayes crucified, and think I •…•…o enough, to wear a course habit for thy •…•…ke, lye upon a hard bed, and have an •…•…nfurnisht, and melancholy Cell? Shall be so mad, to think with short fastings, •…•…old disciplines, and distracted supplicati∣•…•…ns, I can fulfill the duties of penance, of which thou art a pattern to me, on the Crosse? Ah, no my God. To be beaten •…•…y Infidels, shed my blood at a thousand •…•…arge wounds, and leave my neck under •…•…n ax, are the true imitations, whereby in •…•…ome sort, I may follow thy footsteeps. Give me grace, O my Lord, to go a∣mongst the barbarousest nations of Afrique, where there are so many Creatures, who have not yet tasted the fruits of thy Redemption. Ah, if the veins of this my poor body, might be worthy to be emp∣ti'd for confessing thy name, and to wash with their streams, the sins but of one of those souls, who would be happier then me, and shew a devouter, and dutifuller love towards thee.

These, or such expressions of affection the Saint uttered in his new Cell, as soon as he had taken the desired possession.

Whereupon when he had stayed there 〈◊〉〈◊〉 while, still perfecting more himself in t•…•… works of a true Son of St. Francis, as•…•…¦ceased not to minde his Superiours of 〈◊〉〈◊〉 promised leave, to go preach to the Infide•…•… so at last he obtained it.

He therefore taking shipping for •…•…¦frique scarce toucht that unfortunat•…•… shore, but infected with that mercilesse ai•…•… which venemous peradventure, imparte•…•… first its poyson, to make him fall sic•…•… was forc't to keep his bed a whole winter•…•… being no lesse inprofitable for the welfa•…•… of others, then doubtful and in danger o•…•… his own.

Behold O Saint, a beds become a Pul∣pit to instruct thee. Dilate now thy se•…•… on the arguments of thy languishing state if thou wilt know the excellency of th•• Martyrdom, to which peradventure, thou hast boldly directed thy thoughts. Be∣lievest thou perhaps, to suffer death for Christ, is so ordinary a favour that every one may ask it? Doest see how with the heat of a lingering feaver, God was pleas'd to teach thee, how vain is the chilness of thy mind, which hath without desert, pretended to a treasure so great? 'Tis much if thou do'st not dye lazily in thy bed, for a punishment of thy boldness,

thou, who aspired'st to be crucifi'd by In∣fidels.

Such a sense of humility revolv'd in his mind, must needs have encreased the afflictions of our infirm Saint, while farr from his Countrey, in a Land no less inhospitable, then faithlesse, he was as well a sufferer in his sicknesse, as journey. Whereupon without doubt, it was no lesse a pittiful, then Christian like spectacle, to the eyes of the assistants, to see a body laid on a heap of bare straw, and in a course habit little differing from hair cloth, in which contending equally the delicacy of his blood and complection, augmen∣ted his disease, and the compassion of o∣thers.

Now when the Saint had seen that A∣frique unwilling to restore him to his health, continu'd his infirmity, he was forc'd to resolve, to returne into his Countrey, being sure his native soyl, would be as kind and healthful to him, as that barbarous climate had been cruel and unwholesome. He therefore embar∣quing himself steer'd his course towards Portugal.

The Sea was so quiet and still, that re∣sembling azure milk, it seemed the ren∣net of an immoveable calm, had made it

cease flowing, insomuch as it sporting with the curl'd and pleasant winds, had its watery bosome onely fann'd with gen∣tle gales. O what fine sayling 'tis O Saint now thy fortune by changing her wont, shews her kindness to thee.

But no sooner the sails, in their un∣timely swelling, had conceived a pros∣perous voyage, which every one there had promised to himself, but a little cloud appearing toward the South, gave signes of a tempest ensuing.

The Horizon from that side is now cover'd with thick clouds, The Sea now murmurs at the blowing of the wind, which comes to disturb his repose, and by little and little, becoming white through rage, begins to foam, and storm. The waves crow'd together, and swell to the bigness of the clouds, and being the more furious, by how much the more hoary, become moving mountains, whence they tumbling with terrour among liquid pre∣cipices, force the ship to change her course, and steer towards Sicily.

Whither carries thee, O Pilgrim thy for∣tune, which being not content, by having in Afrique disputed thy health, forbids thy returne into Portugall? St. Anthony saw the menaces of the boisterous winds,

in the pale and fearfull marriners faces, and counted the assaults of an imminent death, in the bouncings of the vessel, that was ready to sink.

If my faults, O God, are the bluste∣ring tempests, that endanger this Ship, drown me alone in the swallowing Waves, since I, who have offended thy infinite goodnesse, deserve no less Sepulcher then a Sea. At the most, little dammage will accrue to Mankind by my loss, who by reason of my sickness, fill a place to no use among the living. I know the grea∣test weight oppressing now this vessel, is my feeble carkass, which as a heap of bones, in which there is nothing but misery, drawes upon it self the anger of the Elements, and invokes the indignati∣on of the stars. Ah O Lord, have pitty on these thy sad Creatures, and let them not be drowned, for having in their company, a remnant of corrupton.

In this manner spake St. Anthony, and in the mean time, the vessell encountring with many raging blasts, got safe in the end into the Haven of Sicily. There the sick Saint disenbarqued himself, and giving thanks to God, that he had been pleased to preserve him still alive, re∣mained some dayes, and during his stay,

receiving advice, a general chapter should be held in the City of Assisi, he desi∣red to go thither.

He therefore advancing to the place, though wholly infirm, 'tis piety to be∣lieve, the dangers, and incommodities he met on the way, were not light, and such as peradventure, he could not have or'ecome, if God, who was enamour'd of him, as foreseeing his sanctity, had not favoured, and assisted him particu∣larly.

Now come to Assisi, and the chapter at an end, as our St. was unknown, and by reason of his infirnity, supposed to be useless, no convent was assigned to him, as to each other Friar. Whereupon when he saw, he was the refuse of the order, and neglected, and abandon'd by all he recommended himself to the provinciall of Romagna, and entreated he might go along with him.

St. Anthony was young, not in holy or∣ders, a stranger, and held for an Ideot, but the provinciall discovering in his countenance, a certain Air of Nobleness and sanctity, took him willingly with him, and gave him a lodging in a convent, called the Mount of St. Pa••l,

This place was little less then a desart,

and seated in the solitude of a very thick wood, which being nothing else but a labyrinth of boughs, made it rather ap∣pear an enclosure for beasts then a dwel∣ling for men.

Happy shades (St. Anthony peradventure brake forth, as soon as he saw it from far) under whose lovely silence, I shall wi••h delight, and more clearness, see the Sun of my dear Christ. What thanks owe I not to his goodness, since after so dan∣gerous, and long a peregrination, he hath conducted me to so peaceable a Hea∣ven, that I could not wish a quieter? If these are the rewards, O my God, of the will I have had, to dye for thy sake, and for having long'd after the persecuti∣ons of all Afrique, the cruelties of the barbarousest Nations, and the terrour and dangers of the horriblest monsters, thou refusest me Martyrdome, by making me injoy a sweet quietness in this place, thou can'st not hinder me, from being a Martyr. Ile make the scorchingst sunne boile my flesh in my one sweat, and be in∣stead or that burning furnace, in which I supposed to be rosted by the Infidells. I'le make the Coldest January fley off a∣live my skin, with the edge of his sharp frosts, and serve for the rasors I expected

from Afrique. I'le make the raging'•…•… hunger devour within my bowels, the most substantiall parts of my body, and serve for the teeth of those beasts, to which I imagined to be given for food by thy enemies. In fine, I will make bloody disciplines do the office of those Hang∣men, by whom I expected to be scourged incessantly. No, no, O my Lord, thou canst not refuse me to be Martyr'd, since my heart is so enamour'd of thy passion, and desires in that manner to imitate thee, in the hard, and bloody way of thy Cross.

With these affections, each one of which deserved a Paradise for reward, our St. enter'd into that monastery, where applyed by his superiour, to the basest and contemptiblest exercises, the diligence with which he performed his duty, surpasses all expression.

'Tis therefore very probable, that the Devil beholding his proceedings with too envious an eye, and invading him sometimes in the heat of his actions, sug∣gested to his thoughts in this manner.

When thou didst leave the World, it was not thy purpose, to come to wash the dishes of the order, nor to sweep away the filth of the convent, but thy end

without doubt, was for preaching the Gospell to souls, and administring the Sacraments, for the benefit of all. To lose thy self now in works of this kind, which aime at nothing else, but the infimousest services, the body re∣quires, is as great an impediment to thy holy intentions, as a cosenage of the De∣vil, who excusing thy unprofitable idle∣ness, with the colour of holy obedience, holds thee fast in these contemptible af∣faires, that spending in them the beauty of thy life, thou maist be defrauded of the merit, thou mightest have acquired in actions becoming a true religious Man. And what avails it thee, to have morti∣fied the flower of thy youth, with the discipline of studies, and abandoned the World, where with a single almes thou mightest have equalled the reward of ma∣ny spirituall exercises, if after thy arri∣vall in the cloister, thou onely wast to serve, for the washing of the Kitchen, the watering of the Garden, and pruning of the Trees? Ah O Anthony, disengage thy self from these base employments, and consider thou art now a scullion to one, who would have thought himself very highly preferred, to have served in thy house for a Porter.

But St. Anthony, who knew from what root, these thoughts guilded with a fain∣ed zeal, were derived, with his armes folded hard before a crucifix, performed more then ever, the vilest affaires of the convent; and accompanying his infinious employments with high contemplations, and mortifying his body with fastings, and keeping it waking with disciplines, did verefie the saying, that every thing is sweet and conquerable to a passionate lover.

Frequently when weary with digging, he sate in the Garden, in some coole and pleasant shade, and tempered the heat of his labours, with the harmony of devout supplications, he considered what diver∣sity of vegetables, that little spot of cultivated Earth, sustained in her bosom, and perpended in his mind, by what subterranean veines that nourishing moysture passed which feeding the se∣verall seeds, made them break forth into sprouts, stalks, and leaves, which like∣wise receiving a different organization, were distnguisht the one from the o∣ther, by their variety of colours, and figure.

Who hath given the lustre (he said to himself) to the leaves of that flower,

which carv'd with such diligence, and environed in such order, make a little globe of wonders, each Philosopher ad∣mires? From what breathing places of Paradise, come the odours to perfume it in that manner, that it made Aromati∣call by nature, as likewise a carkass, ap∣peares to be embalm'd? O God, come ye Monarches of the Earth, ye, who with such boldness, boast of doing each great thing, and try if ye are able but to make a little flower. And thou O my God, who on the face of the Earth, feed∣est infinite Trees and plants, and when thou hadst created the nobility of the An∣gels, the People and of Men, and the rout of living Creatures, fittest governing the universe, and holding the vast Ma∣chine of the Earth hanging over the wa∣ters, prescribest the confines to the Oce∣an, and regulatest the motions of the Heavens and Stars, seest thou not all things, measurest not all things, and art not the life and understanding of all things? Thou, who sitting on a throne inlaid all with Stars, hast the Sun for thy Canopie, and the Christalline Skie for thy Tabernacle, art not thou onely great, the true King, and true God? And who is more beautifull then thee O my Re∣deemer,

who with a single smile mak'st the dawning of the day every Morning in the East? who is more sweet, and more delicious, since with a blast of warme, and gentle air, thou dost recre∣ate the World, and infuse life into it? And when I remember the profession I make, to serve so great a God, shall not I be quite dissolv'd into tears, with thinking how little I do? what are with∣out thy grace, O my God, these exerci∣ses, these prayers, these scourges, and these abstinences, but the forces of a sens∣less little worme, and pretences of an Atome scarce distinguisht from nothing.

And here the fair teares trickling down hot and thick from his eyes, he sob'd at these humble remembrances.

Such were the Christian-like lessons, which St. Anthony dayly learnt in that rurall School of the convent of St. Paul. Whereupon when some Moneths were expired, his Superiours admiring the sanctity of his life, and knowing he de∣sired to be in holy orders, sent him to that effect towards Forli, together with other Clarks in the Company of the Guardian.

It happened as he travailed with some religious Men of St. Dominiques order,

his Guardian had a humour, to command him to preach, perhaps to make trial of his supposed simplicity, and have some occasion to laugh at his pretended igno∣rance. But when he had excused himself so farr, that it lookt like disobedience, he sitting in a chair, began to speak so learnedly, that he in his discourse, con∣tracting the learning, the Emphasis, and eloquence of a hundred other Preachers, confounded so his audience, that they loading him with prayses, and blessings, cryed him up for one of the famousest Men of their order at that time. The newes of it therefore arriving the Pro∣vincial, (our St. now being free from his sickness) he granted him leave to go preach, now he was in holy orders.

The Third Chapter.

ITaly at that time was a miserable stage, on which all calamities attended with sorrow were acted to the life. Overflow'd by a deluge of forrain Arms, which pour'd down upon her from the Alps out of Ger∣many, no beam of the Sun could be seen, which stain'd with the reflexion of their

glittering weapons, did not form in the Air streaks of light threatning terrour. Amazement and horror went hand in hand together, and the several mischances of burnings and rapines, together with the various customs, rites, and languages of the barbarous Warriers, caused so hor∣rible and universal a confusion, that the Countrey on this side the Rhetian Alps resembled a tempestuous sea, on which floated, turn'd upside down, both divine and humane things. But that which most of all sustain'd an irreparable losse, was the purity of the Catholick faith, which infected with the contagion of heresy, lay languishing in the arms of impiety, and the hainousest sacriledges.

These things perpended by St. Anthony, imprinted in his minde such troubled ima∣ginations, as represented Italy to him more monstrous and barbarous then Africk it self; insomuch as he comparing in his heart both the countries together, rather wished himself (now he had leave to preach) in the wildest and inhospitablest corners of Mauritania, then in the most populous cities of Italy.

Whereupon, before he would prepare himself for so high an undertaking, as that to preach to people infected with

Heresie, he desired with the leave of his Seraphical Superiour, to make a new course in Theologie in Vercelli, under the Abbot of Saint Andrew, a very famous Doctor.

Thither therefore he went, and turning again Scholar, more for the love of God than of learning, by which he knew God, he knew very well that nothing was more fit to raise him to Heaven than the wings of contemplation, which alwayes mounts high, so as too for that, to be the more apt and more nimble, he making himself meager with disciplines, and reduced by fasting to the form of pure spirit, made the axiome most true, that every light thing tends upward. Often in the heart of the longest nights, when silence and darknesse have the greatest dominion on the face of the earth, he watching in his Cell by the light of a lamp profoundly contemplated, with what rest lesse motion that little flame aspired to its sphear, which tyed to a poor and vile week, with the slippery knots of an unctuous liquour, and made a bright scourge of the A••r round about it, extended it self into the form of a Pyramid, the better to ascend, and shew'd with what disquietnesse to it self it desired to go to its centre. Wherefore

fighing very deeply to himself, he said in this manner. Art thou, O Anthony, a fa∣mous Doctors Scholar, and yet hast a lamp to instruct thee? What are the blazing qualities of that tongue of fire, but mute, yet powerful lessons, from which thou re∣ceivest the more light, by how much the more it shews thee with its motions, what way thou shouldest take to know God.

And here adding deluges of tears to those reflexions on the flames, he bewailed his own weaknesse, and the negligence of his not neglected talent.

He studying in this manner, in a short time so profited, that now he surpassed in science the Abbot his Master, and to the astonishment of the students his Compa∣nions, arriv'd to comprehend, what o∣thers were not capable of. His intellect become an epitomized Heaven, beheld in it internally the essence Divine, and as if God, ineffable, and uncircumscribed, could be limited and terminated by hu∣mane capacity, he contemplated his qua∣lities and attributes, with so vigorous and strong an apprehension, that he wan∣ted but little of identifying himself, in the knowledg of him.

So arrived to that height in Theology, that his amazed Master made publique

encomiums of him, he ended the course of his studies, and began to consider, 'twas now necessary for him, to follow the exercises of preaching.

St. Anthony was devoted to the Mother of God, and in his greatest needs, finding no better counsell, nor help, then what he received by her holy Protection, who is able to express the affectionate prayers, with which he recommended himself un∣to her, while he by the means of his dis∣ciplines and fastings, prepared himself in all hast for his Sermons?

He now therefore being fortifi'd with Heavenly assistance, and arm'd with all the necessary preparations for so high a vocation, went abroad through the neigh∣bouring Towns, as a Trumpet of the Gospel, reproving all the vices of Men. Whereupon he not retarding, to Eccho from the Rocks of the most obdurate hearts, the prayses of the great good he did, was by his Superiors sent Guardian to Limoges, a City in France, to the end with his works, and his Preaching, he might convert the hereticks, living there in great numbers. He therefore going thither, made good in that manner, the opinion had of him, that the miracles he there wrought, clearly witnessed his works.

