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

CAP. XXIV.

Ʋpon the Pilgrim's request, the Guide enters into a fur∣ther description of the Pleasures of the Way to Jerusa∣lem; and answers some scruples of his about it. The difficulty of the beginning of his journey. Of taking up the Cross that might lye in his way; and such like things.

I Will not undertake to express to you the silent ad∣miration wherewith the Pilgrim entertained this discourse. He lookt upon him with no less wonder

then if he had thought him an Envoyé from Heaven, and taken him to be dispatched with a message imme∣diately from God to transport him thither. He was almost lost in a new passion; and if it had not been for fear that the good man would here make an end if he did not intreat him to continue his discourse, he had abandoned himself to those pleasant imaginations which the telling of that story had raised in his mind. But recovering himself from their inticements, he got leave of them to speak to his Guide to this ef∣fect. Ah Sir, what a favour have you done me? In∣to what a delightful train of thoughts have you lead me? It is impossible to relate the pleasure you have now given me. I do not think that your self can be∣stow the like upon me by any other means, but only by making this Story a little longer. You do it a great deal of wrong I assure you, in calling it tedious; for if it were lawful to gratifie my self in the way that I fancy most, I should wish that it might last to the end of my life. You are a true Mercury indeed, the Orator of the Great King, the interpreter of God. You are sent to do me a double kindness; first to be my Guide, and then to ravish me into the way you show me, by your eloquence. May not the caelestial natures be presumed to have some Patience, as well as so much Charity? Shall I offend you if I desire a more particular description of the ease and pleasure which you promise me in my way? Or cannot you stay so long as to pull a little scruple out of my mind, and tell me how this way can be so broad as your Story saith, since I have learnt of one more Sacred that it is strait and narrow? I know I am indebted to you but too much for the favours you have already done me; And except it be in my hearty wishes I can never be so

bountiful as you have been. But yet give me leave to say that this excessive freeness, is a temptation to run further into your debt. If you had been more reserved at the first, you had made me more modest; but now that you have been so prodigal of your counsel, par∣don me if I think that I have nothing else to accuse of my confidence. If you would not have had me become such a Beggar, you should not have been so generous: you should either have withheld your hand sooner, or not be offended that I implore a fresh tast of your li∣berality. Go on good Sir to add to my obligations: for though they are so great already that you force me to be ungrateful by leaving me no power, not so much as that of words, to thank you; yet let me see you take such a pleasure in doing of good that you think your self sufficiently paid for what you have done, by gaining mens will to a hearty desire of receiving more.

I am no Master of eloquence, said the Guide, but you are beholden as I told you to a Stranger for that pleasant description. It is enough for me if I can point at the way to Heaven, and give you some plain and familiar directions how to find it. But you must per∣swade your self to learn and follow those instructions, and not expect the assistance of any Rhetorick of mine to woo your heart to intertain them. And truly if I may judge by what you just now said, you have power enough in your own hands to charm your affections, and insinuate what I teach you into their favour. You may be indebted to your self more then to me; and owe your happiness rather to your own perswasion, then any Oratory that I can imploy. But yet if you can be content with such dry narrations as I am able to make,

you cannot demand any thing with more ease, then I shall yield to the satisfaction of your desires. It will be no trouble to me I assure you to prolong my dis∣course on this delightful theme, and I shall more gra∣tifie my self thereby then oblige you; though I must needs say that I think there is not so much need of it as you may imagine. You may take this upon my credit, that you will better experiment the pleasure of your way as you go along, then it is possible to perceive it by the most accurate description which can be made of it by the pen or tongue of man. You have often no doubt tasted the sweetness of honey: but suppose you had only seen the golden colour of it with your eyes, or only heard a graceful speaker make an Oration in its praise; would either of these have made you ac∣quainted with it, so well as one little lick with your tongue is able to do? The case is not at all different here, and therefore begin to prosecute your resolution presently of travelling to Jerusalem; go to the wayes themselves to learn their pleasantness; for they will teach you more in an instant, then I can do by many of my long discourses. But yet that you may not ima∣gine I put you off, and refer you thither only to spare my pains, I shall at least give you some satisfaction in the truth of what I say and convince your reason that you must needs find the wayes you are to pass very de∣lightful notwithstanding all those difficulties which you may meet withall.

All the actions of nature you will grant to be very pleasant, for they flow from us with ease and facility; and they also tickle us as they pass along because they run smoothly and do not grate upon us. Now there is nothing plainer then that the wayes of Temperance,

