The parable of the pilgrim written to a friend by Symon Patrick ...

CAP. XXXIX.

The joy which the Pilgrim conceived in this discourse: and how much he applauded his happiness in having such a Friend. The Serenity of his Condition after all these Clouds. And how nothing troubled him but only that he could do so little to testifie his love to his Guide: who easily gave him satisfaction by shewing the true grounds of Friendship.

IT is not to be expressed what contentment the Man took in this discourse, for which he rendred him a thousand thanks: professing that he had learnt a great deal in a little time; and that though he never intend∣ed less than to become a Good man by Faith in Christ, yet he did not so well understand till now how to go about the business. But the Joy of our Pilgrim was far greater both for this acquaintance of his, and for himself. He thought that all his life would be little enough wherein to thank him; that he had turned the mention of his weaknesses and frailties, into the occasion of so great a benefit unto them both. I was going to tell you (said he, when the Father had done) that I knew not whether I should begin to thank our Lord or you first for this great kindness to me. But I think I need not stand in doubt, for you are so like him, that if I commend your Charity, and render you thanks for it; I do a real honour thereby to him. You have been the Ease of mine heart; the Guide of my mind; the Pilot of my soul; the security and stay of

my life; my second and better self; my Tutelar An∣gel whereby I have been defended from innumerable dangers. And when I say so, I acknowledge God to have been all this, who by your hands hath imparted these favours to me. I know that I stand indebted to his Fatherly Goodness for so many Blessings that I know not where to end the account. But for the be∣ginning; I cannot but next to the favours his Son hath brought us, place the gift of your Friendship. You will suffer me now sure to please my self a little, and to glory in it; though heretofore you suppressed my thoughts as they were issuing forth. I know very well at what rate my neighbours esteem riches, and how proud they grow if they can shew you Gold and Jewels. But if Heaven had asked me what Jewel it pleased me to be presented withall; I would have answered, Give me a Friend: Send me an honest Friend. This is my Riches, my Treasures, my most precious Jewel. It is not possible there should be any thing given me of equal value. I am so proud of it, that it tempts me to be vain-glorious, and to proclaim to the World how wealthy I am. And if we may judge of the price of things by their scarcity, am I not in the right? What is there more rare than this pure Friendship? Where shall we find two men that have one heart; and love without any interest? Must we not go back to the Golden Times, and have recourse to the Age of Poetry, to find such an happy pair? What place is not filled with that old complaint, O Friends, no body is a Friend? There are few hearts that are not double; few tongues that are not cloven. They that are not treacherous are too weak; and they that are not weak, yet are too wise, to be tyed in this Sacred Bond. How can you

blame me then that I think my self some-body now that I am possessed of so great a Treasure; which be∣sides its rarity, is to be highly esteemed for its stability and lasting nature. It is not subject to the change of fortune, nor the rust of time, nor the violence of men: nor can it be lost by my own negligence, for a small care will serve to keep a true friend. Let others go and beg of great Men their favour: let others glory in the preferment they already enjoy; I envy not their happiness, may heaven but please to preserve my Friend. It is the custom of many I see to fetch the causes of their felicity or unhappiness from the hea∣venly bodies; and to ascribe what they suffer or en∣joy here below to some good or malignant influences from above. But as for me I do not think there is any Planet so lucky as a faithful friend; as on the con∣trary none so malitious as a false-hearted companion. Let them who list then observe the stars and their fa∣vourable aspects, I will seek upon earth for that which must make me happy. Let them observe how Jupiter and Mercury look upon them in all their affairs; it imports most to me to mark what men I converse withall. And you are the person Sir whom I six my eye upon and whose good aspect and charitable influ∣ence I still implore. Do you accompany me alwayes in my travels; be you my Mercury in my journey; and in this conjunction I shall not fear any evil that may threaten me, nor despair any more of finishing that which is so happily begun. This is the sum of my desires that you would ever exercise your wonted pitty towards me and pardon my follies. For the whole stock of comfort that I am furnished withall can only serve for a meaner affliction then the loss of your love would prove unto me. And yet I hope that

I shall not be altogether so troublesome to you in the rest of my journey; but rather become your joy. It shall be my daily petition that I may spend my dayes in that evenness and steadiness of mind wherein I find my self fixed by your means. That I may be humble, and wait patiently upon the Lord, and be of good courage; believing that he will strengthen mine heart, and that one day I shall in Sion appear before God.