No business whatsoever could hinder him from performing exactly, both the office of a Preacher and Guardian. And when such important affaires met toge∣ther, as at the same time required his presence in two severall places, with a wonder unheard of, by the Heavenly ver∣tue infused into him, at once he was pre∣sent both at this, and that action. Hear this O Nations, and with wonder be im∣moveable.

'Twas the Night of good Friday, and those dark and black hours added mourn∣ing to the funerall of our Saviour, at what time the Saint bewayling in the Pulpit, the dolefull remembrance of his passion, wept abundantly perhaps of set purpose, to wash the peoples sins, then listening to him. He be laboured himself in recounting that sad tragedy, each syllable of which pierc't his soul with most sensible torments, and parallelling Christs love, and the ingratitude of sin∣ners, inveigh'd against the wickedness of Man, and his negligence in order to the holy Commandements.

But St. Anthony in the fulness, and height of his discourse, when his audito∣ry more attentive and perswaded, gave liquid assurances of their hearty repen∣tance,

by the tears trickling down from their cheeks, remembring that he was to read a lesson of the mattins, which the Friars were reciting at that time in the quire, raised his thoughts up to Hea∣ven, and said. O Lord, the Pulpit, and quire demand me at once, how can I sup∣ply both this and that place, if my body be not multiplied beyond the course of nature? Ah O Lord, do thou, who canst double the Sun, and create a Thou∣sand Worlds if thou pleasest, permit me without interruption, to perform both these functions.

O wonders deserving to be written with the Characters of Stars, that they may ever shine in the face of eternity! He no sooner had expressed in his heart, this his holy conception, but without going out of the Pulpit, he appeared in the quire, and sang the said lesson.

Now here to enquire by the means of Philosophy, how that could come to pass, and with a refined understanding, search, and trace out the formes, which make such life-actions subsist, would doubtless be a boldness, as vain as tenerarious. My wayes, and your wayes are not alike, saith God by the mouth of his Propher. who is able to discover the path of a ship

on the Sea, of a bird in the Air, or of a Serpent on the Earth? And if we fail in that, may we not justly think, he is not a good Christian, that would know by naturall reasons, how the Heavenly pow∣er operates? Ah the works of God should be held in veneration, and not questioned.

In Mompeliers afterwards the like admi∣ration was caused by St. Anthony, while he preaching in the Dome, went and sang an Alleluja belonging to him, in the quire of his convent, without stirring out of the Pulpit. In our St. was made good, what is usually said of good friends, who highly to oblige one another, would gladly have two lives, for he loving God infinitely, obtained the favour to plura∣lize himself in his service.

But with what affections, may we sup∣pose he thanked his Heavenly Majesty e∣very time he himself amazed at his own miracles, beheld he was favoured among Men, with qualities onely sutable to the inhabitants of Paradise? I may per∣adventure conceive, but cannot describe the tenderness, cordiality, and trances of this Saint, who sometimes through a∣bundance of sweetness, drowned in a Sea of tears, enjoyed the Shipwracks of

Heaven in the Ocean of his sorrow.

In the convent at Mompelier was a no∣vice, a voluntary, but unfortunate priso∣ner, who thinking all the happiness of this life, consisted in secular liberty, imagined all the thrids of his habit, were as so many strings, which bound him to a hatefull obedience. Battered therefore with the stones of the walls, the confines of his walk, he lookt not on their white∣ness, but his countenance growing pale, he bewailed that election, as too inconsi∣derate, which had obliged him, to se∣quester perpetually himself from the World.

What a madnesse is it (said he) for a man, who receiving from God, a vast globe for his dwelling, will reform as it were a worke not to be mended, and cir∣cumscribe his residence within the narrow limits of a little spot of Ground, and de∣claring himself worthy of an everlasting prison, will carry the punishment of his vanity, in the mortification of his life without end? If God could not be serv'd, but in Monasteries, either no secular per∣son could be sav'd, or the face of the Earth, would abound with sacred cloi∣sters. Is mans life so exempt from dis∣asters, that it must be held convenient, to

adde to diseases, to penury, misfortunes, and persecutions, and a voluntary chastity, poverty, and odedience? An exact ob∣servance and devotion in each sense, more peculiar to Angels then men? And why in the time of the spring, doth nature pre∣sent thee with a world of fine flowers, if to mortifie thy smelling, thou turn'st a∣way thy face from the Rose, which per∣fuming the air with aromatical blasts, scat∣ters fragancies up and down about its thornes? to what end doth a skilful musiti∣an, with the bow of a citterne, endeavour to shoot the through thy ears to the heart, if thou deaf to the musique prolonging thy life, preferrest before the swetness of singing, the blubberings of tears? To what purpose in the Countenance of a beauti∣ful woman, hath God represented the si∣militude of a bright shining morning, if looking another way, thou avoidest that sight, which the stars themselves some∣times may envie? Ah tis meer foolishness, to be more observant, and exacter, then then God doth command, and to seem to be wiser, and more abstinent then is suta∣ble to mans nature. Abandon then, a∣bandon thy order, and let it lay no bur∣then on the shoulders of him, who carries his own weight very hardly.

With these conceptions (provocations peculiar to the Devil) the poor religious man so disquieted himself, that resolv'd now to cast of his habit, he designed now to run from the Covent. St. Anthony com∣ing thither at that time, and knowing by divine inspiration, of the tempest of his minde, in which he was about to shipwrack his salvation, was mov'd by his disaster to pitty, and going to him lovingly, and opening his mouth, as if he had the pow∣er to infuse a new soul into him, said O son, receive the Spirit of God. And so breathing into his throat, made him fall to the ground in a swound, then strecht out his hand for the raising of him up, while the novice in the presence of many other of the Friars, awakned as it were out of a sleep, began to cry out, that he had been in paradise, and seen, &c. but the Saint commanded him to be silent, causing him ever after to be freed from that temptation.

The fame is very great of the aged Ezechiel, the prayses of whom are sung on a harp whose strings are the sphears, and whose rose is the sun, for having with a blast restored to life, a mountain of mens bones. But St. Anthony to our greater a∣mazement, so far hath surpassed this mi∣raculous

action, as 'tis harder to give a new life to one alive, then to animate one dead. And how could he ever, more powerfully shew himself, an imitatour of Christ in his works, unless by replenish∣ing his Disciples, with the spirit of salva∣tion, by the vertue of a blast, as we read our Saviour did, when incarnated he con∣versed with men.

Equal to this, if not greater, was the miracle, he wrought a while after in the Abbey of Simoniaque, in the Bishoprick of Limoges, where a Monke then resided, the piety of whose life incensed the Devil, and caus'd the foul fiend to employ against him, all the instigations and enticements to sin, which his cunning could devise But he knowing especially the Tempera∣ment and genius of the monke, enflamed him so with the temptations of the flesh, that the poor religious man burning vehe∣mently with lust, found no ease to his torments. If he either said his office in the quire, pray'd in his cell, or mortify'd himself with fastings and disciplines, the Devil with a never ceasing war of filthy allurements, would not let him have a minute of repose.

What shall I wretch do (he said in his heart) if the waves of my tears, and the

blood of my stripes, can neither extin∣guish, nor mitigate the heat, that con∣sumes me? To carry a fire in my bosom, which the most devout suffrages, a Chri∣stian can apply, can do no good against, is a kind of Damnation resembling that of hell.

So the Monke bewailed himself, and was in the height of his afflictions, as St. Anthony arrived at that convent, the fame of whose sanctity was now become great. To him having therefore recourse, and earnestly commending himself, he reti∣red with him into a place apart, and falling very sadly at his feet, confessed the commotion of his senses, and be∣sought him for Gods sake, to assist him.

St. Anthony commiserating in him, the deplorable condition of Man, devested himself of his tunick, and giving it to him to put on, as if the touch of that, had had the same virtue with his body, im∣parted in that manner his own chastity to him, that the Monke never after all the dayes of his life, felt the least provocation of the flesh, as he often weeping tenderly had publiquely avouched, and affirmed. Then the prayses of the St. being spread o're all France, for this thing alone, and

with reason, caus'd it to be envi'd by all the other Kingdoms of Europe, but that succeeding to Gods greater glory, did likewise succeed to the greater consola∣tion of all.

The Fourth Chapter.

GReat and glorious actions France of∣ten hath beheld, but of all She e∣ver saw, none was so full of admiration, as that Julius Caesar presented to her of himself.

To see, that nature had formed a man, the least of whose thoughts design'd the revolution of a World. To consider, that his head, and his heart gave nourish∣ment to spirits, which bequeathing life and motion to Armies, ruin'd provinces, and Kingdomes. To reflect, that at last, he disdaining common victories o're Men, undertook the Dominion of the E∣lements, made the French raise as many Arch Triumphalls to his valour, as were the wondering eyes, that beheld him.

But let the wonders wrought by Julius Caesar yield to those done in France by St. Anthony. For if 'twas a wonder, that a

Man armed with ••teel, accompanyed by Millions of Souldiers, and feared by all Europe, should trample upon crowns, e∣rect, and throwe down empires, and Kingdoms, and give, and then take away Scepters; 'tis a farr greater wonder, that a poor, contemned, and mortified Friar, should tame the wills of others, represse their desires, instruct their understand∣ings, and heal their sore consciences. 'Twas a farr greater wonder, that a bare∣footed Friar, girt about with a cord, abject, and unknown, should bear the sway o're nature, have command o're the Devils, dispence Heavens treasures, and reconcile souls unto God. But why should I weary my self, to Parallell Caesars deeds, and St, Anthonies, since the m••ra∣cle of a hair will obscure all the actions of that Roman.

In the City of Limoges resided a Wo∣man, who indifferently handsome of bo∣dy, but rich in all the qualities of the mind, which become a good Christian, professed her self a servant to all the re∣ligious, but particularly to St. Anthony. She therefore watching all opportunities to serve him, sometimes sto••e away the time from her household affaires, and spending it devoutly in order to his ser∣vice,

very diligently attended him. But her husband▪ besides his ill condition, was jealous of her, insomuch as he tor∣m••nted with that internall fury, which distracted still his mind, no meat did him good, no sleep appeased his thoughts, nor pastime could please him.

His face being therefore grown lean, and deformed, he lookt like a fury, and abusing his wife, and often upbrayding her, with her waiting on St. Anthony, would beat her sometimes, commanding her straightly to desist from his affaires.

But she thinking the reprehensions of her husband, would turn to her advan∣tage, gave him leave to vent his fury, and attended on St. Anthony, whose busness having once stai'd her longer then usually, till the obscurity of the night, began no less to darken the World, then her husbands understanding, she no soon∣er got home, but he firmly concluding, her stay had been dishonest, in that it was sheltred by the darkness, and would not brooke the light as he thought, resolved to kill her, assaulting her to that end with a dagger.

Death thundering on the point of his weapon, now threatned to make it self a way in her innocent bosom, when the

blow stopt by some that came in between them, gave the mad man an occasion, when he saw, he was hinder'd of his pur∣pose, to seize with his left hand on her hair, which with a hellish fury he pulled quite off from the roots. His innocent wife felt as many piercing torments in her heart, as the hairs were she lost, in∣somuch as she afflicted, not so much be∣cause depriv'd of that part, which serves as a crown to the beauty of Women, as because the want of it (custom so pre∣vailing with them, that cut off their hair) was a testimony of infamy. When she had laid together her locks, she weep∣ing very bitterly o're them, sent to call the next Morning to St. Anthony, and telling him how unfortunate she was, so tenderly bewail'd her disasters, that the Saint mov'd to pitty returned to his Con∣vent, and caus'd all the Friars to pray joyntly for her.

And behold, when they were in the midst of their prayers, the Woman ap∣peared in the Church, who, as she every morning used to do, came to do her de∣votions. Whereupon the Saint meeting her, and taking her hair into his hands, which she still carried with her, having stayed till the people there present, had

encompast him round, said probably as followeth. Be of comfort, O Daughter. Whosoever hath his conscience free from sin, is secured from the hurt of the body. The purity of thy affection to God, ful∣fills those words in thee, that his friends shall not suffer so much, as the loss of a hair, which we shall see verified here. Having said so, he no sooner put the hairs on her head, but they, as if receiving both Spirit and life, grew again in their places, and covering the skin, made the Woman seem unhurt.

Each hand can destroy, but to build is onely proper for a workman. Whosoe∣ver mends a vessel, is Master of the trade, or of the same profession. Every Man can deprive another of life, but no man, though a Monarch, can make a hair re∣grow, when once 'tis faln off. O fortu∣nate St. Anthony, who renewing humane bodies, shewed clearly to all, he was his disciple, who made all the World. Those hairs set together again, were so many golden Testimonies to the husband, of the innocence and purity of his Wife. Whereupon he ashamed, because he had been d••awn by the hair, as well to the l••ve due to her, as the necessary respect to the Friars, changed his life, and be∣haviour,

repairing the savageness, he shewed to his neighbour, with as many acts of kindness, and affection.

Fame therefore become a blazing Star to the glories of St. Anthony, made his name so renowned, that the People from all parts concurring to hear him, erected living statues to his prayses, to the num∣ber of the Men in the Temples and Streets, immoveable out of wonder, in∣somuch as he forced to preach in the spa∣tiousest piazze, gave the People occasion, to set up seats and scaffolds round about them, to the end, that conveniency, and ease of their bodies, might raise their at∣tention, and be of more advantage, and profit to their Souls.

But the Devil, who stormed at the good, Mankind did receive from St. An∣thony, contrived in what manner, to di∣sturbe his proceedings, resolving very hellishly, after many designes, to make the people pay for their setting.

Shall a Friar, said he, whose onely de∣sert consists in his cord, which should seem to hang him, subvert my Dominion, and make the prey escape, which was in my hands as it were? And shall Hea∣ven, depriving an Angel of it's favour, capacitate a Man to surpass him in merit,

and condition? The remembrance of these things torments me extreamly. Who hath given that eloquence to his tongue, which resembling a Thunderbolt to the most obdurate hearts, insensibly over∣throwes the most setled, and fixedest re∣solutions, which another had made to follow my dictates,? Shall the breath of a mouth which naturally blowes cold, be such a gentle Air, and so vitall to the World, that infusing new spirits into Men, it shall carry them to new customes, and new actions? Shall the jawes of a poor, and weak Friar, be such dreadfull dens to me, that with the least breath of a word, they shall have the power to ruine the harvest, where I hoped to reap great store of lost Souls? But let it not be said, I am injured, and to weak to conquer this enemy. I'le make those that hear him, feel the greatness of my power, and fall for a punishment of their vanity, into a pit of sorrowes, and torments.

Thus the Devil watched all oportuni∣ties to compass his ends.

On the other side St. Anthony, full of fervour and zeal, gave devout, and af∣f••ctionate thanks every minute to God, fo•• the good he did to souls, and in his understanding was united to him, that

often by speciall favour, he foresaw fu∣ture things. Whereupon he discovering what the Devil had designed, in order to the concourse of People at his Ser∣mons, and beholding from the Pulpit, the throngs of the scaffolds, and ground, told them in the beginning, that Satan was about to terrify, and hurt them, but that each one there should be of good courage, for they should have no harm.

Having spoken in this manner, and ad∣vancing in his Sermon, when he was the most fervent, and his audience most at∣tentive, and devoutest, behold the De∣vill untying the ropes, which held the beams, and planks of that portable The∣ater, caused the frames with the Men, to fall from the top to the bottom, and in a most intricate disorder turning top∣sy turvy, the living and senseless things, with many strange postures, buried one body under another.

In this case the piazza by the order of nature, should have been on the sud∣dain a heap of dead bodies. This with a broken Head, and broken Armes, and that with his Breast beaten flat, One stifled by the crowd, and another half dead. This grieving sadly, and that

sorely hurt. But in so great a ruine (O most glorious Saint whom all suc∣ceeding ages should admire) they suf∣fer'd not so much as the loss of a hair. The charity of St. Anthony was to them, an invisible defence against harm, and just at the time, when the cords were un∣ti'd by the Devil, with an act of desire made to God, he prevailed, that each one there, was particularly assisted by Heaven.

The People therefore glad, and asto∣nish'd, when they had with all speed set the scaffolds up again, re-attended to the Sermon. Hereupon the name and cre∣dit of our Saint growing infinitely great, encreas'd so the audience, and devotion to his Sermons, that they held it a sin not to hear him, so as the Devil, mad with himself, for the great good he did, design'd new inventions to hinder the devotion of the People.

In the Bishoprick of Limoges resided a Matron, who nobly born, and rich, and marri'd to her liking, had a Son, whom she loved most dearly. Being therefore in a fortunate condition, and meeting in all things with all desires, she wanted nothing else to perfect her happiness, but to gain the beatitude, the grace of God imparts.

'Tis an easy thing, and naturall as it were for one that lives contented on Earth, to settle himself unfeignedly to the seeking of Heaven.

She therefore living well, was parti∣cularly devoted to St. Anthony, and had all his actions in that reverence and e∣steem, that she would rather have suffered any thing then omitted his Sermons.

