A treatise of the difference bbtwixt [sic] the temporal and eternal composed in Spanish by Eusebius Nieremberg ... ; translated into English by Sir Vivian Mullineaux, Knight ; and since reviewed according to the tenth and last Spanish edition.

CAP. I.

Of the End of Temporal Life.

LEt us now consider how contrary unto the conditions of Eternity are those which accompany this our miserable life. Let us begin with the first; Which is to be limited and subject to an end. In the which two things are to be con∣sidered, The End, and the Manner of it, which per∣haps is of more misery than the end it self. And truly although the end of life should fall under humane ele∣ction, and that it were in the power of Man to make choice how many years he would continue in life, and after what manner he would then leave it, and that it might conclude some other way than by death or sick∣ness, yet the consideration, that it, and all things tem∣poral were to perish, and at last to have an end, were sufficient to make us despise it, and that very thought would drown all the pleasures and contents which it could afford us. For as all things are of greater or

lesser esteem according to the length and shortness of their duration, so life being to end, be it in what man∣ner soever, is much to be disvalued. A fair Vessel of Chrystal, if it were as consistent and durable as Gold, were more precious than Gold it self: but being frail and subject to break, it loses its estimation; and al∣though of it self it might last long, yet being capable by some careless mischance of being broken, it becomes of much less value. In the same manner our life which is much more frail than glass, being subject to perish by a thousand accidents, and though none of them should happen, could not long continue, since it con∣sumes it self, must needs together with those tempo∣ral goods which attend it, be most contemptible. But considering that the ending of it is by the way of death, infirmities, and misfortunes, which are the Harbingers, and prepare the way for death, it is to be admired that Man, who knows he is to die, makes ac∣count of temporal felicity, seeing the misery, in which the prosperity of this world, and the Majesty of the greatest Monarchs are at last to finish. Wherein end∣ed King Antiochus, Lord of so many Provinces,* 1.1 but in a disconsolate and mortal Melancholy: in a perpe∣tual waking, which with want of sleep bereft him of his judgment; in a grievous torture in his belly, which forced him to void his very entrails; in a perpetual pain in his bones, that he was not able to move? And he who seemed to command the waves of the Sea, and that the highest mountains of the Earth hung up∣on his finger ends, whose Majesty was once lift∣ed up above all humane power, could not then pre∣serve himself in his own Kingdom, nor move one pace from the place where they layd him: he, who cloath∣ed himself in soft Silks, and pure Linnens, he whose Garments were more fragrant than the most precious spices, cast now such a smell from his putrified mem∣bers, that none could endure his presence; and being yet alive, his whole body swarmed with loathsome

vermin, his flesh dropped away by peeces, and he a∣bove all remained distracted in his wits, raging with despite and madness. Let us now consider Antiochus in all his pomp and glory, glittering in Gold and daz∣ling the eyes of the beholders with the splendor of his Diamonds and precious Jewels, mounted upon a state∣ly Courser, commanding over numerous Armies, and making the very earth tremble under him. Let us then behold him in his Bed pale and wan, his strength and spirits spent, his loathsome body flowing with worms and corruption, forsaken by his own people by reason of his pestilential and poisonous stink, which infected his whole Camp, and finally dying mad and in a rage. Who seeing such a death would with the felicity of his life? who with the condition of his mi∣sery would desire his fortune? See then wherein the goods of this life conclude. And as the clear and sweet waters of Jordan end in the filthy mud of the dead Sea, and are swallowed up in that noysome Bitumen: so the greatest splendor of this life concludes in death, and those loathsome diseases which usually accompa∣ny it.* 1.2 Behold in what a sink of filth ended the two Herods, most potent Princes, Ascalonita and Agrippa. This, who cloathed himself in Tissue, and boasted a Majesty above humane, dyed devoured by worms, which whilst he yet lived fed upon his corrupted and apostumated flesh, flowing with horrible filth and matter. Neither came the other Ascalonita to finish his dayes more happily being consumed by lice: that nasty vermin by little and little bereaving him both of his life and Kingdom.* 1.3 King Achab, Conqueror of the King of Syria and 32 other Princes, dyed wounded by a chance-arrow, which pierced his body, and stain∣ed his Royal Charriot with his black gore, which was after licked up by hungry Dogs, as it he had been some savage beast.* 1.4 Neither dyed his Son Joram a more fortunate death, run through the heart with a sword, his body left upon the field to be devoured by