To which good prayer the Father instantly said, Amen, wishing that he might ever find him in this good temper, and that he would likewise remember the counsel of the Apostle who bids us Rejoyce in the Lord alwayes. For there is not a more evident token and apparent sign of true Wisdom and profiting in Vertue, then a constant serenity and unconstrained re∣joycing. And truly, said he, I think I need not do so little as desire this for you, but may be bold to turn my wish into a confidence; for I am apt to prophesie that after so many conflicts you will go in more peace to Jerusalem. And so it proved as I have since heard, and after this he every day had a view of that blessed place. The sky indeed was sometimes a little cloudy, which rendred the sight of it more duskish and ob∣scure; yet he kept a calm in his mind in his greatest dulness, and hoped for Sun-shine dayes; which came a great deal sooner, by not raising a new and thicker cloud, through the storms of his own passions. But I cannot say for the present what the ensuing part of their travels were, my own observation here having an end. Only thus much I observed before I parted, that he who once was afraid that he loved his friend too much, fell into a suspition of himself that he did

not embrace him with such an affection as he deserved. And that after all these contrary humours, the tem∣per of their friendship was so excellent, of such consi∣stency and so well setled; that as nothing could dis∣order it, so nothing but death alone could divide it; and death it self they were confident could never put an end to it. And indeed this was the thing that I left them in expectation of, and which they were constant∣ly indeavouring to prepare themselves for; as that which would not destroy, but perfect their love. This they often talkt of; knowing that it would never come the sooner for their thinking and speaking of it. This they lookt upon as a common friend to both; that would translate them to those happy regions where friendship is in its Kingdom and raigns over every heart. All the favour they would have beg'd, if it were wont to grant any petitions; was, that with one stroke it would arrest them both and carry them thi∣ther together. And if any body could have made good the Paracelsian promise of spinning out the life of man to a length equal with the clue of time, and making our vital oil of the same durable temper with that which feeds the Lamps of Heaven; All things were so in com∣mon between them, that I verily think one of them would not have accepted of such a courtesie, on con∣dition to injoy it alone without the other. No, they rather desired as I said that the one might not see the other expire; but that the same hand might cut off both their threds at once, and that one moment might put out those Lamps which were not willing to burn asunder.

All the wishes that our Pilgrim made besides this, was only that they might live so long, till he could

give some remarkable proof of his affection to his Guide. For though he knew that he loved him above all things, and could contradict even his former wishes by dying for him; yet it did sometimes a little discon∣tent him that he was in no capacity to show his ten∣derness but only by words and protestations. Though the wisdom of his Conductor had stood him in so great stead, and he could not well spare any of it; yet he was so foolish now and then as to think that if he had been less wise he himself had been more happy: Be∣cause then he might have stood in need to receive those counsels, which now he only gave; and been re∣quited for those courtesies, which now he made him a pure debtor for. Many other benefits also that are usually communicated between friends he found him∣self utterly destitute of all means to confer; they be∣ing either not in his power, or his Guide in no need of them. This sometimes raised a small disquiet in his mind; and one day I remember he could not contain himself, but he began a discourse to this purpose, which shall put an end to this present Relation.

I should think my self, said he, the happiest man alive was I but able to correspond with you in the du∣ties and offices of friendship; and were I not con∣strain'd to return you only a weak and fruitless passi∣on, for that efficacious love which hath done me so many services. It troubles me a little to find that my passion is as useless as it is extream: and as void of be∣nefit to you as it is violent in it self. It is no less bar∣ren then I doubt it may be burdensome; and hath as little profit as I see it hath brought you much trouble. Though the honour be very great you have done me in bestowing such a place upon me in your heart; yet

I know not sometimes whether I should not complain in the enjoyment of a favour, which as it was not in my hands to deserve, so I cannot possibly requite. True indeed it is that I have given my self to you; but that is no more than strict Justice exacts, since I have re∣ceived your self as a gift to me. Friendship they say is a commutation of hearts; and therefore it is but fit that you should have mine in room of your own. And yet alas! mine is of such small value, that I doubt you will be wholly a loser by the change. Is there no means for me to do you service, or to rest content with a will to serve you? Cannot you either shew me how I may be useful to you; or shew your self a dispo∣sition to it in that heart which I have given you? I should be satisfied I think if you knew my will as well as my self. It remains in your power, not my own, to settle my mind in peace; if you will first believe I love you, and then set a value upon that Love, which you know is the cause of all well-doing; and ought not to be blamed for want of power.