But her Son on the contrary side, who naturally was haughty and proud, did e∣very thing amiss, and to the offence and displeasure of others. Whereupon being hated by all, and obliged to maintain with his sword, what his pride every day engag'd him in, he abounded with ene∣mies and cares, and became no lesse an Argos for his own preservation, then a Hell to his sollicitous parents.

What thoughts does thy minde labour with, his devout and good Mother said of∣ten to him? Whence comes the contempt with which thou doest vilifie others? Doest think peradventure, because thou art distinguisht from the Vulgar by thy quality, that nature hath distinguisht thee from them? And that thy difference from others in fortune, makes thee different in species from them? Ah, humane blood is the same in the King and the Shepheard,

and there is no true disparity among men, except it be by vertue. The poor man thou vilifiest, and whom thou thinkst thy self superiour to, hath frequently his sen∣ses more refin'd, and more even than thine, surpassing thee so farre in the functions of the body, and qualities of the minde, that he seems to be wholly com∣posed of reason, and thou of bestiality: must he therefore, because he is not richly apparell'd, as one that is obscure be re∣puted vile and base? O deplorable igno∣rance of the wealthy!

Men are like Kings on the face of the Earth, who have constituted their tribu∣nal in the minde, at which all mens actions and merits are examin'd, and as it seems just unto them they give them the reward of affection, and punishment of hatred. And the Authority of this tribunal is ex∣tended so farre, that it does pronounce death against all whom it judges to be guilty, and actually oftentimes makes the sentence to be executed; for we see 'tis in the power of each one to kill another. Since therefore it is thus, why should not every man seek the favour of another, declining the anger and ruine that may hang ore his head? Ah, my dear son, leave thy manner of living, which hither∣to

thou hast follow'd, and love, esteem, and honour every one, for the best domi∣nion, and the fairest command of a man, is that over the will and affections of an∣other.

And confirming her words with as many liquid testimonies, as the tears were she shed, she labour'd all she could to soften and mollifie the harsh youth, her son. But he the more encreasing his insolencies for his mothers admonitions, disquieted him∣self, and his country. Whereupon she seeking comfort from Heaven, and atten∣ding only things of religion, became such a pattern of devotion and piety, as made the Devil hate her particularly, insomuch as he aware of the good she deriv'd from S. Anthonies sermons, resolv'd to disturb her to his power.

On a solemn day therefore, as she was at the sermon in a full Congregation, he taking upon him the form of a Courier, addrest himself to her, and presenting her a Letter inform'd her of the death of her Son.

Her pale friends and Kinsfolks running hastily to her, so disorder'd the assembly, that they brake off S. Anthonies discourse, insomuch as he raising his voice, said aloud, Be of comfort, O Matron, the news

you have received is as false, as 'tis true he that brought it is a Devil in the shape of a man. Your son is alive, and if you will but look towards the gate of the Church, you shall see him soon appear.

The Devil confounded at his words, va∣nisht presently away, and the Matron with the rest, directing her eyes to the place aforesaid, saw the young man come in. Joy therefore, and wonder entring into their hearts, when they had admir'd the sanctity of S. Anthony, and exprest their thanks to Heaven for the same, they be∣took themselves again to their places, at∣tending with great silence to the rest of the sermon.

Many other illusions might be told, which were instead of Trophies to S. An∣thony, as that of the Friars, who saw a field spoyled one night belonging to their Benefactor, which he said should not trou∣ble them, because they that did it were Devils, who by that appearance endea∣voured to distract their devotions. But our design at present being only to men∣tion the wonders which he wrought by his sermons, we will speak of this subject alone.

The Saint wrought great miracles in the Pulpit, but that of the field of Arras

was most glorious, where he used to as∣semble the people and preach, the Church not being able to contain them.

This was a large place, the foundation in times past of some vast and goodly pal∣lace, which having then the air for its walls, and the Heavens for its roof, seem'd a Theater proportionable, and sutable to the great Congregation which followed him continually. As he therefore was preaching one day in that place, behold on the sudden, the windes began most dreadfully to hisse, and assembling the clouds round about, so cover'd the air with thick darknesse, that the light which lay languishing in it shewed the world was in an agony. Horrid claps of thunder fol∣lowed after, at whose resounding noise the pale Horizons ecchoing, advise all there present to shelter themselves from the tempest. The fearful people therefore disorder the assembly, and moving here and there to fly to the Citie, presage a fu∣ture storm in their faces.

Stay, said the Saint. Be none of you affraid of the menaces of the air, for when ye are actually in the service of God, even Hell it self let loose cannot hurt a mans hair. I promise to secure you from harm, if neglecting all other things

ye will diligently attend to Gods word.

These his words infused such a security into all, that regarding not the tempest, they resetled themselves to hear the word of God. In the mean time the rain mixt with hail pour'd down in that abundance and fury, that each drop become a tor∣rent, made whole rivers run along through the neighbouring fields. Who will deliver the devout Congregation from the preci∣pices and ruines of an Ocean? Who will be a fence against the waves, and a bank against the billowes, that the people un∣hurt, and not wet may renew the exam∣ples of the Ark, in which mankinde was preserved? O the force of the miracles of S. Anthony! One request made to God was an invincible Canopy to the Audi∣ence, and encompass'd and protected the assembly, so as the least besprinkling of water did not wet the hems of their gar∣ments.

The people therefore drown'd in admi∣ration, by so much the more divulged the prayses of S. Anthony, by how much the more they found they were dry, and un∣hurt. But since his sanctity often bridled the Elements, who will not be astonisht to hear, that he bridled too the madness, e∣ven of mad men themselves?

In Limoges liv'd a Man so distracted, and mad, that every thing he did was ir∣rationall, and furious. Having therefore his countenance and body very meager, and pale, his hair dishevil'd, and his eyes full of rage, he walk'd up and down in the City, no less uncompos'd in his acti∣ons, then tatter'd in his cloathes. Where∣upon he, made a spectacle of misery and horrour, moved all to compassion and wonder.

Where are the Physitians, who pre∣tending to re-edifie humane bodies, say, there is no disease surpassing their skill? What vertue can be found in a stone, what juice in an herb, or what force in com∣positions, that will cure the disorders of a mad, and irrationall mind, which flowing from the inward seditions of the humours, the muscles, and arteries of the head, most obstinately persist in un∣reasonable operations?

Cannot therefore Physitians, be they never so diligent, nor Physick, nor diet, or mutation of air, restore to the order of nature, the disorderly State of a Man besides himself? Ah, the rectifying of the motions of these wheels, is only re∣served to the hand, of the artificer that made them, and the Proverb is too true,

that he, who once looses his wits, never gets them again.

This mad man therefore hopeless of re∣medy, being one day in the Church, when St. Anthony was preaching, and ad∣monished by him to give no disturbance to the audience, said, he would not be qui∣et untill he took off his own cord, and with his own hands presented it to him.

To see a mad man look for a cord, is to see him soon hanged. Hemp is not good for Men besides themselves, unless it be to bind them, but when 'tis in their pow∣er, 'tis either to their death, or to the hurt of some other.

No body could have thought that St. An∣thony would have furthered the ruine of a man about to ruine himself, or put into the hands of a child a sharpe, and keen raisor, so as when he threw him down the cord from the pulpit, every one fasten'd to it with wonder, stood expecting what would follow.

The mad man laying hold on the cord kissed it with equall tendernesse, and de∣votion, and no sooner had toucht it with his fortunate lips, but a heavenly vertue infus'd into his minde, rekindled the light of his reason, and he knowing the errors of his miserable state, and falling at the

feet of St. Anthony, entreated his pardon, and being well again, made the standers by weep out of pitty.

But the wonders were greater, which his sermons occasion'd. A Woman in a village of the Country of Limoges, loving passionately her son, and thinking all the pleasures in the World, were contracted into his bosome, did nothing all the day, but hug and embrace him. Every kiss she therefore gave him, was the quintes∣sence of affection, and when she looked on him, she imagined Heaven smiling upon her.

When in order to the lawes of common calamity, he sometimes used to weep, she reducing her soul into one of his tears, felt her self dye as often, as the drops were he shed. But on the other side, when he smiled upon her, she wounded with the bowe of his lips, felt many years added to her life.

Now St. Anthony going thither to preach the woman by the devils illusions, set a caudron of water on the fire, and put the child into it, believing she had laid it in the cradle, and laying on great store of wood, shut the door, and went away to the sermon. But at her returne, the de∣vill a while after recalling to her minde,

what she had done, represented to her phancy, many strange apprehensions.

Now together with the water in the caudron, death boiled in her bosome, and she phancying those limbs to be sodden to pieces, which she thought to have refresh∣ed with the vigour of sleep, had hardly power to breath, much less to stir a foot. Looking therefore very sadly, and cros∣sing her hands, she strove to vent her grief, but her breath not permitting her to speak, she remain'd no less insensible of weeping, then sorrow. When she was able afterwards to walk, she approached to the door, rather opening it in desire, then with her hands, and going halfe dead in∣to the room, cast her eyes in all hast to∣wards the chimney, and beholding the flames, which encompassing the caudron, look't as if they not only consumed the water, but the brass, would have doubt∣less faln dead to the ground, if the last re∣flection occasion'd by her eyes, had not brought her some life. Shee therefore approaching to the Caudron, and looking into it, saw her child sporting there, as in a sea of milk, whom the water was not warme enough to hurt.

Silence O Pen! when miracles surpass imagination, 'tis in vain to extoll them.

To hear the Saint preach, and to suffer for that, was repugnant to his charity. Let the Reader consider on the joyes, and the wonder of the Mother, who alone to support so much gladness, and survive it, ran the hazard of being compassionate.

The Fifth Chapter.

IN this manner the wonderfull works of St. Anthony resounded in all places. But no wayes inferiour to this, was the miracle he wrought, in behalfe of another mother, who leaving her son in the cra∣dle, to go to his sermon, and finding him stifled, and dead at her returne, prevailed with him to restore him to life.

O fortunate rewards of the devoted to St. Anthony! Hegosias discoursed so elo∣quently of the miseries of Mans life, that his words representing calamities, and fraught with disasters, infus'd into Mens minds such destructive cogitations, that many by his Rhethorick, threw them∣selves into the armes of a Voluntary death.

But St. Anthony a quite different ora∣tour, with his divine Eloquence utters

Heavenly things, infuses inspirations of life into the hearts of the auditors. What wonder is it then, so many run to hear him, and that France become one body, and one heart, hangs with a single sense at his mouth? All tongues, and all wits would doubtless be weary, should they undertake to recount, the demonstrati∣ons of faith, the acts of contrition, the tears of repentance, the changes of life, the reconciliations, and restitutions of the goods, and good names of other Men, which his Sermons occasion'd. Whereupon as the Eloquence of a holy taciturnity, sutes best with those things, which transcend Mans capacity, so I pur∣posely omitting the infinite relations, in order to these matters, will confine my self to one of them alone.

In Limoges liv'd a a Gentleman in the flower of his youth, who following the lusts of the flesh, let no hour of his life pass away, without some particular satis∣faction to himself. As he was of a health∣full, and strong constitution, so he was of a boisterous and unquiet behaviour, ex∣pressing in his face a disordenate mind, so as 'twas impossible to fathome his thoughts, his strange resolutions, and phantasticall desires. Who will be able

to calme, and appease this stormy Man, who as fierce in his lookes, as extrava∣gant in his cloathes, would have every hair of his head, and his beard, infuse a like terrour with his countenance and car∣riage? If we would be inform'd of the pleasures of his mind, and entertainments of his thoughts, 'tis clear, that the mi∣nutes, and atomes of time, in which he re∣solves not of destruction, and designes not incontinence, are not numbered with his years, as parts of his life. To follow the dictates of each unruly passion, to hang at the hilt of his sword, his fortune, and his soul, be the mark of each affection, and never to be weary of hatred, and revenge, emploi'd the greatest part of his study and time.

But being one day smitten with the sermons of St. Anthony, and pierced to the heart with his words, which infused into him the terrours of Hell, as a sick Man rising up out of the Lethargie of death, he began to consider on his State, and condition.

Who art thou (thus he spake to himself) who walkest so idely and boldly in the path of the World, and thinkest that no∣thing can hurt thee? Do'st suppose the mass of Earth, of which thou art made, is so in∣corruptible,

that death in an instant, can∣not make it a receptacle of wormes? In what consists thy bravery, if the prick of a sword, some inward pain and grief, the heat of a lingering feavour, a thorne; a flie, a spider may deprive thee soon of life? And shall the pretious time, thou shouldst spend in considering on things, in order to Heaven, and the hours thou shouldst employ in giving thanks to God for his benefits to thee, be consumed in this manner, in neglecting, and atten∣ding him? How comes it to pass, thou shouldst not still remember, thy Creator is infinitely powerfull, and infinitely good, and can, if he please, give thee Heaven, or Hell without end? But grant, thou art so miserable, the horrour of death, and of judgment, cannot make the af∣fraid, why dost not consider on the amia∣ble qualities of God, who when he had created, and plac'd thee in the World, sub∣jected all Creatures to thy will, and made the Sun and Stars, together with the Earth, the Water, and Air, for thy ser∣vice and use, would incarnate himself, shed his blood for thy sake, and die to save thee? To comply with the gratitude of the World, thou wilt be very sorry, when thou canst not return the civilities

of a friend, nor serve him according to thy wishes, and to shew thy love to God who hourely does oblige thee beyond al, the World, wilt thou be so void of hu∣manity, as not to retain so much grati∣tude in thy heart, as will cause thee to be sad, for having offended him? Where are now the contrition, and sighes of de∣votion of a penitent soul?

Having spoken in this manner, he let the reins loose to lamentations, and sor∣rowes, and firmly resolving to offend his Creator no more, he went penitently to the feet of St. Anthony, and retiring with him into a place a part, began in all humility to discover his faults.

O most loving Jesus, how ready art thou to assist and help all, that convert themselves to thee.

God was so pleas'd with this sinners contrition, that he opening his intellect, in the act of his confession, so sensibly made him know the greatness of his faults, that he sighing extreamly at every thing he spake, was not able, by reason of his immoderate sorrow, to utter a word. St. Anthony knew of his pardon from Heaven, so as, that Gods mercies might more evi∣dently appear, he told him, since he could not speak his mind, he should re∣turn

home, and write down his sins, and bring them to him in a paper.

Who can imagine, and fully conceive, the bitter resentments he had, when he wrote that cursed roll?

His soul pierc't no less with the point of his memory, then his pen, imprinted not a character in the paper, which looking like a Monster of hell, represented not to him, the merit of the pains, he would have been lyable to, if the mercy of God had abandon'd, and forsaken him.

Now when he had often been pale, and likewise often blusht, at that which he read, and had yet to write, and made his inke thinner with his tears, he filling, and then folding up the paper, returned to the feet of St. Anthony, where renew∣ing his tears, and contrition (never sa∣tisfying himself with asking God pardon) he drew out the abominable list, and as he was beginning to read it, he found it all white, there appearing not in it, the least shadow of any writing.

O Son, where are thy faults? who hath washt from the bosom of this paper, the black, and foul tincture of the cha∣racters, which infused the horrour of death? To what may we ascribe such an

unexpected whiteness, unless to the waves of thy eyes? Wilt see how prevalent thy contrition hath been, and what it hath articl'd, and covenanted with God? Be∣hold, he offers thee a blank paper. Tears and sins reside not together. Go, and be comforted in Christ, and continue in the State thou art in: Thus our Saint spake to him, and giving him his blessing, dismiss'd him with happiness.

Infinite other miracles St. Anthony wrought in France, the particular relati∣on of which, as it would be very difficult to the eloquentest tongue, so it does alto∣gether exceed my capacity. His name therefore growing renown'd, made a glo∣rious Eccho in the Vatican, so as the Pope desirous to hear, and behold him, sent for him to Rome.

The Capitol requires thee, O Saint. What wonder is it, since after thy conquest of France, triumphs are prepared for thee? The rock Tarpeia receives greater credit, by adding thy act••, to the many inscriptions of the Hero's, with which it is engraven. Advance to the place, where the Tybur would gladly gild his sands, with the touch of thy feet, for since all this while, the Rhosne, and the Seine have made their waters flow with

the motion of thy wonders, 'tis but just thy happy presence should make the La∣tine river renown'd.

St. Anthony arrived in Rome, when the Pope much encourag'd with the good he had done, had resolv'd of a crusado, in order to the conquest of the holy land, so as devout Nations meeting there from all parts, the City seemed too little, to contain so great a multitude.

'Twas doubtless a fine sight, to see the huge concourse of the people, the throngs in the Streets and piazze, to∣gether with their habits, their customes, and different languages, but that was no new thing to the Romans.