birds and beasts of prey, wanting in his death seaven foot of earth to cover him, who in life commanded a Kingdom. Who could have known Caesar, who had first seen him triumph over the Conquered world, and then beheld him gasping for a little breath, and wel∣tring in his own bloud, which flowed from three and twenty wounds opened by so many stabs? Who could believe it were the same Cyrus, he who subdued the Medes, conquered the Assyrian and Chaldaean Empire, he who amazed the world with thirty years success of continued Victories, now taken prisoner and put to an ignominious death by the Command of a Woman? Who could think it were the same Alexander,* 1.5 who in so short time subjugated the Persians, Indians, and the best part of the known world, and should after be∣hold him conquered by a Calenture, feeble, exhausted in body, dejected in spirit, dried up and parched with thirst, without taste in his mouth, or content in his life, his eyes sunk, his nose sharp, his tongue cleaving to his pallat, not being able to pronounce one word? What an amazement is it that the heat of a poor Fe∣ver should consume the mightiest power and fortune of the world: and that the greatest of temporal and humane prosperities should be drowned by the over∣flowing of one irregular and inordinate humour?

How great a Monster is Humane Life since it consists of so disproportionable parts, the uncertain felicity of our whose life ending in a most certain misery? How prodigious were that Monster which should have one arm of a Man, and the other of an Elephant, one foot of a Horse, and the other of a Bear? Truly the parts of this life are not much more sutable. Who would marry a woman though of a comely and well propor∣tioned body, who had the head of an ugly Dragon? certainly although she had a great Dowry, none would covet such a Bed-fellow. Wherefore then do we wed our selves unto this life, which although it seems to carry along with it much content and happiness, yet

is in effect no less a Monster: since although the body appear unto us beautiful and pleasant, yet the end of it is horrible and full of misery? And therefore a Phi∣losopher said well, that the end of things was their head: and as men were to be known and distinguish∣ed by their faces, so things by their ends; and there∣fore who will know what life is, let him look upon the end. And what end of life is not full of misery? Let no man flatter himself with the vigour of his health, with the abundance of his riches, with the splendor of his authority, with the greatness of his for∣tune: for by how much he is more fortunate, by so much shall he be more miserable; since his whole life is to end in misery. Wherefore Agesilaus hearing the King of Persia cried up for a most fortunate and hap∣py Prince, reprehended those who extolled him, say∣ing, Have patience;* 1.6 for even King Priamus, whose end was so lamentable, was not unfortunate at the age of the King of Persia; Giving us to understand that the most happy were not to be envied, whilest they lived, by reason of the uncertainty of that end whereunto they are subject. How many as yet appear most hap∣py, whose death will shortly discover the infelicity of their lives?* 1.7 Epaminondas, when they asked him who was the greatest Captain, Cabrias, Iphicrates, or himself, Answered, that whilest they lived no man could judge, but that the last day of their lives would deliver the Sentence, and give each one their due. Let no man be deceived in beholding the prosperity of a rich man; let him not measure his felicity by what he sees at present, but by the end, wherein he shall conclude: not by the sumptuousness of his Palaces, not by the multitude of his Servants, not by the bravery of his Apparel, not by the lustre of his Dignity; but let him expect the end of that which he so much admires, and he shall then perceive him at best to die in his Bed, dejected, dismayed, and strugling with the pangs and anxieties of death; and if so he comes off, Well; other∣wise

wise the daggers of his enemy, the teeth of some wild beast, or a tyle thrown upon his head by some violent wind may serve to make an end of him, when he least thinks of it. This reason tells us, although we had no experience of it. But we see it daily confirmed by the testimony of those, who are already in the gates of death: and no man can better judge of life than he who stands with his back towards it. Mago,* 1.8 a famous Captain amongst the Carthaginians, and Brother to the great Hannibal, being mortally wounded, confessed this truth unto his Brother, saying,