Very true, said his Guide, who laid hold of that word, I think that I have found a treasure in your Love; and I will have it pass for currant payment, though it cannot express it self in such sensible effects as you would have it. It is enough to me that you have such a passionate affection for me; though it could never find the means to do any thing, but on∣ly tell me how hearty it is. I am pleased with the in∣tentions and desires which you have to do me any good. It is an extraordinary contentment to me to contemplate the imaginations which are in your mind of what you would do for me; could power be cour∣ted by your will to come and joyn it self unto it. They

are the Vulgar who call nothing benefits, but what they can feel with their fingers. It is the portion of gross Souls to be insensible; unless your courtesies, to come at their hearts, pass through their hands. The purer and more refined Spirits touch the very Souls of their Friends, and feel the kindness which lyes in their breasts. They are so subtil as to see a courtesie while it is so young, as to be but only in de∣sign. They touch it before it be cloathed in matter, or have passed beyond the confines of thoughts. They meet it in the first rudiments, and embrace it while it is only in meaning and drawn in the imagination. They receive these inward acts of Love as most pure and spiritual; being separate from all the terrestrial part which affect the vulgar minds. And in one word there is not any thing dearer to them than those mo∣tions of the Soul, which finding nothing they can do correspondent to their own greatness and force; do terminate in themselves. They are pleased to see them stay there and go no further; because there is nothing fairer than themselves to be met withall, wherein to end and rest.

Do not depretiate your affection therefore, nor vi∣lifie it in that manner you are wont; as though it were not worthy my acknowledgement. Do not tell me any more that it is no valuable Love which doth not serve our Friends: for this service depends upon occasions; and they depend on an higher Being, and are only in the dispose of Providence. All that I can be be∣holden to you for, I have received already from you; and for the rest, if it could be bestowed, I must make my acknowledgements to something else. Be contented then that you give all that is in your hands; and that

if it were in them to make occasions, you would still let those be wanting, which most of all prove a friend. Nay let me tell you, I am so favourable in my opinion to your affection, and so apt to give it the best advan∣tage; that I am not yet resolved, but there may be as much nobleness in the handsome acknowledgement of a kindness, as there is in the conferring of that which deserves such acknowledgement. But besides all this, let me ask you a Question (for I am resolved to ferret this scruple out of the bottom of your heart) should you not love me unless I had done you benefits? Tell me the truth; is there any great dearness think you created in peoples hearts towards each other by this means? For my part I have often found the observa∣tion true; that the remembrance of benefits wears out of mens minds, as grief doth out of the heart of afflicted persons; from which every moment steals a part. Time hath power over the one as well as the other; and it diminishes the affection which is the fruit of favours, as it doth the sorrow which is produced by losses and calamities. Nay, so little power have bene∣fits to make a friend, that they sometimes make a foe. There are some men, the more they owe, the more they hate. A little debt makes a man a debtor, but a great one makes him an enemy. What is it then that produces a durable Friendship? Nothing sure but worth and desert; together with the agreeableness of a person to our humour, and his resemblance to our dis∣position. The impression which these make can never be blotted out. Time which wipes away the remem∣brance of benefits, can never efface the sense of worth and merit. We alwayes carry in our minds the amiable perfections, and accomplished qualities of worthy per∣sons. We alwayes think of those who have touched