The Pope commands St. Anthony to preach, and the sacred Consistory, with an infinite number of People, flock thither to hear him, who though he spake Italian, made his words sound to all in their own proper language. Who will deny thee O Saint, the laurell, and triumph, since in testimony of thy holy undertakings, such variety of tongues do attend on thy sermons? The Nations there present, were amazed, and extolled him to the skie, and the Pope called him, the Arke of the Testament, and treasure of each science. And he knowing of the misera∣ble

State, Italy was in at that time, com∣manded him to go through the Cities and Towns, to reduce Christian souls to repentance.

At that time lived an Usurer in Flo∣rence, who minding onely traffick and gain, so farr lov'd the light of the Sun, as it serv'd to make him rich. To spend all his life in casting up accounts, and booking his debts and receipts, seem'd to him the onely quality, to procure him esteem. Whereupon he enamour'd with Gold, had no end of his desires in heap∣ing up wealth, and growing pale with watching, and lean with sollicitude, shew'd nothing in his eyes, and his face, but covetousness and desire.

To gnaw a piece of dry bread, and with so much wine mingle his water, as serv'd to change the colour. To dine on an onyon, and frieze in the middle of winter or'e a languishing fire. To sweat in August with a long sided coat of patcht cloth, and go all the year to his bed, by the light of the Moon, were such pleasing things to him, because they spar'd his money, that this of all others, was the life he most fancy'd; minding therefore onely money, he had no other thoughts but what brought him gain, insomuch as

grown rich, he began to bless his eyes with the lustre of his gold, and rejoyce at the heaps of his silver. Having there∣fore provided very great and strong chests, whose iron-work seem'd able to re∣sist Thunderbolts themselves, and shut∣ting them with locks, whose strange and extravagant devices, resembled the crook∣ed wayes he got his wealth by, he o∣pened them dayly with delight, and fix∣ing his eyes on the heaps of his gold, said gladly to himself.

Let the lover now come, who sayes, he does burn with a more noble fire, and see if his flames have more reasonable motives then mine. He adores a woman, whose transitory beauty soon vanishes like a sha∣dow, her rosie cheeks, and lovely hair, contributing to the wound of an innocent heart, and her smiles, and carriage to∣gether with her gestures, which shew her vivacity and spirghtliness, aiming onely at this, to make her a Venus on Earth.

But omitting the conditions of her mind (besides her infidelity and pride) for which She may often be compared to a Devil, tell me, O lover, how permanent in thy Mistriss are the corporall endow∣ments, for which thou art become her i∣dolater?

Ah, the roses no sooner do bud, but the frosts pursue them closely. Her swelling breasts abate, growing flaggy, and wrinckel'd and her wither'd eyes, and teeth, shew nothing worth the see∣ing in her declining face, but the com∣miseration, that they have once been handsome.

'Tis not so wich me. I love a beauty not subject to corruption, by so much the more commending my idol, by how much the more, it produc'd by the Sun, cannot certifie Men of it's qualities, and value, with a clearer, and more evident testimony. I sigh not to behold it, nor long to possess it, for when I will, I see it, and when I please, I kiss it. To doubt of it's faith, is to deny natures orders, for never 'twas yet seen, that Gold was false to any.

Can a Man have a greater comfort, then to think he is a Master of a substance, the soul of the World, and hath a pre∣tious Protheus in his hand, which changeth it self into every thing? The adorations of the Egyptians are ridiculous, who had not so much wit to discern, gold was the greatest Deity. Will you see wonders wrought in an instant, take gold into your hand, and with that you may do a∣ny

thing? What delights more the eye, then the sphaericall figure of money, which for it's lovely roundness, repre∣sents a whole World? what can make a∣ny Man more a Gentleman, and more learned then money, which is the best de∣fense, and projection we can have? Shall a lover therefore lye several nights on the stones, endure the greatest heats, and greatest colds, endanger himself, suffer banishments, imprisonment, and want, for a painted corruption, and shall not I much more, who adore the worthiest thing the world hath, toil and moil, and en∣dure the greatest torment for riches? O happy rags, which cover me? O fortu∣nate abstinences, watchings, and sollici∣tude, which wast, and consume me, since these bitter, pains are the cause of my treasure.

And here kissing those sparkling heaps, he took great pleasure to count his mo∣ney over again, and again, and re∣flecting on the things, in which he might have spent it, his vanity seemed excusa∣ble in this thing alone, that it made him enjoy each delight in the abstract. O the madness of Men.

This Usurer living in this manner, ex∣pired at last as St. Anthony arrived in

Florence, and his obsequies were prepa∣red in the Church, where he was to preach.

The Corps now brought thither, and accompanied in great State, while the torches distilled in hot tears for the loss of his soul, St. Anthony illuminated with the light of the holy Ghost, cried aloud in this manner.

What do ye O Florentines? Shall the bo∣dy whose soul is in hell, lye in a sacred place? Shall he enjoy the priviledges of a church, who abused the merits of Christ? Shall he have Christian burial, who liv'd like a Heathen? Open but his breast, and youl finde it wants a heart, then come a∣long with me, and I will shew you where it is, by which you may judge of his damn∣ed condition.

The persons there present would have laught at his strange words, he being un∣known unto them, if the sound of his ton∣gue, tuned by the Holy Ghost, had not had the power to infuse faith and reve∣rence into them. The Florentines there∣fore inwardly perswaded, began to ana∣tomize the breast of the Usurer, and seeing it was whole, and unhurt, but deprived of that part so necessary for the functions of life, being almost dead with wonder, stood

awhile without motion. Then following St. Anthony, they went to the Usurers house, and opening by his order and di∣rection one of the great Chests, they found his heart within it, which reeking as it were, lay on a heap of money.

The people then raising a cry, which was mixed with prayses and wonder, re∣ceived assurance of St. Anthonies holiness, and increasing their devotion to him, ran, and took the Corps out of the Church, and buried it like a beast in the fields. In this manner our Saint, like an Apostle of Christ, going here and there through the Countrey of Italy, did not cease to work miracles; so as he arriving at Ferrara, was well known unto all, and received by the Citie with unspeakable praises and joy. Wherefore reverenced, and admired, by all, as an Angel in the shape of a man he contributed his assistance to every one in need.

A little before two of the chiefest fami∣lies of Ferrara had been joyned in marri∣age, who no lesse noble then rich, their gold received lustre from the beauty of the Bride, which surpassed all belief. The heart of her Husband being therefore ty∣ed to her with as many strong chains as the hairs curl'd in rings on her temples,

he found no other happiness in the world, then what was circumscrib'd him by love, in the confines of her face.

'Tis a felicity to love and be married. But as this earthly happiness resembles a cloud before the winde, so this married mans joyes soon changed into sorrow. For his wife, in regard of her beauty, being gazed on by all, the Gentlemen in the Citie still attended and respected her. Her husband therefore noting the passages, the looks, and respect his wife had at home and abroad, began to congeal, and freez in the midst of his flames, concluding those pleasures were mixed with poyson, which a little before had been so delicious and sweet. But that which consummated his fears was, to see his wife return, with the terms of civility, the favours she re∣ceived, her acceptance of them fomenting new acts of devotion and service, from which love beginning by little and little, would terminate in time with his Families disgrace.

These reflections therefore boyling on the slow fire of hatred, which insensibly began to flow from his breast, raised fumes in his minde, which obscuring the light of his reason, disordered him extreamly. Wherefore pale with continual agitations,

and lean with his fretting, he was now be∣come a residence of torments.

Sometimes in the heart of the night, when silence and quietness seize most on the senses, he taking no rest, turned toward his lovely Wife, to gaze upon her by the light of a candle, and contemplate her features, and delicate face, while she sleep∣ing soundly, so insensibly breathed, that adding a grace, and a lustre to her beauty she shew'd a kind of sadness, and silence, which her innocence conveighed to his eyes. Whereupon he enamour'd of that sight which attracted his affection, call'd to minde the happy hours, when first he thought himself entirely possessed of her love, so as filling his eyes with tears, he said the following words.

Lets look some other way O my heart, and behold our scornes no longer, and the joyes of another. Time was, when what we now do behold, lived onely for our pleasure and delight; but now it is otherwise. The faithfull soul she had, is fled away and vanisht, and a spirit full of fraud and deceit is come into the room, lets bewail our disasters O heart.

And here turning to the otherside of the bed, he wept so down right, though without the least noise, that he made the

senseless darkness it self, even pitty his sorrowes.

With this piercing grief, he lived for the space of some Months, so as he might well be imagined the compendium of hell. But his Star not content with the miseries he endured, made his tor∣ments compleat, for he seeing his Wife was with child, and supposing himself not the Father, was desperately furious beyond all expression. He wept, grew pensive, stood still, and then ran, the combat of his doubts, and his horrible resolutions so tempestuously agitating, and disquieting his mind, that the least thing he designed was death.

In fine having cast up his accounts, and resolved not to loose his wifes portion, he determined not to poyson her, till after her delivery, and to kill awhile after the child. Concluding in this manner, he be∣gan to live merrily (anger being sweet in expecting revenge) and strove to fain kindness to her. But he could not so clear up his countenance, but that the inward tempest of his mind sometimes shewed it self, insomuch that his Wife, who perceived his smiles were mixed with poyson, and his looks grown mali∣cious, began to suspect his affection, and

fear some disaster.

Shee therefore renewing her dalliances with him, and expressing more her love then at any time before (beauty accom∣panied with sadness being alwayes most powerfull) endeavoured to dive into the bosom of her husband, and discover what he would not reveal. But seeing the more liberal she was of her amorous demonstrations, the more he declined her kindness, when she had in vain requested him, to inform her of the cause of his disturbance, she resolved to put a period to her fears, and shut up her self into a chamber with him.

There growing pale, and languishing in that manner, that she would have mo∣ved every one to pitty, that beheld her, when she had faintly lifted up her eyes to the face of her husband, she sate down by his side, and taking his hand into hers, said the following words.

This hand, which affectionately clasps thee, my Dear, should make thee compre∣hend my passionate desires, but since my unhappiness will force me to use words, where my paleness, and fears speak for me, tell me I pray thee, whence does it proceed, thou carest not for me as before? Are these eyes, and this bosome, which

once were so pleasing to thy thoughts, so vile now to thee, they cannot delight thee? What fault hath my soul, which adores thee, commited, that thou for its punish∣ment, withdrawest from thy countenance the graces and affection, which made our marriage happy? I have given the my li∣berty, my body, and my mind. I ob∣serve thy commands as an inviolable law, and should live, and dye in thy arms, and can I endure to see thy minde altered thy tranquility disquieted, and thy pleasures obstructed by me? Ah, this can come from no other cause, but thy setling thy affection on some other woman.

As she spake in this manner, she fainted, being unable to conclude this last word, whereupon looking pale, and blocking up the passage to her tears, by closing her eyes, she open'd it on her forehead, to a cold, and clammy sweat.

To see a beauty languish, and faint, and breath out both innocence and pitty, must needs have made the hardest heart relent. Bur her husband more cruel, and resolved then before could leave her in that state, and without being mov'd to compassion, go out of the room, she coming then a∣gain to herself awhile after, and finding she was left there alone, renewed the re∣membrance

of her sorrowes, and wept with that bitterness, over each word she heard, that she would have been turned into tears, if her parents coming into the chamber by chance, had not comforted her to their power.

However not long after, she omitting her ornaments and mirth, led a sad and solitary life, resembling an innocent Turtle deprived by some disaster of her mate. Her parents observing it, encouraged her to go prostrate herself at the feet of St. An∣thony, and discovering her misfortune to him, to beg his assistance.

She followed their counsel, whereupon the Saint comforting her with a fatherly affection, and telling her the punishment was sent her from Heaven, for the vanity in exposing her self to the eyes of the Gentlemen, bad her patiently endure the harshness of her husband, and hope in Gods mercies.

So dismissing her with a promise, to pray to God for her, many dayes had not past, but her nine months expir'd, she was delivered of a delicate boy, the pains at whose birth, together with the memory of her miseries, cost her almost her life, and perhaps at that time, she gladly would have died. But her pangs

being over, she took the little child into her arms, and looking towards Heaven, fixt her mind upon God, and weeping a∣bundantly, said the following words.

O Lord, who seest all things, and with∣out whose consent, not so much as a pismire can have the least being, thou knowest if to the forming of this babe, there hath been any mixture, but that of a loyall marriage. Comfort me ac∣cording to my innocence, and open the eyes of my blind, and jealous husband. But if I deserve not this favour, end my disasters by ending my dayes, since by going from this bed to my grave, I shall clear my husbands doubts, and ease my torments.

And O thou little wretch, who hardly art born, and yet art so unhappy, thy fa∣ther will not own thee, how much better for thee would it be, if these arms now sustaining thee, might at present be thy Coffin, and that breathing in this bosom, which newly gave thee life, we might go both together to the Sepulcher? Perhaps thy cruel Father assured of my innocence, in time would weep, though too late, o're the ashes he not long before hated.

And here hugging her child in her bo∣some, she began so to storm it with tears,

and with kisses, that she moved all there present to pitty, and her parents had e∣nough to do to comfort her. But they grieving exceedingly for the danger, in which they saw their Daughter, thought they had no other way, to hinder that imminent destruction, then by their re∣newing their instance to the Saint.

When they therefore had found him, he praying in that urgent, and pressing occasion, discovered by divine revelati∣on, the murther decreed by the Hus∣band, the innocence of the Wife, toge∣ther with the ruine of that family, and the scandall of the City. Whereupon he affraid of the mischief that would happen, added disciplines and fastings to his pray∣ers, to prevent it. A while after as the husband stood discoursing near his house, with some Gentlmen his acquaintance, St. Anthony, who knew it, as likewise that the nurse would pass the same way with the Child, repayring to the place, took the child from the nurse, and carrying him in his arms to the company aforesaid, with a countenance full of Majesty and ve∣neration, infused at that time into him, fixt his eyes on the child, and said the following words.

I command thee, O Infant newly born.

by the power of Jesus Christ our Redeem∣er, the Son of the blessed Virgin, to tell me thy self in the presence of these men, which amongst them is thy true and legi∣tim••te Father.

The standers by affrighted at his words, expected with wonder the issue of the thing: when the childe looking on the jealous man, and nodding to him, spake as readily as a boy of ten years, This is my proper, natural, and legitimate Father, this is he, whose true, legitimate and na∣tural son I am.

A man that sees a ghost congeals not in that manner with astonishment, nor trem∣bles so with wonder and fear, as all that heard the words of the infant were amaz'd and trembled. But the Father above all, unable for a while to stand on his legs, would have fallen without doubt to the ground, if the wonder, and confusion issu∣ing out of his eyes, and congeal'd into tears, had not eased the exhalations of his suffocated heart.

Then the Saint said to him, behold here thy son, whom receive with affection, and as the faithful birth of thy chast and dear wife, and know, she hath alwayes respect∣ed and honoured thee, as became a good woman. And since thou hast hated her till

now, like a blinde and jealous man, ask pardon of God for thy thoughts, and re∣solutions, and love her, and live peace∣ably with her, as becomes a good Chri∣stian.

Having said so, he departed, leaving all weeping there out of tenderness. Who is able to express the acts of affection, and reconciliation, which passed betwixt the Wife, and the husband soon after? Who can relate their words, their tears and repentance? Let the phancy of o∣thers supply the defects of my pen. This short, and narrow paper is not able to contain unlimited conceptions.

The Sixth Chapter.

WE said before, that Italy in the time of our Saint was miserably infected with heresie. Now what may we imagine, were his sorrowes, and afflicti∣ons for this, at his return especially out of France? What minutes of time, may we phancy passed away in which he did not weep for the loss of those souls, which though purified by their baptism, and washt with Christs blood, yet after∣wards

polluted with many stains of here∣sie, fell headlong into hell?

Who is able to relate the strange di∣sasters he saw, in the places he past, and preacht in? Who can tell the disputes, the reasons, and perswasions he used, to reduce their perverse understandings into the right path? He hating his own body, as if it had done all that evil, did beat it without pitty, and making it meager with fastings, which would have made Gyants themselves even languish and faint, and applying it to prayers, which for their great fervour, did terminate in agonies, did vent on himself all the anger and zeal for the iniquities of Italy.

O Saint! The Tybur and the Po have more errours then waves. A flower can∣not be seen on their banks, which breaths not Corruption. All the leaves of the trees are depraved, nor sings there a bird in the fields, which chaunts not forth axioms of hell. And wilt thou alone with thy weak and lean breast, withstand, the rapid torment of so many enormities.

Yes, like an animated Mountain in I∣taly, I will cause floods of tears, and of blood, to run from my veins, and carry∣ing on my head, as it were driven snow, the purity of the Catholick faith, will

abate with it, the edge of the thunder∣bolts from Heaven, and opposing Gods fury and wrath, be a bulwarke for his peoples defence.