O how great a madness is it to glory in an Eminent Command! The estate of the most powerful is subject to most impetuous storms, whose end is to be sunk and o∣verthrown. O how wavering and uncertain is the height of the greatest honours! false is the hope of man, and vain is all his glory, affected with feign∣ed and fawning flatteries. O uncertain life due un∣to perpetual toyl and labour! what doth it now profit me to have fired so many stately and lofty buildings, to have destroyed so many Cities and their people? What doth it now profit me (O Bro∣ther) to have raised so many costly Palaces of Marble, when I now die in the open field, and in the sight of heaven? O how many things doest thou now think of doing, not knowing the bitterness of their end? Thou beholdest me now dying, and know that thou also shalt quickly follow me.

§ 2.

But let us forbear to look upon those several kindes of death, which are incident to humane nature. Let us onely consider that, which is esteemed the most happy, when we die not suddenly or by violence, but by some infirmity, which leasurely makes an end of us, or by a pure resolution which naturally brings death along with it. What greater misery of mans life than

this, that that death should be accounted happy: not that it is so, but because it is less miserable than others? for what grief and sorrow doth not he pass, who dies in this manner? how do the accidents of his infirmi∣ties afflict him? The heat of his Fever which scorch∣es his entrails, The thirst of his mouth which suffers him not to speak, The pain of his head which hinders his attention, The sadness and melancholy of his heart proceeding from the apprehension that he is to die, besides other grievous accidents, which are usual∣ly more in number than a humane body hath members to suffer, together with remedies which are common∣ly no less painful than the evils themselves. To this add the grief of leaving those he loves best: and above all, the uncertainty whither he is to goe, to heaven or hell. And if onely the memory of death be said to be bitter, what shall be the experience? Saul, who was a man of great courage, oncly because it was told him that the next day he was to die, fell half dead upon the ground with fear. For what news can be more terrible unto a sinner, than that he is to die, to leave all his pleasure in death, and to give an account unto God for his life past? If lots were to be cast, whether one should have his flesh pluckt off with burning pin∣cers, or be made a King, with what fear and anxiety of mind would that man expect the issue? how then shall he look who in the agony of his death wrastles with Eternity, and within two hours space looks for glory or torments without end? What life can be counted happy, if that be happy which ends with so much misery? If we will not believe this, let us ask him who is now passing the traunces of death, what his opinion is of life. Let us now enquire of him when he lies with his breast sticking forth, his eyes sunk, his feet dead, his knees cold, his visage pale, his pulses without motion, his breath short, a Crucifix in one hand, and a Taper in the other, those who assist at his death bidding him say, Jesus, Jesus, and advising

him to make an Act of Contrition, what will this man say his life was, but by how much more prosperous, by so much more vain, and that all his felicity was false and deceitful, since it came to conclude in such a peri∣od? what would he now take for all the honours of this world? Certainly I believe he would part with them at an easie rate. Nay, if they have been offensive to God Almighty, he would give all in his power he had never enjoyed them, and would willingly change them all for one Confession well made. Philip the third was of this mind, and would at that time have ex∣changed his being Monarch of all Spain, and Lord of so many Kingdomes in the four parts of the world for the Porters Keyes of some poor Monastery. Death is a great discoverer of truth. What thou wouldest then wish to have been, be now, whilest it is in thy power. A fool thou art, if thou neglect it now when thou mayst, and then wish it when it is too late. He who unto the hour of his death hath enjoyed all the delights the world can give him, at that hour what remains with him? Nothing; or, if any thing, a grea∣ter grief. And what of all his penances and labours suffered for Christ? Certainly, if he had endured more than all the Martyrs, he shall then feel no pain or grief of them all, but much comfort. Judge then if it shall not be better for thee to do that now, which thou shalt then know to have been the better. Consider of how little substance all temporal things will appear, when thou shalt be in the light of eternal. The ho∣nours, which they have given thee, shall be no more thine: the pleasures, wherein thou hast delighted, can be no more thine: thy riches are to be anothers. See then whether the happiness of this life, which is not so long as life it self, be of that value, that for it we should part with eternal felicity.