our inclinations by their agreeable nature. And I ap∣peal to you whether you could refuse me your Love, though you were not so much beholden to me as you now acknowledge. And whether all the kindnesses in the world would produce a Friendship with me, if you saw not something else to woe your affection. No, no, my Friend, it is Gratitude, not Friendship which is the proper effect of benefits. They ought to dispose us to suitable returns, and an hearty acknowledgement; but they cannot oblige us to entertain him for a Friend who is bountiful toward us. They may possibly make our Friendship grow, but they cannot beget it. They may give it some nourishment, but they cannot pro∣duce and bring it forth. It depends upon an higher cause, it owes its Original to some nobler thing; to that from whence all benefits and good offices ought to come, I mean a great love and a sincere affection; which if deserts be not wanting, is more powerful to move than all the gifts in the world; and is able with∣out them all to tye us fast to a worthy person. Be so just then to your self and to me, as to think that I am your Friend; though you do not bestow those benefits on me which you desire; since they can serve only (as I said) to make me thankful, but not your Friend. I esteem you very highly for your self, and upon the ac∣count of your own proper worth, which I am sure doth put me into the next disposition to be your Friend. And since you have added to your own de∣sert, a very great Love to me; that cannot but com∣pleat it, and make me perfectly yours. This Love alone hath been thought sufficient to make a Friend; and indeed is more powerful than any benefits. Accord∣ing to that of Hecaton; Wouldst thou know how to get a Friend? I will shew thee, and thou shalt use nei∣ther

Medicament, Herb, or Inchantment to produce the affection thou desirest. If thou wilt be beloved; Love. When Vertue then and it have made a league; and shews it self in a subject whose qualities also are worthy to be embraced; its force must needs be ir∣resistible, and leave us no power to withstand its de∣sires.

The poor Pilgrim remained astonished a while at the kindness of this discourse: And finding himself overwhelmed with the weight of such Love, was fain to strive very much to recover a power of making this short reply unto it. I am utterly ignorant, said he, what worth it is that you ascribe to me, which hath brought me into your good esteem, and obtained me the noble title of your Friend. I see that I please you, but I know not what it is that should give you that pleasure. I find my self very happy; but what hath advanced me to this felicity I cannot define. And truly since it is your will to have me so, I will not be too busie and cu∣rious in examining the causes of my good fortune; nor will I seek to lessen my worth, lest in so doing I should upbraid you with a bad foundation of your Love. No, I will rather think I am worth something, than render your judgement nothing worth. I will think of my self as you would have me, that you may not seem to be mistaken. There is nothing else can make me of any value; unless it be that I had the wit to judge of the deservings of such a person as your self. It is a mark they say of some sufficiency to be able to discern an able person from a flashy wit. It is a note I have heard of great wisdom to chuse an excellent Friend. By this I am told a man is known to others, and I have little else whereby to know my self. This is the chiefest

thing that makes me see I am not so unfortunate as I thought. I perceive I am worthy of some esteem, be∣cause I had the judgement to set such an esteem upon your self. For I must needs confess that though your favours could have imposed a greater necessity upon me of loving than you will allow; yet I feel that I am not beholden to them for my Inclination to love you. That is something more antient than any benefits you can bestow; and depends only on your own merits. And let it not be judged an amplification to say, that they are so great, that they will not leave it to my choice either whether I will love you or no, or how much I will love you; but they constrain me to love you as much as I can. It is a constraint indeed to which I am very willing, there being no violence of∣fered but of what my own judgement is the cause: yet it is irresistable; and I can never be of any other mind, nor have a will to dispose of my affections other∣wayes. Nay I cannot for my life but think that your favours are a part of your deserts; and that there is something peculiar in them to merit mine affection. They flow purely from your own goodness, and owe not themselves so much as to my entreaties. You have not put me to the trouble of begging your kind∣nesses, but they ran to me of their own accord. I did but ask; and you were pleased to open your heart, and make me a liberal gift. I did but shew my need; and you instantly inriched me with your self. And ever since I have not had so great a care to conceal my griefs, as you have taken to find them out. Nor have you suffered my troubles to speak, before you saw them in my looks. All your favours likewise have flowed so freely from you, that there was no hope they should return again. They have brought me a great

deal of happiness, but could not be thought to come to fetch any to him that sent them. This adds ex∣ceeding much to the esteem I have conceived for you. This will ever make me to propound you as the pat∣tern of an excellent Friend. And if I were now to dye, it would be one of the last words I should speak to those that love me. Remember that those will be your worst enemies; not to whom you have done evil, but who have done evil to you: and those will be your best Friends; not to whom you have done good, but who have done good to you.