Thus it seem'd, he spake in the fer∣vour of his prayers, when he pray'd for the hereticks of his time. Whereupon when he heard, that the City of Rimini was become a new Babylon for heresie, though in France he had converted be∣fore the Archheretick, Bonville, he like a generous steed encouraged to the battail by the sound of the trumpet, resolv'd to hasten thither. And perpending very se∣riously on the misery of those souls (not without shedding rivers of tears every time he reflected on them) he decreed to spend there, all the force of his sermons, all the blood of his disciplines, together with his abstinences and fastings.

Having therefore recommended him∣self, and his interprize to God, and hum∣bly begg'd his blessing, he expressing such tenderness at the foot of a crucifix, as cannot be described, departed from Ferra∣ra towards Rimini.

As he walked along the fields, which lye between those Cities, he sighing consider'd on the pleasantness of the trees, the beauty of the meadowes, the clear∣ness

of the brooks, and wholsomness of the air. Then being unable to keep in his heart, which distill'd into tears trickel'd down from his eyes, he said the follow∣ing words.

Shall this Earth support their feet, who straying from the lap of the Church, do walk in the way of perdition? Shall these Plants shade their heads, whose mindes only think of impugning the Gospel? And these streams quench the thirsts of those palates, through which pass only blasphemies, which tear my Gods name? And how is it possible to remember these wonders, and yet not dye of sorrow and confusion? O Fields, which are the crea∣tures of my Lord! O vegetative Schools, whose arguments are solid and substantial, as fit to overthrow, and confound the grea∣test obstinacy, how useful would your learning be to these clouded people, if they would be but fixt, and intent in con∣templating on you?

The Water still runs towards the Sea, and alwaies is moist, the Earth stands firm and alwaies brings forth Grasse, the Trees still grow, and cease not to be fruitfull, the beasts do still multiply, and follow their instinct, and Seasons come and goe observing their course. And shall man

alone, endued with reason, and superiour to all sublunary things, whose soul is a part of the Divinity, neglect his obligati∣ons, digresse from his duty, and contemn thy holy lawes? Shall man alone deride thy commandements, dispute thy autho∣rity, and persist in offending thee? Seest thou this O God, and indur'st it? Surely thou deservest not to be used in this man∣ner.

With these reflections, which for their force and vigour, contain'd the affections of a Seraphin, our Saint advanc't towards Rimini, where no sooner he arrived, but the rumour of his coming spread in all parts, occasion'd great disorder in the City.

The opinions and desires of the Citizens were divided, one saying, that they should hear him preach, another affirming, he had gotten such renown by his learning that they should not meddle with him. But at last, one inclined, to the Catholick party, said at least he might utter, what was rational and just, insomuch that he orecoming the rest, they encompast St. Anthony with so numerous a throng, that they fill'd the whole piazza.

There the Saint as the center of truth, to a circumference of lies, received their

blowes, and abated in that manner the edge of their daring and blind under∣standings, that forcing them to recurr to their obstinacy, he wholly confounded them. Whereupon in prosecution of his fortunate victory, he going from the chair to the pulpit, and from arguments to preaching, began a discourse, each sylla∣ble of which, would doubtless like a chain have bound fast the mindes of the au∣ditors, if the people dispersing themselves on the suddain and running from him, as from an enchanter, had not fled from his presence.

Then the Saint when he saw he was a∣lone, not brooking at least the ill manner, with which they treated things of the faith could not forbear weeping. But en∣couraged with the Spirit of God, which alwaies assisted him, and shewing a zeal peculiar to his actions, he sighing said thus.

Since men will not hear thy word O God, wee'l go preach it to the fish, and with that he went out of the City, and stood on the neighbouring shore, where the Christalline Marecchia unburthens it self, and runs into the sea.

The Citizens of Rimini observing the proceedings, watcht what he intended

to do in that place, nor without some in∣ward motion, which call'd them to won∣ders, would they have attended on their enemy. The Sea was then so quiet, that it seeming not to move, resembled in that calm, a serene, a cloudless skye, whereupon it representing a spatious lookinglass for the suns gilded face, shewed it's waves stirr'd no otherwise, then the rayes dar∣ted on them, did with their reflection finely cosen the sight.

St. Anthony considering the beauty of that Element, and blessing it in the name of the Lord, said aloud.

O Inhabitants of the deep, who de∣vout, as well as mute, express in your white, and silver scales, the purity of your innocence, and State, come ye, since Men will not hear me, come I say, and hearken to what God will tell you by me.

O wonders, which all succeeding ages should admire! As if the Saints voice had been an Angelicall trumpet, the sound of it penetrating the deep, caus'd the fish to obey him, insomuch as they floating to the top, cover'd over the Sea with their heads, the multitude being great, and their order, and attention both admirable and unspeakable. The greatest sort dis∣pos'd

into large semicircles, made up the first magnitude, and in order, in less sphears, those of a less size, approacht as it were to the shore. All with open mouths, fixt their eyes on the Saint, who beheld them, and forgetting the naturall antipa∣thy, with which they us'd to prosecute one another, they mildely and humbly, without either stirring their fins, or the waves, seemed as if they came thither, to receive new instincts, and new formes, and wayes of living. 'Twas doubtless a fine sight, to see in that scaly Congrega∣tion, the extravagancy of their shapes, their different colours, and various con∣stitutions. For as in strange Nations, we consider the variety of their customs, and the fashions of their cloathes, so those capricious bones, unaccustomed eyes, and unusuall mouths and heads, must needs shew the habit, the pompe, and extravagant greatness of the King∣dome of the Ocean. Now when that mute audience of the Sea had incompassed St. Anthony, with veneration in his looks, and majestie in his words, he began.

Though in all created things (beloved fish) the power, and great providence of God, are most infinitely seen, and though Heaven with all the Stars, this World,

Mankinde, and the other perfectest crea∣tures, clearly evidence his vast goodness yet the characters of his love are particu∣larly resplendent in you. For though ye are confined to the deep, alwayes tost up and down with the waves and the storms, and are mute, and horrid to behold, ap∣pearing the miscarriages, of nature, and extravagancies of the creation, yet from you are drawn great mysteries of his mer∣cy, nor do the sacred Scriptures make mention of you, without concealing some profound Sacrament. And think ye, that it is not a mystery, that Gods first gift to man contain'd only fish? Do ye think 'tis not a secret, that Christ our redeemer, from the time of the paschal lamb, so de∣sir'd to eat fish? Do ye think 'twas by chance that the Saviour of the world, being obliged as man to pay tribute to Caesar, would find it in the mouth of a fish? All these things are mysteries and sacraments, and therefore of all others, ye are bound to praise our God from whom you have your being, your motion and sense, the Kingdom of the Waters being assign'd for your dwelling as most sutable to your na∣ture, where ye have spatious places, dens, caverns, and holes, as the fittest habitations for you, your element is clear

and so lucid and transparent, that from the low'st rooms, as it were with Linxes eyes, ye discern what is done on the waters. What ye like, ye pursue, & avoid what is hurtful to you. Ye naturally desire the preserva∣tion of your Species, and your instincts and motions are pure dictates of nature, neither Winter, nor Summer having power to of∣fend you. Let the Heavens be serene, or the weather tempestuous and stormy. Let it thunder, or lighten, and the World be disorder'd and turn'd topsy turvy. Let the Spring be gay and green, and Au∣tumne either fruitfull or barren, ye as unconcern'd are both quiet and secure. Besides, ye alone were exempt from the generall deluge, and the dammages it oc∣casion'd to the World. How much there∣fore, and how strangely, is the greatness, and Majesty of God discovered in you? How admirable is his power, and how stu∣pendious his goodness? And how are ye oblig'd to praise, and give him thanks, for his eminent favours to you? Since therefore ye cannot with your tongues express an obsequious devotion to God, nor set forth his prayses, shew signes at least of reverence, bowing at his sacred name, and acknowledging his mercies by your gratitude, in the manner ye are able.

At this saying (O unspeakable won∣der) the fish, as if endued with reason and understanding, bowd down their heads, and moving very gently, with gestures of humility and religion, acknow∣ledged their engagements to God, and approved of what St. Anthony had spo∣ken. The standers by therefore astonisht and amazed, now looking on the fish, and now on the Saint, could not speak for confusion, but their foreheads, made the Theater of shame, confess'd by their paleness, what punishment their incredu∣lity deserved.

Then the Saint full of zeal, said, be∣hold O Men of Rimini, the Sea in oppo∣sition to you, is become a School of truth, to confound your opinions, with as many liquid doctrines, as the arguments are, the fish themselves, though mute, fully prove the true faith with. Why remain ye yet obdurate and obstinate, since the Creatures little differing from insensible things, give evident testimonies of the errours ye live in? How ought ye not to fear, that in the day of judgment, this scaly Congregation will bring against you, as many accusations, as are the op∣portunities you now have, to reduce you to repentance? Ah, if ye should shed

more tears, then is water in this Sea, if exhale, and vent more sighes, then are blasts of the winds, and with your con∣trition, feel your hearts more disquiet∣ted, then the sea is with tempests and stormes, yet ye would not be able, to sa∣tisfie the punishment of one of those of∣fences, ye now actually commit against God.

Do ye see with what obedience and hu∣mility, these Creatures come to hear the word of God, and yet will ye, en∣dued with reason, and partakers of his Heavenly grace, be dubious of your faith, and contemn your religion? And how can death retard the razing you out of the number of the living? And shall not hell fire break forth out of the most ob∣scure cavernes, and consume you to no∣thing? And wilt thou O my God, have the patience to endure these monstrous Men, who put into the ballance on this shore with the blockishest, and irrationa∣lest Creatures, are inferiour in reason to them? Ah, 'tis an unhappiness, to come and see such lamentable miseries.

The pronouncing of these his last words were as the boyling vinegar, with which this our mysticall Haniball, brake the Alpes of their hard and stony hearts, so

as they, toucht inwardly with compuncti∣on and repentance, for the knowledg they then had of themselves, fell down on their knees, and weeping begg'd for∣giveness of God, professing their return into the Catholick Church, and that they would dye in that faith.

O Saint, thou hast conquer'd! who could suspect thy victory, by the open confession of truth, when thou hadst set an Army of mutes array? St. Anthony then weeping for joy, desir'd them to be thankfull to God, speaking thus unto them. Know ye all, ye are most infinite∣ly oblig'd to God, and particularly to my beloved Christ, who was pleased to be born, and to dye for our sakes. En∣deavour to amend with a hearty repen∣tance, your former ill lives, and with acts of love, and of gratitude, comply with the favours you receive every minute from God. And ye Creatures of the Sea, have a long, and lasting peace in your dwellings, may the greatness of God ap∣pear in your Species and your scales like bright shields, receive the impressions of his powerfull hand.

He speaking in this manner, held up his sacred hand, and blessed both the Men, and the fish, who humbling them∣selves,

and shewing their dcvotion, depar∣ted with great joy.

But though winged fame relating his miraculous deeds, made no stop in her flight, till extolling still his name, she had carried it aloft into the lap of eternity, yet envy, and the obstinacy of some, did all in their power to hinder his proceed∣ings some, who were not present at the miracle of the fish, gave no credit to the thing, and instead of a Saint, holding him a Magitian, did attribute his works to the cosenage and illusion of the sight. O deplorable State of the wicked, who by their ill habit, never thinking of good, do rather ascribe a supernaturall work to the vertue of the Devil, then God, as if the Creator were inferiour to Satan in power.

These Friars (said they) are maskt with hypocrisie, and under a habit of re∣pentance hide a body full of vices, ha∣ving no other end but to cozen the World. The conveniency allow'd them for studying, makes them dive into books, more fit for the fire, then for reading, from which sucking arts, and Diaboli∣call sciences, they soon become enchan∣ters. Whereupon by this means being able to attain to their ends, besides car∣nall

sins, in which they make detestable Progresses, they will command souls, and manage Mens consciences, and med∣ling with reconciliations, with marria∣ges, and wills, fairly seem to have great zeal about the points of religion. In this manner having pale, and grave countenances, and boasting of their dis∣ciplines, and fastings, they endeavour to get credit, and opinion in the World, and preaching doctrines sutable to their humour, and with seeming miracles con∣firming the same, desire to be canoniz'd for venerable persons, and Saints. But as these their arts do take with the Peo∣ple, so they render them abominable and odious, to wise and prudent Men. Argu∣ments, arguments are necessary, to con∣vince the understanding of Men of sound judgments, and not vain illusions and shews.

Such were the Diabolicall discourses of those ill condition'd Hereticks, who, not long before by the miracle of the fish, be∣ing pressed too much with St. Anthonies reasons, had been forced to retreat, to the end they might not hear him. One of them as rich in Estate, as poor in un∣derstanding and faith, among other things, denyed the true body of Christ, was in

the holy Sacrament of the Altar, so as breaking out often into words, and con∣ceptions, every one of which deserv'd a particular hell for a punishment, the dammage was unspeakable, he occasi∣on'd to the souls of his auditors.

Our Saint therefore speaking with him, and zealously advising him, that he nei∣ther would believe, nor utter such er∣rours, laid open to him the treasure of Divinity, and with reasons and argu∣ments, which cleared the greatest doubts, compelled him to cry out, that he having not learning to answer him, nothing but a miracle could perswade him to believe it.

Then the Saint inspired by God, did offer to confirm unto him, the truth of his doctrine, by causing him to behold what he most of all desir'd. Nor doubt I (said he) but that my good God, for the glory of his name, and the benefit of thy soul, will grant me all the graces and favours, I shall beg of his Majesty in this case.

The heretick had a mule (behold an extravagancy invented by the Devil) the pattern of obstinacy, and treachery, and in all things like his Master, who re∣flecting on this beast, said in a jeering

manner, My mule three dayes together, shall neither eat, nor drink, after which, when I bring him some oats, and you come with the sacrament if he will leave his meat and kneeling adore it, I will confess the body of Christ is truly there.

St. Anthony undertaking the business, they prepar'd themselves accordingly, and the City ringing of it, caused great expectation in all. The hours of the limited day, passed away with their ac∣customed swiftness, but measured by the hunger of the mule, and the curiosity of some that were incredulous, seemed slow unto them. In the mean time the here∣tick laughing at our Saints enterprize, gather'd great store of people together, and venting among them such impious conceits, as awaken'd the thunderbolts of Heaven, did not cease to deride the proposed agreement.

But our Saint on the contrary side, being sad he had cause to necessitate mi∣racles, who is able to express the great reverence, with which he prepared him∣self for that high undertaking? Who can tell the humility, with which he pre∣sented himself in his prayers to God? He making his body with fasting, and dis∣ciplines, an animated spectacle of pitty

and compassion, and darting from his eyes a holy desire, said sighing in this manner. O my good God, to what a strange pass, is thy holy worship, and re∣ligion reduc'd in this place? To experi∣ence thy Divinity with a mule? To try if thou art God, with a beast? This is so great a presumption and boldness, that none but a Devil would have offer'd to conceive it. How can these Creatures, which bear thy own image, be so senseless in knowing thee, that a vile and base beast may teach and instruct them? Is therefore thy Divinity so concealed, and unknown, that the Stars with their rayes, the World with all it's beauty, the herbs, plants, and flowers, cannot witness sufficiently thy omnipotency, and that nothing is impossible to thee? Where are the greatest torments, and most devour∣ing flames, that they come not to con∣sume these blind souls, and mine among the rest which presumes to tempt thee in favour of them? Ah, O good God, the authour of my being, and the happiness and life of my thoughts, how worthy should I be to be punisht amongst them if thou saw'st not the secrets of my mind? But since 'tis most true, that nothing can retreat, and lye hid from thy eyes, thou

seest what design moves my heart, to make these addresses to thee.

Having said so, and receiving inward comfort, which invited him to hope for good success, he spent all the limited time in exercises of devotion. The destin'd day appearing in the end, the people, who knew of that high and great enter∣prize, assembled themselves on the piaz∣za, where their wisperings, their scof∣fings, and opinions cannot possibly be re∣lated.

But our Saint thinking onely of God, and wholly recollected in him, very hum∣bly said Mass, where renewing his sighes, and his prayers with the greatest devo∣tion, he was filled with Heavenly zeal, and the sacrifice ended, taking into his hand the most blessed Sacrament, he ac∣compani'd by many of the faithfull with torches and candles, went to the piazza, where the triall was to be. Now the mule with his Master, and an infinite company of people stood expecting St. Anthony, who encompass'd with the faith∣full aforesaid, presented himself, while all with admiration and quietness atten∣ded the issue of the thing. The heretick with a five-full of oats, went to his hun∣gry mule, and putting them often to his

nose, to stirr up his appetite the more, threw them down at his feet on a heap.

Then the Saint a little elevating the most holy Sacrament, with a venerable countenance lookt stedfastly on the mule, and speaking divinely, said the follow∣ing words. O beast less unreasonable, and less obstinate then thy Master, I com∣mand thee in the name of thy Creator, to come and adore presently this Heaven∣ly Sacrament, the true body and blood of our Saviour Jesus Christ. Shew re∣verently the truth, I so often have preacht to thy Master, and which he so obstinately hath refus'd to believe, and adore God obediently, the Creator and Redeemer of the World.