I beseech thee ponder what is life, and what is death. Life is the passing of a shadow, short, trouble∣some, and dangerous; a place, which God hath gi∣ven

us in time for the deserving of Eternity. Consider with thy self why God leads us about in the Circuit of this life, when he might at the first instant have pla∣ced us in heaven. Was it perhaps that we should here mispend our time like beasts, and wallow in the base pleasures of our senses, and daily invent new Chime∣ra's of vain and frivolous honours? No certainly, it was not: but that by vertuous actions we might gain heaven, shew what we owe unto our Creator, and in the middest of the troubles and afflictions of this life discover how loyal and faithful we are unto our God. For this he placed us in the Lists, that we should take his part, and defend his honour; for this he en∣tred us into this Militia and Warfare, (for, as Job sayes, the life of man is a warfare upon earth,) that here we might fight for him, and in the middest of his and our Enemies shew how true and faithful we are unto him. Were it fit that a Souldier in the time of Battail should stand disarmed, passing away his time at Dice upon a Drum-head? and what laughter would that Roman Gladiator cause, who entring in∣to the place of Combat should set him down upon the Arena and throw away his Arms? This does he who seeks his ease in this life, and sets his affections upon the things of the earth, not endeavouring those of heaven, nor thinking upon death, where he is to end. A Peregrination is this life; and what passenger is so besotted with the pleasures of the way, that he forgets the place whither he is to goe? How comest thou then to forget death, whither thou travellest with speed, and canst not, though thou desirest, rest one small minute by the way? For time, although against thy will, will draw thee along with it. The way of this life is not voluntary like that of Travellers, but necessary like that of condemned persons from the prison unto the place of execution. To death thou standest condemned, whither thou art now going: how canst thou laugh? A Malefactor after sentence

past is so surprised with the apprehension of death, that he thinks of nothing but dying. We are all con∣demned to die; how come we then to rejoyce in those things which we are to leave so sodainly? Who being led to the Gallows could please himself in some little flower that was given him by the way, or play with the Halter which was shortly to strangle him? Since then all of us, even from the instant we issue out of our Mothers wombs, walk condemned unto death, and know not whether we shall from thence pass into hell, (at least we may,) how come we to please our selves with the flower, or, to say better, with the hay, of some short gust of our appetites; since, according to the Prophet, all the glory of the flesh is no more than a little hay, which quickly withers? How come we to delight in riches, which oftentimes hasten our deaths? Why consider we not this, when we are cer∣tain that all that we do in this life is vanity, except our preparation for death? In death, when as there is no time nor remedy left us, we shall too late per∣ceive this truth, when as all the goods of this life shall leave us by necessity, which we will not now leave with merit.

Death is a general privation of all goods, tempo∣ral: an universal Pillager of all things, which even despoils the body of the soul. For this it is compared unto a Theef, who not onely robs us of our treasure and substance, but bereaves us of our lives. Since therefore thou art to leave all, Why doest thou load thy self in vain? What Merchant, knowing, that so soon as he arrived unto the Ports, his Ship and Goods should both be sunk, would charge his Vessel with much Merchandise? Arriving at death thou, and all thou hast, are to sink and perish: why doest thou then burthen thy self with that which is not needful, but rather a hinderance to thy salvation? How many, forbearing to throw their Goods over∣board in some great Tempest, have therefore both

themselves and Goods been swallowed by the raging Sea? How many who out of a wicked love to these Temporal riches have lost themselves in the hour of death, and will not then leave their wealth when their wealth leaves them, but even at that time busie their thoughts more about it than their Salvation? Where∣upon St. Gregory sayes, That is never lost without grief, which is possest with love.* 1.9 Ʋmbertus writes of a certain man of great wealth, who falling desperately sick, and Plate of gold and silver to be brought before him: and in this manner spake unto his Soul;

My Soul all this I promise thee, and thou shalt enjoy it all, if thou wilt not now leave my Body; and greater things I will bestow upon thee, rich Possessions and sumptuous Houses, upon condition thou wilt yet stay with me.