At this saying the mule (O God, and how can such wonders unheard of, be re∣lated without tears) not regarding the oates and the hay, brought thither by his Master, presented himself before the blessed Saint, who resembling an ani∣mated tabernacle, held immoveably in his hands, the most blessed Sacrament, and kneeling on the ground, as if capable of reason, with a certain kind of posture expressing admiration and humility, be∣held the blessed Sacrament, and as a mute testimony, confessing that the most sa∣cred

body of the Saviour of the World, was truly, and really there, stood im∣moveable, and beholding it stedfastly, since he could not express it by words.

All the people there present being mov'd with so prodigious a miracle, brake forth into the tears of a holy astonish∣ment, and the owner of the mule being full of confusion, which caused him to tremble and look pale, fell prostrate on the Earth, speaking thus.

I confess (said he, directing his speech towards the most holy Sacrament) I confess O my Lord Jesus Christ. That under the Species of bread we now see, thy most immaculate body is really con∣tained, which born of the ever B. Virgin Mary, dyed and rose again triumphantly and gloriously ascended into Heaven. I confess my own blindness hath been so ve∣ry great, a mule hath been able to instruct me in my faith. Whereupon being sor∣ry for my errour, I humbly beg my par∣don of God, and abjure and detest each opinion, but what is commanded by the Catholik Church, most heartily beseech∣ing him, that though for my sins, I de∣serve to be thrown into hell, yet out of his mercy, which is so peculiar and pro∣per to him, his Majesty will be pleased,

to receive me into favour. And since by your means, O Saint, the great servant of God, I know the reall presence is there, pray to God for me, that I may obtain the pardon I desire.

Then the Saint turning to him, said thus, God pardon thee, O Son, I be∣seech him, and blessing him afterwards with the most holy Sacrament, did com∣mand the hungry beast to rise up, and eat. The Mule obeyed him quickly, and his admired readiness was the last act of wonder, which perfected the miracle.

In the mean time St. Anthony dis∣coursing a little to the people, reprov'd their incredulity, and communicating in the presence of all, and blessing them afterwards, went away praysing God.

The Seventh Chapter.

THe inhabitants of Rimini instructed in this manner, with the power and force of miracles, could not doubtless have any one among them, that obsti∣nataly persisted in heresie. To look up∣on the Sea, and yet not remember, that a little before, the waves had taught

them lessons os devotion To behold the Land, and yet not reflect, that the ob∣stinatest Creature on the Earth, had newly given testimonies of the Catho∣lick verity, were such apparent truths, as could not be denyed. But as wicked Men are the worst conditioned Creatures in the World, so 'tis not any wonder, that the miracles of our Saint conver∣ted not intirely all the souls of that people.

What avails it thee, O Anthony (he said to himself) to have so great a thirst for the Salvation of others, to have di∣still'd thy heart into sighes, and by open∣ing, with the force of thy fervent suppli∣cations, the treasures of God, to have so subverted the orders of nature, that thy miracles do not stupifie, and take a∣way sense, but refine it, if such high endeavours cannot cause the conversion of one single City in Romagna.

Some hereticks resided in Rimini, who blown with the breath of ostentation, and popular applause, had treacherously made use of their heresie as a step to a∣scend to their ends, and the gaining of fol∣lowers, which otherwise they would have failed of. Wherefore reckoned as Men, who alone amongst Christians, were stick∣lers

for the faith, they not onely with this title, gain'd the love and affection of many, but likewise acquired abundance of riches.

Their doctrines being therefore so ma∣ny Cornucopias to all their desires, they wallow'd like hypocrites in all sensuality, and managing mens consciences, and hoarding up money, led a life most con∣formable to their Genius. They there∣fore observing that the miracles of our Saint, not onely amongst men, had made them loose wholly as it were, the opinion of their wisdom, but that to the loss of their pleasures and ease, succeeded the other of their credit (reason of State prevailing more with them, then the power and force of truth, which they could not be ignorant of) they resolv'd to kill St. Anthony, and remove by his death, the cause of their disasters.

Having wickedly resolv'd on the thing, they debated a while on the manner, and supposing if they did it with the sword, the fact would be revealed with as many loud tongues, as the drops of blood streaming from his sacred body, they deter∣mined to commit the execution to poy∣son.

Let him dye, they said with poyson,

for designing our ruine. Let his heart burst with venome, since in that naughty covert, no other thoughts resided, but what intended mischief, and destruction to us. Our delights, and satisfactions shall not have an end, untill they be ac∣companied with the end of his life, who tumbled us down from the top of our for∣tune.

So providing a very costly dinner, they mingled deadly spices in the sauces, and dishes, and concealing in the meat de∣structive ingredients, invited St. Anthony to dinner.

Wither goest thou O Saint, at their invitation, who under the masks of af∣fection and kindness, would consign thee to death? Will Heaven, after all thy great fastings, thy disciplines, and pray∣ers for the benefit of souls, as a reward of thy pains decree thee a cup of poyson? Shall a table, a refectory to others, be thy ruine, and destruction? Shall a dish, which presents meat to others, be a se∣pulcher to thee? And who ever heard of the like inhumanity?

Now St. Anthony come into the room, where the table was furnisht, fixt his thoughts upon God, and making the signe of the Cross, as he was about to

eat, knew, the meat set before him, was poyson'd, wherefore turning to the com∣pany, with a countenance full of Majesty and zeal, said the following words.

What meat do you set before me? Do you think peradventure, I am like Mi∣thridates, and can feed upon poyson? Can you under the notion of friendship, invite me to dinner, and deprive me here of life? For what have I deserv'd to be poyson'd by you? Ah, is this the cha∣rity, which God does command, we should use to our neighbours.

So he spake unto them, and darted such a zeal from his eyes, as was able to confound hell it self. But they void of all shame, most boldly replyed.

We have thee where we would, sayes not Christ in the Gospell, whosoever shall eat, or drink in his name any hurtfull, or poysonous thing, shall receive no harm at all! Eat thou therefore of this meat, or confess that the Gospell is false, for one of the two thou canst not a∣void.

When St. Anthony heard that, he could not on the suddain repress those apprehensions of horrour, which the thoughts of our own ruine, and destructi∣on, infuse. Wherefore seeing on the one

side, that to eat of those meats, was in a certain manner to tempt Almighty God, who had revealed to him, their treachery and deceits to the end he might avoid them, and considering on the o∣ther side, that if he did not tast them, he inferred, he believed not the words of the Gospell, he floated in an Ocean of thoughts.

What straights art in O Saint? When he had in this manner been wavering a∣while, about what he should do, he in∣spired by God, said with a cheerfull countenance.

Brethren, to the end ye may know, that the words of my dear Christ, the in∣fallible truth, cannot possibly err, and that what the Gospel declares, cannot suffer contradiction, lets covenant to∣gether, that incase I do eat, of these poysoned meats, and they do me no harm, ye will detest your heresies, and promise to be Catholicks, by living ac∣cording to the faith of the Church of Rome, but in case they do me harme, and I dye, ye will most assuredly believe, the Gospel notwithstanding is not false, nor the words of Christ untrue, but that God would punish me, for my boldness in tempting him.

The Hereticks likeing well the conditi∣ons, St. Anthony laid his hand on these poysoned meats, and with such a milde, and so gracious a look, as could not but soften the most barbarous spectator, be∣gan to eat and drink, while they in the mean time being doubtfull and amazed, stood expecting the issue, in order to the compassing of their wicked designes. And some of them relying on the rules of Phylosophy, supposed it impossible such a vigorous Poyson should not produce it's usuall effects, and therefore seemed to see by degrees the colours of death sha∣dowed in his face. They now phancied, that the clearness, and serenity in his eyes, began to hast away, and to usher in a deadly obscurity. Thus deluding themselves with illusions, and shews, which still do accompany an earncst de∣sire, they were so farr assured of his death, that wagers were laid of the vari∣ous success they expected.

But when they had seen, the time allowed the poyson to work, passed away without effect, they poysoned with asto∣nishment, began to be affraid, and to tremble, insomuch as they reflecting on their treachery, fell prostrate to the Earth, humbly asking God pardon, and

detesting the blindness of their former ill Life. Wherefore promising the Saint, to live ever after in the Catholick Church, they besought his intercession for them.

Let a Seraphin now come, and with a tongue of fire enflaming the hearts of the inhabitants of Heaven, sing the triumphs of this Saint, and let all the World be his audience. Let his words infuse glo∣ry, and design as many Crowns for his Temples, as the periods in his Panegi∣riek, and praysing him as a Martyr in desire, for such this triall made him, let him add to the lillie of his sacred virgin∣ity, lawrell displaying in the leaves an actuall desire of dying for Christ. Who will then refuse to reverence in our Saint, the colours of the Purple and Pearl, with which his name enjemm'd, will for ever be renown'd in the mouths of the living.

The Citty of Rimini being purg'd in this manner from the contagion of Here∣sie, St. Anthony undertaking new enter∣prizes, as a Pilot, which steers through new Seas, hoised sail from that Coun∣trey.

At that time in Verona, lived Ezelin the stink of the World, and Monster of

Beasts, who borne, when the Stars were averse, and most hatefull to Men, had a temper of body so desirous of destructi∣on, that it seem'd each little part of his limbs contained a fury. To behold the Physiognomy of his face, was to see re∣presented so lively all the images of cru∣elty, that the air of his countenance seemed properly the region of thunder∣bolts and tempests.

He that would penetrate his thoughts, could not think of a thing less dreadfull then an Earth-quake, and less obscure, and profound then a bottomless pit. Tears, blood, and sighes, were the ob∣jects most gratefull to his bowels, whose form and substance seem'd distill'd from the matter, of which nature makes Ty∣gers hearts.

Having therefore a malice in his eyes, and venome in his mouth, he cast not a look, which did not affright, nor utter'd a word, which did not destroy. Where∣fore dwelling in a pallace, which resem∣bling deaths shop, was furnisht with no∣thing but gibbets, axes, halters, knives, fires, and pincers, it seem'd the inhabi∣tant was answerable to the house, and the halberds of his guard, like so many glittering tongues, clearly witnessed his Tyranny and cruelty.

Fame therefore being tyred with rela∣ting the multitude of his infamous acti∣ons, now conceal'd as small sins, his suf∣fering many innocent persons to be fa∣misht in prison, his gelding Men and boyes, his cutting of Womens breasts, his causing many wretches to be thrown headlong down from high Towers, his putting out eyes, and cutting off tongues, and the noses, and lips of many pre∣tended to be guilty.

They conceal'd now his robbing ho∣nest Men of their goods, and enriching himself and his murtherers with them. That he hated all peace, and still fomen∣ted warr, being causlesly jealous, and killing without mercy. That he made widowes desolate, oppressed the or∣phans, and divorced married persons. They only related, as an execrable act of his impiety, his pillaging of Churches, murthering religious people, disposing Church livings, crediting superstitions, and denying Jesus Christ.

Falne therefore from the company of the faithfull, and excommunicated for a Heretick, the eyes of all Italy were fasten'd upon him, and particularly St. Anthony, who advancing towards Verona, with intention to divert him in the way

of perdition no sooner got thither, but perceived in every place, a sad, and horrid silence, the walls themselves seeming as as it were, to breath solitude and me∣lancholy.

The gates were seen guarded with Souldiers, the horrour of whose armes added fierceness to their grim and ugly looks, while the rest of the City was so∣litary, unfrequented and mute. The inhabitants were thin, and with dejected countenances did walk up and down ve∣ry sadly and pale, carrying tears in their eyes repressed with fear, and weighing their looks with care and circumspection, insomuch as the City for the want of the people represented a desart.

The Saint entering in, and advancing to the room of the Tyrant, found him in the middle of his murtherers, as a Devil in the midst of the furies, whose dismall and black throne had nothing a∣bout it relating to pompe, which did not as a Character of pride, infuse likewise fear. His Ministery stood observing his orders, with the readiness and prompti∣tude, with which the lesser Devils do Bel∣zebubs, he finishing no sooner his com∣mands, then they executing and per∣forming them.

Now St. Anthony, come before him, without the least shew of respect, began in this manner. And till when O cruell Tyrant, will thy execrable heart, take delight in the tears, the blood, and the ruine of Men? Till when will thy thoughts design the destruction of others, thy words denounce death, and thy acti∣ons be foul, and sacrilegious? The slaughters, deaths, and cruelties, in which thou art plung'd even up to the eyes, cry to Heaven for vengeance, and fame hath not a tongue, which is not defiled with thy hainous transgressions, and yet O mad Man, dost thou forfeit thy reason, and perceivest not, that the horrour of thy fins, makes the Elements conspire against thee, and all living Creatures thy Enemies? Look but a∣bout thee, and behold how thou hast trampl'd on peace, destroyed religion, spoyled the altars, and killed the priests, and tell me if they seem not to thee un∣deniable witnesses, to accuse every mi∣nute to God, and wrest out of his hands the thunderbolts against thee? What mean these cruell swords, and these murthering weapons here about thee, with which thou supportest thy tyran∣ny, and defendest thy self? Wast thou

not born a Man? Was't not nourisht with the milk of the breasts? Had'st thou not the use of reason from Heaven? And was't not with the water of Baptism a∣dopted the Son of God? And instead of professing humanity, of loving thy fel∣low Creatures and exercising clemency and justice, do'st thou, trampling on the laws, subverting the provinces, oppres∣sing the people, and destroying man∣kind, become a wild beast, a fury, and a Devil let loose? How long dost ima∣gine Gods anger will refrain from de∣stroying thee? How long dost thou think, the Earth will forbear, to open it self, and to swallow thee alive? God puni∣shed Nimrod, destroyed Goliah, and cut of Holophernes's head by the hand of a Wo∣man, and hop'st thou to live, and to raign, who art farr more wicked, and a cruel∣ler Tyrant? And what art thou doing O my God, in whose most dreadfull sight no wickedness long remains, that thou hear'st not yet the groans, and seest not the tears of so many poor people, which this barbarous Monster hath caus'd to be butcher'd.

In this manner spake St. Anthony, who warmed with the Heavenly zeal, ex∣claimed against him, while the Tyrant

affraid of his menaces, and countenance, with paleness and trembling descended from his throne, and penitently put his girdle round his neck, then prostrating himself at his feet, as a wolfe, which be∣comes a meek lamb, began to shed tears, and beg pardon of God, beseeching the Saint to intercede for him.

What mean ye wondering eyes, that ye are not content in contemplating on wonders? Come and see this prodigie, a greater than which was never seen in Ita∣ly. Ezelin the contemner of laws, and one that supported his Tyranny with his slaughters and cruelties, that Monster I say, whom the forces of Kingdoms could not conquer and subdue, comes trembling, dejected, and weeping, and layes down his neck at the feet of a bare∣footed Fryar, humbly begging his par∣don. O wonders of St. Anthony incapa∣ble of wonder, because, they deprive him of sense that beholds them!

Now when the Saint had seen such a great demonstration of repentance, he fa∣therly admonished the Tyrant, and in∣ducing him to make frequent promises to God, that he would not offend him any more, he departed full of spirituall joy. In the mean time the standers by asto∣nish't,

as persons assur'd, the Tyrant would have brained St. Anthony at his uttering of the first word, could not digest the wonder of seeing him humbl'd, who was the throne of pride, Wherefore Ezelin perceiving it, said, wonder not Gentlemen, for while the holy Father was speaking to me his face was so ma∣jestique and dreadfull, with the glory about it, that I thought even then, that hell would have devoured, & swallowed me up.

Most fortunate victory, if God had been pleas'd, it might have continu'd. But the sins of Italy deserving still Gods wrath, Ezelin not only returned to his vomit, but to try the Saints holiness-caus'd some of his Murtherers, to pre∣sent him a rich guift, and in case he ac, cepted it, to deprive him of life.

They therefore arriving him, with a fained humility began in this manner. Ezelin our Prince understanding how ac∣ceptable you are unto God, hath sent you this small charity, recommending himself to your prayers.

O Saint, he values thee at, the rate of a Jewell, since he would set thee in gold. Who can say, he does not love thee, if the greatest expression of love be in a present? To refuse what he sends thee,

is the way to provoke him to the anger▪ which he himself miraculously appeas'd. Tis prudence to submit to occasions, when occasions may procure our disturbance.

So the Devil suggested to him, as soon as the present was offered him. But the Saint, who suspected the gift, as accom∣panied with death, looking sternly on the murtherers, reply'd. I made not my self poor to be rich, nor are my prayers mercinary to any. The greatest present E∣zelin could make me, would be to change his life, and restore to the poor, the goods unjustly taken from them. Such are these you offer me, and as such, though I had no other cause to refuse them, I would alwaies detest them. And when he had said so, he turned his back on them, and left them confounded and a∣stonisht. The Tyrant understanding the thing, ever after from that instant, had the Saint in high esteem, and abstaining for his sake from many great enormities, commanded his Ministers, though they heard him in his sermons exclaim against him, not only not to trouble him at all, b••t to honour and respect him ve••y highly.

For these, and such like actions, our Saint grown, remarkable, did walk up

and down as an Angel Guardian through the streets of Verona. But unable to in∣dure the ill smell of the Tyrants most de∣testable villanies, and knowing God re∣served him as a punishment to sinners, he departed very soon from the City, and went to preach in Padoua.

He there opening the same School to Religion and Piety, in which he had em∣ployed himself in other places, enlightned with his doctrine those that stray'd from the right path, and caus'd his own works to incite and stir up others to vertue. The Padouans therefore receiving the fruit of the labours and sweat, which di∣stilled from his forehead, now known to be holy, in the exercises of the Catho∣lick Religion, held him in the greatest ve∣neration and esteem, devoutly observing his directions and counsels.

In the mean time those sacred dayes arrived, which being the anniversary of the Passion of our Saviour, are deserved∣ly call'd holy. In these the Saint hear∣ing Confessions, and admonishing his Pe∣nitents with zeal, and perswading them with Love, endeavour'd to free them by the authority of the Sacraments, from the snares of those sins, which threatned their damnation.

Amongst others of St. Anthonies Peni∣tents was a certain sturdy youth, abound∣ing with vices, who having committed many hainaus offences, and toucht with compunction and contrition, resembling a base mettal transform'd into gold by the Phylosophers Stone, did regenerate himself by the vertue of Confession at his feet.

There among other accusations, with the testimony of his tears, having proved himself guilty, he said that his mother reprehending him once for coming home late in the night, he divelishly angry lifted up his foot against her and kickt her almost dead to the ground.

St. Anthony affrighted at that execra∣ble act, what pains did he not feel, by reflecting on the wickedness and malice of men? What sighs did he not vent from his heart, when he called to minde, the impudent licence they take in abusing the commandements of God? Turning therefore to the youth, he lookt not se∣verely upon him, for his charity made him pitty him, but uniting on the tip of his tongue, all the vigour and power, the zeal of the honour of God could di∣ctate and administer to him, reproved him in that manner, that every word he spake, was enough to confound with

meer shame a Devil himself, and told him in the end, his foot did d••serve to be cut off, God in preserving him alive, having shew'd an act of his clemency on∣ly proper to his infinite goodness. Then hearing the rest of his confession, and giv∣ing him penance, he sent him away very contrite and sad.

What cannot the power of the Sacra∣ments effect, in a soul dispos'd and fit for Heavenly grace? The young man going home, did not tread the least step, which wa∣ter'd particularly with a shower of his tears, did not serve as an ascent, to raise him to the knowledg of his errours. His memory was a wheel full of rasors, which pierced his heart with the burning of his bitter re∣flections, and he thinking all the pains of the damned inferiour to his sins, would have sighed himself to death, if he had not been affraid of offending of God, by oppo∣sing his will.

Now being come home, and locking himself in his chamber, as if the shame of being beheld, had curbed the violence of his sorrow, he began. And why have I not a thousand hearts to break to pieces, that with a thousand lives, I might satis∣fie for my sins? And why have I not in my power all the punishments (he said

weeping softly) which heaven inflicts sometimes on sinners, to the end I might afflict and torture my self, who am the greatest sinner alive? Shall God create me, to serve and obey him, and shall I, by declining from his holy com∣mandements, live only to offend him? What strange Stars were those which at my conception, formed a body so inclined unto evil, which would be as monstrous among men, as irrational among beasts? Was my mother so unfortunate to nourish a person designed for the scandal of Pa∣doua, and wonder of mankind? Ah Mo∣ther! And when I was a child, thou did'st hug, and embrace me, cherish me when a Youth, and direct me when a Man. And yet my disordinate courses still af∣flicted thy heart, though thy counsels and tears were not wanting to admonish, and perswade me to virtue. And what have I done for all thy fears for me? How have I observed the commandements of God, and thy motherly precepts? Re∣turned I not them with a kick? Did the foot thou engendrest for thy help and sup∣port, beat thee down to the ground? Did the plant, from which thou hopedst to receive the fruit of life, cause thy death as it were? And shall I indure, to

have such a hatefull part so near me? Shall I walk on so abominable a foundation and pretend notwithstanding to follow the way of Christ? With what reason did St. Anthony tell me, my foot did deserve to be cut off? It shall not be said, I punisht not my body in that manner, as did not clear∣ly witness the contrition of my heart.

And here being full of a zeal, which made him hate himself, for now he began to love God, he took up a hatchet which was in the room, and laying his foot on a block, cut it off.

The rumour, together with his anguish and blood, which coloured soon the floor, informed his mother quickly, who dwelt not farr off, of the unexpected accident. She running thither, and comming into the room, saw her son on the Gr••und▪ who venting his life with his blood, ••ad his foot divided from the leg.

Ah, she began to cry out, what's the matter O Son? But the passage to her words being blockt up with sorrow, she swounded, falling down by his side, which those of the family observing, they called in the neighbours to help her, and caus'd many people to flock to the place. Whereupon the youth interrogated, how he came by that disaster, replied.

That being at Confession, and St. An∣thony telling him, the foot he had kickt his mother with, deserved to be cut off, he moved with contrition, had followed his counsel.

This information highly stirred the standers by, so as in all hast, they applied all the remedies they could unto them, and those of their kindred quickly ran to St. Anthonies Cell, and chiding him soundly, and threatning him much, im∣puted the mischance unto him, permit∣ting him very hardly to go out of their hands. But the Saint like a rock unsha∣ken with their bellowes, with a calme and quiet countenance, in which his humility was transparent, said to them.

Be not troubled my Sons, the arme that gave that miserable blow, received not the motion from my counsell. I said his foot deserved to be severed from the leg but bid him not cut it off. Lets go to see him, and endeavour to help him. God is not so sparing of his mercies, to deny acts of pitty, even to those that are unworthy of his favours.

And when he had said so, he went with the Company, to the house of the lan∣guishing youth, were admiring the sim∣plicity of his heart, by his cutting off his

foot, he devoutly fell to prayer.

The standers by being curious, obser∣ved him, and saw, that he lifting up his eyes unto Heaven, with his mind no less fixed on God, then his arms laid a cross on his breast represented in his counte∣nance the affectionate and compassionate, request, he offered up to God, which in∣fused a lively hope into all, notwith∣standing all there, when his prayer was at an end, expected what would follow with anxiety and trouble.

Now St. Anthony arising from the ground, took up the foot cut off, and go∣ing to the bed, where the youth lay in an agony, fastened it to his leg, and making the sign of the cross, spake to him in this manner. Have faith, O Son, and beware you offend God no more. And when he had said so, his foot knit again, so mira∣culously to the leg, that the least skarr appeared not.

The anguish therefore ceasing in an in∣stant, and the youth receiving vigour from Heaven, rose up no less astonisht then glad and his Mother almost dead for very joy, as she had been a be∣fore for affliction, could not forbea•…•… weeping for gladness, together with th•…•… persons there present, who were ravisht

and devout. Whereupon with loud and joyfull acclamations, the City quickly ringing of the same, they could not be satisfied with reverencing, and commen∣ding St. Anthony.

Padoua made happy in this manner, with the great and glorious acts, which al∣most every day where done by our Saint, did not envy the Macedonians for their Alexander, nor the Jewes for their So∣lomon.

This City, whose founder is said to be Antenor the Trojane, is seated in one of the most pleasant Territories of Italy. There the most beautifull plain, where the river Brenta runs, serving for its pe∣destal, and the Euganean hills encompas∣sing it round, it displaies it's strong walls and magnificent structures, of which the Publick Schools, and the Palace are most eminent.

It is likewise renown'd for the Gar∣den of simples, in which, as in a breviate of the World, forraign plants do grow, which brought from several climates, and soyles, 'tis a wonder, they should thrive, in a Country so much different from their own. Padoua therefore happy for the air and scituation, and abundance of all things very necessary for mans life, is no

wayes inferiour to any other City in the World.

And being now the theater, as well of the miracles, as the lectures of our Saint, was doubly renoun'd for his actions and learning. For the Chapter of Assisi decla∣ring St. Anthony the Reader general of the order, he not only long before had read in Tolosa, and afterwards in Bologna, but read then at Padoua, to the students great advantage and profit.

What may we imagine, were the argu∣ments he us'd, who with a continuall con∣templation rais'd to the School of Para∣dise, learnt there all the doubtfullest questions, and the truest and most solid so∣lutions of the same? How sweet and now powerful may we fancy his words, which flowing from a mouth, which the holy Ghost often replenisht, could not choose but be all fire, and all love, all knowledg and all goodness.

And O thou happy wood, which re∣duc'd into the form of a Chair, deservedst so often to contain his holy limbs, how wilt thou be envied by those triumphal chariots which ran in such glory to the Capitol? But 'twas very dubious, which in Padoua prevailed, or gave place, to wit the Pew, or Pulpit of our Saint.

For if in the former, he informed their understandings, in the latter he instruct∣ed their Consciences. If there he used arguments for the solving of questions, he here let fall tears, to reconcile adversa∣ries: and in fine, if in that he had a book before his eyes, in this he had a Crucifix in his hands. The concourse of the peo∣ple was so great, which came to his ser∣mons, that like an inundation, they thronging from the Towns, and the neighbouring villages, not only made the Churches but the piazza of the City inca∣pable to contain them, so as he was forced to preach without the walls in the fields, where the Heaven was the roof, and the Earth the floor, and pavement. And yet too, to get near him, they were forc't to come or'e night, to take up their places, and lye on the forms till the morning.

Hence it came to pass, that our Saint was the Generall Father of the Padou∣ans, and a comfort, help, and remedy to all in affliction. Whereupon each one thinking he was happy, that could discourse with him, and enjoy him, ma∣ny of the Gentlemen endeavoured par∣ticularly to receive him in their houses, and to honour and respect him as was fit. But he, who detested, and mortally

abhorred, all the honours and pleasures of the World, had much to do all day, to disengage himself, and decline their entreaties.

Yet he, earnestly besought by a Gen∣tleman, who perhaps had need of him, went and staid at his villa two dayes, which was not farr from Padoua, where being entertained with all the demon∣strations of affection and regard, the Gentleman had the curiosity to ob∣serve and watch his actions, to see if in reality, his life and conversation was so holy and unblemisht, as fame had so gloriously delivered it.

Having therefore expected the time, when our Saint used to shut up himself into his chamber, he softly approached to the door and lookt in at the key hole, observing what he did. And behold a Heavenly brightness is presented to his sight, with which the room illumina∣ted, had changed the light into a most resplendent East.

He amazed at so much splendour, lookt more earnestly in, and saw, (ah sight) Christ being descended from Heaven, in the form of a most beautifull child, stood upright on St. Anthonies bed, while he kneeling kist most humbly

his feet, and held him in his arms.

The Gentleman died not of pleasure at so lovely a spectacle, for death could not exercise his power in that spheare, in which the Sun of righteousness was resplendent. But he was so transported and ravisht, that he had quite forgot him∣self transfusing all his soul into the Chamber.

Fortunate Gentleman, to receive such a guest into his house, who deserv'd to be visited of God. 'Tis best to conceal his consolations and comforts, since the tongue of a Seraphin would fail in ex∣pressing them.

The Eight Chapter.

ST. Anthony returned from the Villa a∣foresaid to the City, encreased his renown by his miracles. The hours, that pass'd away, in which he did not good to this, or that person, did not seem to be the daughters of the time, which measured the motions of his Life.

Padoua therefore happy in having this seraphical Protector, had neither Street,

nor house, where some of the family re∣lated not some benefit, received. If ei∣ther grief oppressing the mind, caus'd the eyes to overflow, or anger laying hold on a sword, quench it's thirst in the blood of another, no hand sooner dried up such springs, then that of our miracu∣lous Saint. His life being therefore a Heaven, where his miracles serv'd for Stars, that we now shall recount, may deserve to be called a Sun.

In Lisbone lived a beautifull youth (while our Saint had his residence in Padoua) who was as rich as noble, whereupon being favoured both by na∣ture and fortune, his condition was the happier, in that his parents had no other child, and loved him as the apple of their eye, 'Twas a fine sight to see him, as he passed along the Streets, his hand∣somness and bravery attracting all eyes, and perfuming the air as he went.

Loytering therefore up and down, his breast was fit matter to receive the flames of love which were kindled with the rayes of those eyes, he casually saw darted from a handsome young Lady.

It presages some great thing, when we forfeit our liberty, at the sight of a face. And if destiny were admitted among

Christians, perhaps I might say without offence, the greatest force and influence, which fate can have on us, is to make us enamoured.

This Gentlewomans Father (see how it fell out) was a very great enemy to the Father of the young Cavalier, and had three Sons, all Swordmen by nature, and Heirs to the hatred and affection of their Father so as she could not be in a sadder condition, and more to the lo∣vers disadvantage. However that en∣counter of their looks, was so forcible and strong, that the young Man surpri∣zed by the brightness of her eyes, was depriv'd of himself, and imprisoned in a labyrinth of splendour. Yet retaining so much reason, as made him see the danger he was in, he said to himself.

What do'st thou? Do'st see the guil∣ded precipices, and yet dost not avoid them? Dost thou hope for a harbour of peace in a lodging of hatred, and think'st thou the tree, which is nourished with poyson, will bear sugar'd fruit? Ah, be∣hold not that object, which under the shew of a Serene, and Starry Heaven, conceals a Hell for thee? The artificial fires, which burn under water, are al∣waies most dangerous, and the greatest

calme often foretells the greatest tem∣pest.

So reasoning with himself, he passed by that way, without looking on her, and resolved to behold her no more. But something remaining in his phancy which like an invisible painter, represen∣ted every hour to his intellect, the beau∣tifull figure he had seen, he fought cer∣tain dayes about the resolution, if he should behold her, or no, whom if he had never beheld, would have been well for him. After long disputes in fine with himself, he spake a little angerly in this manner.

What matter is't to see her? Are my senses so powerfull, I cannot command them when I please. When a Man de∣prives himself of the liberty of his looks, 'tis a sign that his actions are unworthy of the light. We may see for curiosity, and not for affection, and he that is affraid to behold two spakling eyes, shews he hath not the courage to see a drawn sword.

Having said so, with a gesture expres∣sing a youthfull levity, he put on his sword, and taking his cloak went directly to the Gentlewomans lodgings, and looking towards her window, stood ga∣zing upon her.

She beheld, beholds again, and seems to him more beautifull, as he to her more gracious. Their souls meet in their eyes, they with their looks alone, un∣derstanding one another, and now with∣out speaking beginning to love. But the young Cavalier recollecting himself, made use of his reason, and considering how dangerous that conjunction might prove, resolved a fresh never more to pass that way.

So a thousand times falling, and rising as often, being guilty and penitent in a moment, he repeated his relapses so of∣ten, that at last he was conquered and enamoured.

The fire spreads in his bowels, and flaming in the most noble part of his mind, hath no longer a curb to hinder it's passage, nor a law to restrain his desires. He discovers himself openly a lover, to whom he should by nature be an enemy, and by his frequent visits, salutations and congees, begins to be her servant. The Gentlewoman returnes his affection, and being more frail, and more easie, shews she is as much enamoured as he

The report of their loves being sud∣dainly spread through the City, made e∣very one admire, how treakle could be

gathered from wolfes-bane, and of these were the Gentlewomans brothers.

To grow pale when they met him, and look awry, and spightfully upon him, was the prologue to the mischief they de∣signed against him.

He perceived their alteration, but supposing it an effect of the feud between their fathers, hop'd that love could not occasion their hatred.

A lover is not easily affraid of disasters, in the mean time the Gentlewomans Bro∣thers, observed that he walked alone, and by night, and considering that they could not have a better opportunity to destroy him; went secretly about it.

In the night time therefore, while the stars were most resplendent, and seem'd to have re-inforc't their rayes, the better to behold the misfortunes of this Lover behold he came sighing alone to the ac∣customed place committing his security to none but his sword, on which he coura∣giously relying thought himself preserved sufficiently from danger.

The murtherers meeting him (like black and moving Ghosts, having no∣thing to be seen but their swords) he de∣clined not the encounter, albeit he did know them, but drew in his defence; and

began to thrust at them. The fight endured a while, e're they heard any noise, but that of the clashing of their weapons, but the Gentleman stumbling in the end at a stone, could not stay him∣self from falling, which his enemies obser∣ving, like so many furies fell upon him and killed him.

The image of his Mistris being wound∣ed in his heart invoked perhaps for aid his sweet name, in those his last sobs, but could not stop his fugitive Soul. The mur∣therers to conceal their offence, being close by the Garden, belonging to the House of St. Anthonies Father, threw the Body into it, and left it in that place.