But finding his infirmity still to encrease, and no hope left of life, in a great rage and fury he fell into these desperate speeches:

But since thou wilt not do what I desire thee, nor abide with me, I recommend thee unto the Devil:

and immediately with these words miserably expired. In this story may be seen the vanity of Temporal things, and the hurt he receives by them, who possesses them with too much affection. What greater vanity then not to profit us in a passage of the greatest necessity and im∣portance? and what greater hurt then, when they cannot avail our bodies, to prejudice our souls? That they put an impediment to our salvation when our affections are too much set upon them, were a suffici∣ent motive not onely to contemn them, but also to detest them. Robertus de Licio writes, that whilest he advised a sick person to make his Confession, and take care of his Soul, his Servants and other Domesticks went up and down the house, laying hold every one of what they could; the sick man taking notice of it, and attending more to what They stole from him, than to what He spake to him about the salvation of his

Soul, made deep sighs, and cried out, saying: Wo be to me, Wo be to me, who have taken so much pains to gather riches, and now am compelled to leave them, and they snatch them from me violently before my eyes. O my Riches! O my Moneys! O my Jew∣els! into whose possession are you to fall? and in these cries he gave up the ghost, making no more ac∣count of his Soul, than if he had been a Turk. Vin∣centius Veluacensis relates also of one,* 1.10 who having lent four pounds of money, upon condition, that at four years end they should pay him twelve: he being in state of death a Priest went to him, and exhorted him to confess his sins, but could get no other words from the sick person than these: Such a one is to pay me twelve pounds for four, and having said this died im∣mediately. Much what to this purpose is a Story re∣lated by St. Bernardin of a certain Confessarius, who earnestly perswading a rich man at the time of his death to a confession, could get no other words from him, but How sells Wool? What price bears it at pre∣sent? and as the Priest spake unto him, Sir for Gods sake leave off this discourse, and have a care of your Soul, the Sick man still persevered to inform himself of such things he might hope to gain by, asking him, Father, when will the Ships come? are they yet arri∣ved? for his thoughts were so wholly taken up with matters of gain and this world, that he could neither speak nor think of any thing but what tended to his profit. But die Priest still urging him to look to his Soul and confess, all he could get from him was, I cannot: and in this manner died without confes∣sion.

This is the Salary which the goods of the earth be∣stow on those who serve them, that if they do not leave or ruine them before their death, they are then certain at least to leave them, and often hazard the salvation of those that dote upon them. O foolish Sons of Adam! this short life Is bestowed upon us for

gaining the goods of heaven, which are to last eternal∣ly, and we spend it in seeking those of the earth, which are to perish instantly. Wherefore do we not employ this short time for the purchasing eternal glo∣ry, since we are to possess no more hereafter than what we provide for here? Wherefore do we not consider this? Wherefore busie we our selves about Temporal things and the affairs of this life, which we are instantly to leave, and enter into a Region of E∣ternity? Less are a thousand years in respect of Eter∣nity, than a quarter of an hour in respect of three∣score years. Why are we then negligent in that short time we are to live in acquiring that which is to en∣dure for a world of worlds? Death is a moment pla∣ced betwixt this life and the next, in which we are to traffick for eternity. Let us not therefore be care∣less, but let us remember how much it imports us to die well, and to that end let us endeavour to live well.

§. 3.

Besides all this, although one should die the most happy death that can be imagined, yet it suffices to behold the dead Body, when the Soul hath left it, how ugly and noisome the miserable Carcass remains, that even friends flye from it, and scarce dare stay one night alone with it. The nearest and most obliged Kindred procure it in all haste to be carried forth a doors, and having wrapt it in some course Sheet throw it into the Grave, and within two dayes forget it: and he who in life could not be contained in great and sumptuous Palaces, is now content with the narrow lodging of seaven foot of earth; he who used to rest in rich and dainty Beds, hath for his Couch the hard ground, and, as Isaias saith, for his Mattress moths, and for his Covering Worms, his Pillows, at best, the bones of other dead persons; then heaping upon him a little