In the morning his parents not finding him at home, who is able to express with what sollicitude they sought him? They knew of his loves, and many times had commanded him to refrain them, because from a family, which professed to hate them, they could have no hope of a firme and good alliance, wherefore fearing what might probably fall out, they went to the place, which he used to frequent.

They saw (ah fight) the Ground stained with the blood, and tract the fresh drops, which lead them to the wall

of the garden (they being likewise stained) where getting up they saw lying under the trees, the corps of their Son.

What cryes did they then not send to Heaven? Being followed by others, who leaped down after them, they embrac't his dear limbs, and with tears, each of which contained a life, began to bath his wounds.

To tell the lamentations, the distracti∣ons, and despair, with which they af∣flicted themselves, would be to attempt an impossible thing, and therefore for ex∣pression of their sorrow, tis enough to say they had no other child.

But they lost not so themselves in the offices of pitty, as not to look after the murtherers, and therefore some suspecting Sir Martin Bug••ione, ran quickly to the Ju∣stice, and bringing along, the Sergeants soon carried him to prison.

The corps being afterwards brought home, and buryed with solenmity, like a child whom they loved, the prosecuted Sir Martin, and as they were powerfull in friends, they prevailed so farr, that the innocent was made guilty.

The accusation being therefore made good, and the murther, though falsely, concluded, they hastned the sentence,

and condemned Sir Martin to the ax.

Whats the matter Sir. Martin? Dost finde by experience, that a good and ver∣tuous life, secures not from an ignomi∣nious fortune, and that without cause, we may suffer in the World? What will the future ages relate of thy life, since being born a Gentleman, and imployed in such offices of honour, thou wouldest be con∣victed of Murther and treason, and exe∣cuted on a Scaffold? O Stars! And why with your rayes concur'd ye to my being, if the influences, which replenish't, and swelled my veins with blood, help to empty them on a Scaffold? Learn all by my example. Fortune and not Ver∣tue is prevalent on the Earth.

So St. Anthonies Father bewailed in the prison, which for the darkness, horrour, and loathsomness, little differ'd from a sepulcher.

Now the hour of the dreadfull executi∣on being come, and the deadly bell ring∣ing, whose sound infused sadness, and gave the people notice, they flockt to the spectacle. The comforters came in pro∣cession, with a crucifix in mourning, the ensigne of his misery, and the Sergeants and Souldiers, were arm'd, and in troops, to secure the execution by their presence.

The pale and fearful Citizens assem∣bled themselves in the Street, through which he was to passe, and looking on one another, did shrink up their Shoul∣ders, as astonisht at the accident. In the end the sad Gentleman came forth, and began to advance with his hands ty∣ed behinde him, the Executioner hold∣ing the rope, and the company reaching far, which followed in mourning.

His face expressed a horrour in his dis∣ordered hair, and his hollow eyes and cheeks shewed the languishing condition of his head, which he was about to loose.

O Anthony! Where art thou, O my Son, that thou seest not the disaster of thy af∣flicted Father? Ah I know full well, if thou didst but behold me, thou wouldst run to help me. But since thou art not able to assist me, while I live, I am sure when thou hearest of my death, thou wilt pray for me, and make intercession for this soul, which loved thee so dearly, and free it from the pains it deserves, for the sins it hath committed.

Thus the Gentleman speaking to him∣self, went on towards the place of exe∣cution.

As that was done in Lisbone, St. Anthony preaching in Padoua at that time, brake

off his discourse on the suddain, and ab∣stracted in God, saw the danger his Fa∣ther was in, knew he was innocent, and prayed for him. Then the Lord sent an An∣gel, who carryed him in spirit to Lisbone, where he was in a moment, and appear∣ing full of Majestie in the street, which his Father was obliged to pass through, caus'd the hangman to stop.

Then calling for the Judges, he desired the corps might be brought before them, whiles the Citizens no less wondring at his unlookt for presence then imperious commands, were internally compelled to obey him.

Whereupon all the people were troubled, the procession went back, and the Judges meeting at the Tribunal, commanded they should execute what St. Anthony de∣sired. All Lisbone was disordered.

The Sextons repaired to the Sepulcher, and pulling up the corps with ropes, found it swelled, black and blew, and in∣clining to corruption. They presented it to the Judges, where in presence of ma∣ny of the chief of the City, St. Anthony with a voice, that had power to revive a whole World, said the following words.

O young Man, whose immature death afflicts in that manner thy parents, I com∣mand

thee to rise in the name of the Lord, and to tell me, if my Father was the cause of thy death, but if any one else, discover not their names. And when he had said so, he no sooner had done making the sign of the cross towards the corps (O wonder deserving every minute to be minded) but behold the youth o∣pened his eyes, stirred, and rose up full of vigour, assuring them, that he had not been killed, either by Sir Martin Buglione himself, or any one else by his order, and appointment.

The silence, which made them look pale, and halfe dead, was seconded with a strange and miraculous noise, causing all to invoke the names of Jesus and Mary, and to bless themselves often. Then the Gentleman turning towards St. Anthony, said aloud.

Great servant of God, since thou hast most miraculously delivered thy Father, from the temporall death, to which he was innocently condemned, free me I be∣seech thee, from the everlasting death I deserve, for having offended the Majesty of God. Absolve me holy Father from the excommnication I incurred, and im∣petrate my pardon.

Having said so, he was silent, and after

absolution returned to the dead. Then St. Anthony vanisht, leaving all there a∣stonisht, who reburied the Gentleman, while the Saint re-appeared in the Pulpit at Padoua, out of which he was depar∣ted but a little before.

There he inspired by God, revealed to his audience, what place he had been in, and what had arrived, which caused the Padouans to wite in all hast unto Lis∣bone, to have a full assurance of the thing, from whence they received a true and clear account, as well to the circum∣stances, as time, insomuch as they con∣founded, and astonisht, did not c••ase to ren∣der thanks unto Heaven and reverence our Saint, as a most prodigious worker of miracles.

He therefore received consolation, by the progresses of devotion and piety, which he caused in that City, would have been fully comforted, if he had not seen his order, through the negligence of the Superiour, begin to grow remiss.

St. Francis being dead, and some Ge∣nerals of the order succeeding him, that dignity was devolved on Father Elias▪ who learned and well verst in the affair•…•… of the World, very easily acquired the favour of Princes, so as the rough habit,

and austerity of life instituted by that Saint, displeasing him much, and seem∣ing impossible as it were, for Men to ob∣serve, he obtained of the Pope, many priviledges, and exemptions, not so much for himself, as the Friars of his or∣der.

Whereupon the course habit become foft, and smooth, and the corde much in fashion, and used, which before for the roughness, seemed contemptible and vile, and the fastings too, and prayers neg∣lected and slackened, they were come to that liberty, to receive, and manage money.

The rule being therefore so large, and so easie, that it was not a penance, but delight, to observe it, made the number so encrease of Friar Elias his followers, that few abstained from violating the first institution, of which our Saint was prin∣cipal, and an English Man Friar Adam his companion, with others of holy life.

The Generall therefore seeing, that they by not following his footsteps, divi∣ded the order, did persecute them cruelly. Whereupon when our Saint with the rest, had secretly bewailed these disorders, and complained of him, they, in the open Chapter, opposed him to his face, and in∣veighing

in that manner, against the vio∣lation of the lawes of their order, so be∣stirred themselves, they were forc't to go to Rome, and appeal to the Pope.

At that time raigned Gregory the ninth, a Man of great integrity and learning, and a favouret of the first institution of St. Francis.

At his feet our Saint prostrated himself, beseeching him to reform those abuses, and scandalous concessions. And he shew∣ing in his countenance and habit, how the rules were observed which God with his own mouth, had dictated to St. Fran∣cis, enflamed so the mind of the Pope, that a general Chapter was commanded in Rome.

When the Chapter was assembled (at which the Pope would personally assist) St. Anthony with few on his side, declar'd to his Holyness, the cause of their ap∣peal, which was in respect of the hatred, Fryar Elias bore to all, who zealously prosecuted the first institution, and re∣newing his complaints, and holy admo∣nitions caused many of the Fryars, which adhered to the General, to blush.

The said Father Elias was full of his reasons, and excuses, but they being vain and frivolous, shewed him proud, and se∣ditious.

Whereupon as well for this, as because he was so bold, to give St. Antho∣ny the lye, the Pope put him out of his place, preferring to the same, a lover of the Evangeligall rule. Then commen∣ding, and respecting very highly our Saint, and giving him his blessing, he de∣sired him to collect all his sermons, for the good of the publick, absolving him to this purpose, from all other charges and offices in the order.

St. Anthony freed in this manner from the City of Rome, went preaching through the provinces, returning in the end to the City of Padoua, where re∣ceived with the reverence and joy, which every one may imagine, he attended to the exercises of preaching and prayer, as he formerly had done. And he cultiva∣ting the souls of the faithfull with his ho∣ly operations, and doctrine, reduced so that City in the space of a Lent, that ma∣ny bitter enemies made peace with one another, the prisoners were released, of∣fenses and debts remitted and forgiven, and that which most imports, old, and publick sinners returning to repentance, frequented so the Sacraments, that the Priests had hardly time to communicate them.

In this manner St. Anthony having fill'd with clean wheat, the Granary of the Lord, and ended in that time, in obedi∣ence to the Pope, and Cardinal of O••tia, thirteen books of his sermons on Sundayes, one of the Saints, and another of Lent, all full of great and deep learning, he be∣gan to perceive, the Lord would reward him for his pains.

O Saint, thou approachest to the Ha∣ven! Who will deny, thou hast sailed o're a troublesome Sea, since thy life hath been a School of abstinences, and wants, ••nd thou hast alwayes mortifi'd each single desire? What mornings of thy life, have not seen their own paleness, and purple, in thy fastings, and disciplines, and num∣bring thy tears with their dew, have not envied thee in the Heaven of a holy con∣versation.

But that tedious Lent being ended, St. Anthony desiring to obtain a little rest, re∣tired to the field of St. Peter, a place ap∣pertaining to a Gentleman of Padoua, his acquaintance, who receiving such a guest, what tongue can express the reve∣rent affection, and obsequions respect, with which he entertained him? The stones of the walls he called happy, which ecchood his voice, and kissed the ground

which sustained his holy feet.

His house being adorn'd with his best, and noblest furniture, to shew his devoti∣on and respect to the Saint, he order'd the entertainment should be as abundant and noble, as the rooms were rich and stately, and the table no less delicately furnisht, then the bed was soft and fine.

But St. Anthony in the midst of the plea∣sures, which the World most affects, de∣sir'd the humble poverty, he professed in his habit and manners, and therefore en∣treated Sigre Tiso (so the Gentleman was called) he would cause three little cells to be made near his Lodging (for whose walls, and covering, he would use mats and straw) the one for himself and the rest for Friar Luke, and Friar Roger his companions.

The Gentleman was astonisht, yet o∣beyed him, and considering, he desir'd, that his meat might be answerable to his lodging, he was frustrated of the great preparations he had made. Here in re∣pose, and tranquility, which is found in poor cottages, he contemplated on his dear, and beloved Reedemer, and devout∣ly thankt our Lady, for freeing him from the danger he was in, when the Devil out of rage, at the beginning of the Lent

aforesaid, endeavoured to throttle him.

To presume to describe the affections the tenderness, and dialogues, which he had with his God, is onely for a pen, of a wing of a Seraphin. Whereupon I shall onely say this, that Cell was often turn'd into a Heaven, and served for a throne to the Creator of the World.

But though the divine Consolations must as well have added vigour to the body of our Saint, as made his soul hap∣py, and whither his desire, and longing now at last after Heaven, had consumed him too much, or that his limbs wearied with labour, began to relax, he felt a grievous weakness. But believing to o're∣come it with exercise, he went for recre∣ation to the Oratory, which was not re∣mote from the Friars of his order.

There he was received with the charity, peculiar and sutable to good religious Men, and accomodated in a poor little Cell, and there about midnight, when the darkness was most dreadfull on the face of the Earth, he rose up to prayer, according to his custom.

O my Lord (he said sighing) what pre∣tendest thou from the weakness, thou per∣mittest in my limbs? Since they are to be committed to the Earth, that my soul

disengage from all bonds, may flye into thy bosome, make thy hand heavier, and free at last my soul out of prison. But if for my sins, which are many and grievous, thou wilt lay more weight on my infirm, and weak body, ah mercifull God, with∣draw now thy hand, for I would not have a burthen surpassing my strength, but yet not my will, but thine be still done. I shall think, if thou wilt lay me on a bed, and design me for torments, and patience, this is the onely way, to appease the grievous pains, which I for my sins, shall deserve after death. Besides, if thou chastize me, I shall the better serve thee, and calling to mind what thou hast suffer'd for me, I shall season my infirmities with the thoughts of thy passion. And who, O my Christ, will be happier then my self, if I shall not in my sickness, envy those that are healthy and strong? These are the advantages, of him that does love thee, and serve thee, though wretch that I am, I love thee not, and serve thee not according to my wish.

In this manner he spake, when behold on the suddain, the room was full of brightness, and he saw descend an Angel, whose serene and lovely countenance would have turned hell it self without doubt into a Paradise.

He glittering with splendour, which surpassed the Stars, approached to St. Anthony, and with a voice so sweet, as was able to occasion a trance, to all that de∣served to hear him, said thus.

O Servant of God, who with so much fidelity and love, hast hitherto performed thy part, be comforted in our Christ, who sends me to tell thee, thou art near unto thy end. The glory prepared for thee in Heaven, is sutable to the goodness of a God, who with a hundred fold does re∣compense each desert of his servants. And besides the honours he will give thee in Heaven, He'l make thy name great upon Earth, and illustrate this province with thy Sepulcher, prepare thy self therefore for thy fortunate passage, for I among o∣thers expect thee with desire.

So he ceased, and vanisht, perfuming the chamber with the breath of a Para∣dise, and leaving St. Anthony in a sweet, and pleasant extasie. But when he had recovered himself, what did he not feel, and relate? He wept out of tenderness, and trembled for fear, being enflam'd with an desire, which he afterwards re∣voked, the acts of his will opposing one another by a holy disquietness, he one while desiring to dye, to enjoy that bea∣titude,

and another while desiring to live to merit in the service of God.

With this sense of humility, the most profound reflexions of which, were par∣ticular ascents, to raise his merit higher to glory, our Saint spent the rest of the night, some Friars afterwards coming to visit him about break of the day, he turn∣ing to a window, from whence he could discover the neighbouring fields, spake to them in this manner.

This plain will soon be famous, and re∣nown'd by many people.

Awhile after he perceiving his end to approach, affectionately entreated Friar Roger, that now since his death was at hand (he desiring no longer to incom∣mode those poor Friars) he would cause him to be carried to the house of our La∣dy, a monastery of that order in Padoua.

Friar Roger therefore speedily comply∣ing with his wish, the tears of his com∣panions were not few, when they saw him go away, accomodated as well as they could on a cart. But albeit his jour∣ney was onely to the monastery in the City of Padoua, yet meeting with a friend, who told him that the visits, which would be made him there, would greatly disqui∣et him, he caused the Friars, who carried

him, to return, and conduct him to the o∣ratory of Arcela, a place in the Coun∣trey.

There the Lord called him in hast, he said the seven Psalms, together with the Friars there present, and uttering each verse with a particular act of compuncti∣on, represented to us, how fearfull we should be of the justice of God, and how hope in his mercy. Then turning his thoughts to the most holy Virgin, as he ever had loved her in the time of his life, so he would at his death invoke her as∣sistance. Whereupon when he had brief∣ly, but powerfully thanked her, for the favours done to him, all along to that in∣stant, he looking towards Heaven with a countenance, whose tranquility and calmness shewed him even at that time an inhabitant of Heaven, recited that hymne, O glorious Lady, &c.

Afterwards looking stedfastly upwards, and Friar Roger demanding what he saw, I see he replied, my dear Christ, who mercifully expects me at his feet, and in saying so, and commending to the Friars, the observance of their order, and the fear of the Lord, as a light, which in ex∣tinguishing, is resplendent and bright, he died in so sweet, and so peaceable a

manner, that he lookt, as if he quietly slept. And his flesh on the suddain, which by abstinenccs and austerity, was swarthy, dry, and pittifull to behold, becoming resplendent▪ and clear, gave a manifest sign 'twas part of a glorified body.

He died in the Year of our Lord, 1231. on the 13^th. of June, and 36. Year of his age, being happy, that in so short a time he wrought so great works. At the time of his death, he appeared on the suddain in the Chamber of the Abbot of Vercelli his Master, and told him he had quitted his lodgings, and was going into his Countrey. And saying so, and touching his throat, he cur'd a disease he had there, and seem∣ing to go out of the door of the chamber, did vanish like lightning.

The Abbot going after him, and finding him not, asked his servants where he was, but they answering, that they had not beheld him, caused him to send to seek him in the monastery. But not finding him there, he began to understand, that the Countrey he went to, was not Portugal, but Paradise, and assured by letters of his death at that instant, was confirmed in his beliefe.