earth, and perhaps a Gravestone, they leave his flesh to be feasted on by the worms, whilest his heirs tri∣umph in his riches. He who gloried in the exercise of Armes, and was used to revel at Balls and Festi∣vals, is now stiffe and could, his hands and feet with∣out motion, and all his senses without life. He who with his power and pride trampled upon all, is now trod under foot by all. Consider him eight dayes dead drawn forth of his Grave, how gastly and horrible a spectacle he will appear; and wherein differ from a dead Dog thrown upon a Dunghil? Behold then what thou pamperst; a Body, which shall perhaps within four dayes be eaten by loathsome vermin. Whereup∣on doest thou found thy vain pretensions, which are but Castles in the air, founded upon a little earth, which turning into dust the whole Fabrick falls to ground? See wherein all humane greatness concludes, and that the end of man is no less loathsome and mi∣serable than his beginning. Let this Consideration serve thee, as it hath done many Servants of Christ, to despise all things of this life.* 1.11 Alexander Faya writes, that having opened the Vault, wherein lay in∣terred the Body of a principal Count, they who were present perceived upon the face of the dead person a Toad of an extraordinary greatness, which accompa∣nied with many other filthy and loathsome wormes and vermin, was feeding upon his flesh: which cau∣sed so great a horror and amazement, that they all fled; The which so soon as it came unto the know∣ledge of the Son of that Count, who was then in the flower of his age, he would needs goe and behold the spectacle: and looking seriously upon it he broke into these speeches;

These are the friends, which we breed and provide for with our delicacies; for these we rest upon soft Beds, and lodge in gilt Chambers adorned with Tapestries, and make them grow and encrease with the vanity of our dainties. Were it not better to prevent them by Fasts, and

Penances, and Austerities in our life, that they may not thus insult upon us after death?

With this con∣deration quitting his fair Possessions, and flying pri∣vately away, accompanied onely with a lively desire of being poor for Christ, which he accounted for the greatest riches, he came to Rome, where chastising the body with much rigour, and living in the holy fear of the Lord, he at last became a Collier, and by his labour sustained his poor life. Finally, coming one day unto the City to sell his coles, he fell into a grievous sickness, which having endured with marvelous pati∣ence, he at last delivered his most happy Soul into the hands of his Redeemer: and that very instant of his death all the Bells of the City rung themselves; with which Miracle the Pope and the Roman Court being marvelously astonished, his Confessor related unto them all that happened, and informed them both of the condition, and sanctity of the dead person; and there being at the same time in Rome some Gentlemen and Souldiers belonging to the same Prince, who came in search of their Master, and finding him de∣ceased, carried home his holy Body with much joy and reverence unto his Country.

The Sight of the dead Body of the Empress Donna Isabella, Wife unto the Emperour Charles the fift, wrought no less effect in the heart of Blessed Francesc•• de Borgia, then Marquess of Lombay, who being ap∣pointed to wait upon the Coarse unto Granada, where it was to be interred, and being to deliver it bare-faced according to custome, to the end it might appear to be the same Body, he caused the sheet of Lead, wherein it was wrapped, to be opened, which immediately cast forth so horrible a stench, that those who were present, not able to endure it, were forced to retire; and withal the face appeared so foul and deformed, that not any of the attendants durst take their oath that that was the Empress's Body. Who sees not here the vanity of the world? what is of more respect and

esteem than the Bodies of great Kings and Princes whilest they live, and now dead the Guards and Gentle∣men which are to wait upon them flye from them? Who are accounted more happy than they who have the fortune to be near their persons? They are spoken unto upon the knee as if they were Gods, but being dead all forsake them, and even Toads, Worms, and Dogs dare approach and eat them. A good testimo∣ny of this was Queen Jezabell, whose pamperd Body adored, whilest she lived, was being dead ignomini∣ously torn in pieces by Dogs. But to return to our Story; The Marquess remaining alone behind the rest, began to consider what the Empress once was, and what he now beheld her. Where was the beauty of that face, but become worms and putrifaction: where that Majesty and gravity of countenance, which made all reverence her, and those people happy who beheld her, but now grown so hideous, that her most obliged Servants leave and abandon her? Where is now the Royal Scepter, but resolved into filth and corruption? This consideration so changed his heart, that despising what was temporal, and now wholly seeking what was eternal, he determined never after to serve that Lord who was mortal.

The very memory of the loathsomness of a dead Body may serve to make us despise the beauty of that which is living, as St. Peter Damian advises us,* 1.12 say∣ing,

If the subtle Enemy shall set before thee the frail beauty of the flesh, send thy thoughts presently unto she Sepulcher of the Dead: and let them there see what they can finde agreeable to the touch, or pleasing to the sight. Consider that poison which now stinks intollerably, that corruption which en∣genders and feeds worms. That dust and dry ashes was once soft and lively flesh, and in its youth was subject to the like passions as thou art. Consider those rigid nerves, those naked teeth, the disjoynted disposition of the bones and articles, and that hor∣rible

dissipation of the whole Body: and by this means the Monster of this deformed and confused figure will pluck from thy heart all deceits and illu∣sions.

This from St. Peter Damian.

All this is certainly to happen unto thy self. Where∣fore doest thou not amend thy evil conditions? this is to be thy end; unto this therefore direct thy life and actions. From hence spring all the errors of men, that they forget the end of their lives, which they ought to have still before their eyes, and by it to order themselves for the complyance with their obligations. With reason had the Brachmans their Sepulchers pla∣ced still open before their doors, that by the memory of death they might learn to live. In this sense is that Axiome of Plato most true, when he sayes, That Wis∣dom is the Meditation of Death: because this whole∣some thought of Death undeceives us in the vanities of the world, and gives us force and vigour to better our lives.* 1.13 Some Authors write of a certain Confes∣sarius, who when all his perswasions could not pre∣vail with his penitent to do penance for his sins, con∣tented himself with this promise, that he would suffer one of his Servants every night, when he went to bed, to sound these words in his ear, Think that thou art to dye; who having often heard this admonition, and and profoundly considered it with himself, he at last returned unto his Confessor, well disposed to admit of such penance as should be enjoyned him. The same thing happened to another, who having confessed to to the Pope very hainous crimes, said, that he could not fast, nor wear hair-shirts, nor admit of any other kinds of austerity. His Holiness having commended the matter to God, gave him a Ring with this Poesie: Memento m••ri; Remember thou art to dye: charging him, that as often as he looked upon the Ring, he should read those words, and call death to mind. Few hours after the memory hereof caused such a change in his heart, that he offered to fulfil what ever penance

his Holiness should please to impose upon him. For this reason it seems God commanded the Prophet Je∣remias that he should goe into the house of the Potter, and that he should there hear his words. Well might the Lord have sent his Prophet into some place more decent to receive his sacred words, then where so ma∣ny men were daily imployed in dirt and clay; but here was the particular mysterie, whereby we are gi∣ven to understand, that the presence of Sepulchers, wherein is preserved as in the house of a Potter the clay of humane nature, it was a place most proper for God to speak unto us, that the memory of death might more deeply imprint his words in our hearts. For this very reason the Devil strives with all his power and cunning to obstruct in us the memory of death. For what other cause can be assigned why the meer suspicion of some loss or notable damage should bereave us of our sleep, and that the certainty of death, which of things terrible is most terrible, should never trouble us?

Notes

• * 1.1

  1 Ma∣chab. 6. 2 Ma∣chab. 9.
• * 1.2

  Act. 12. Vide Jo∣sephum.
• * 1.3

  3 Reg. 20.
• * 1.4

  3 Reg. 22.
• * 1.5

  Plut. in ejus vita.
• * 1.6

  Plutar. in ejus vita.
• * 1.7

  Plutar. in Apoph. Graecis.
• * 1.8

  Dionysius Carth. de noviss. Art. 5.
• * 1.9

  Humbert. in tract de Septemp. timore.
• * 1.10

  Vincen. in spec. moral.
• * 1.11

  Alex. Fa∣ya to. 2. Joh. Ma∣jor verbo Mors. Ex. 21.
• * 1.12

  Petrus Damia∣nus in Gomor. c. 23.
• * 1.13

  Johannes Brom. in Sum. verb. Poe∣nit. num. 12.