Charity, Trust in God and such like wherein you are to walk are most conformable to the right frame and con∣stitution of your soul. You will move consonantly to your own principles which God hath naturally indued you withall: you will but follow the inclination of rational nature and that in its highest improvement, which must needs yield you the highest delight and satisfaction. Will you but be pleased for the proof of this to ask your soul a few Questions? I am confident if it go about to resolve them, it will give it self a sense of the goodness of the paths of Piety; and without any other evidence then they carry in themselves, it will pronounce that they are far easier and so infinitely more sweet then any that oppose them. I appeal to you and to all the world whether it be not a business of quicker dispatch to forgive an injury, then to take revenge for it? whether he doth not more seek his own ease and repose who studyes to forget the malice of men towards him; then he that suffers the remem∣brance of it to ferment and boil perpetually in his mind? Is it not a business of less difficulty to be peace∣able and quiet, then to be ever contending, quarrelling and falling out with our neighbours? And what toil is there in sitting still and not so much as lifting up our hands? and on the other side, what labour in fighting, and beating, and wounding one another? Is it not far more easie to hold ones peace, then to rail and revile as much as we please? Which puts us to more pains to say nothing but well of others, or to be alwayes finding fault, and still speaking evil of them? Meek∣ness seems to me to be far less troublesome then anger and rage. Charity is more easie and delightsome, then covetousness and scraping up of wealth. To drink little is sooner and easier done, then to drink

and swill as if we were in a perpetual Feaver. And I cannot see what should hinder you from confessing in∣stantly that it is a thing of far more ease and facility to live by Faith in God, to depend on his providence in honest wayes, and to cast our burden upon him; than to be alwayes careful and sollicitous, to be ever vex∣ing our selves with worldly thoughts, and to be de∣vising shifts and naughty Arts how to get more than we need. Is it any burden to praise God for the bles∣sings he sends us? Or, Is it not more natural than to praise and commend our selves to which all men seem so forward? And how can it be so toilsome to pray to him for what we want, as it is to spend our time in a laborious diligence, without a serious and hearty ac∣knowledgement of him? To be humble and modest is far more agreeable than to bear it high, and lift up our selves above others. It is nothing so hard to obey Governours, as to be turbulent, and fall into re∣bellion against them. Yea to suffer wrongs breeds us less molestation than to do them. To be patient creates us not half so much trouble, as it doth to vex, and fret, and sume within our selves. To rejoyce in God is a thing that more gratifies, than all the plea∣sures of sense. And even to mourn for our sins doth give us more satisfaction, than to mourn and grieve for worldly losses.

It would be a very easie matter, I beleeve you dis∣cern to make a long discourse on this argment: as al∣so to shew that besides the ease and the pleasure that there is in doing these things, they leave also a certain joy and contentment when they are done. They that hold the course into which you are entring, do feel that every step they take leaves a certain print behind

it, which it is an infinite delight to reflect upon. They enjoy a repose and security in their consciences, which is not to be uttered: and remain in great tranquillity. all their lives. There is no body that can rob them of their pleasures; neither can any man intercept them, and hinder them from coming into their souls: nor will they themselves be ever weary of them, or desire to make an exchange of them for some other content∣ment. There is no disgust in those holy delights. They breed no dislike by their frequent enjoyment. They depend not as others do on infinite circumstan∣ces, whereof the want of any one makes them either odious or unprofitable: but they have a constant cause, and depend but upon one thing, which is al∣wayes present, and inseparable from all good souls. They live without fear in their possessions; and with∣out distrust in their wants. They do not blush in the company of others; nor do they tremble when they are alone. They are not bitten with remorse, nor covered with shame for what is past; and their pre∣sent condition is not troubled with any disquiet; and they have nothing but fair and goodly hopes for the time to come. In fine, they are the portion of God in the world, they are his treasure; they are his delight and his joy: and whensoever he makes them know so much, there is not an higher pleasure that the heart of man is capable to possess. To make joy in Heaven, to give delight to the King of the world, O what a ra∣vishment is it? What glorious hopes doth the thought of it inspire us withall? It would make any man cry out, I will be good; I vow that I will be good, though the whole world should oppose me in it. Your very flesh will consent to be one of the subjects of Jesus, if you do but let it know the happiness that he will

bring unto it. It will become a Votary to him, when you understand how much the better it shall fare for that repose of your mind, and the constant pleasure of a regular life. Your very stomach cannot but com∣mend his measures, and submit it self to his Laws, who layes no burden upon it, but rather eases it of all its loads. It will complain of your unkindness if you de∣ny it the favour of being absolutely governed by his will. There is never a drop of blood in your body, but had rather be spilt in his service, than that you should refuse his blessed life, which leads to such endless felicity to the whole man. Consult every thing about you: Take advice of every thing that belongs to you: and it will confess that there is no such Master of plea∣sure in the whole world as the Holy Jesus; that it is the greatest Epicurism to be one of his followers; and that if a man should study till the worlds end, he would ne∣ver cast himself into such an extasie of joy, as the know∣ledge and belief of what he hath promised, and an heart full of love to him proportionable to that belief, will put him into. And therefore it is a wonder that the Voluptuaries of the world go to any other School than his, to learn the Art of making much of them∣selves. Here is true pleasure; here is the very spring of all contentment. It is the very inscription upon the door or entrance of Christs School, that Blessed are the poor in spirit, blessed are the pure in heart, blessed are the meek, blessed are the peaceable, blessed are the merciful, yea blessed are they that mourn, and that suffer for righte∣ousness sake. Nor are these vain braggs, and empty boasts; like the Papers which Empericks set upon posts pretending to the cure of all diseases. But if any man will try, he shall find all this to be the very truth; he shall preach this doctrine himself to the world; he

shall avow it confidently to all that he meets, that Je∣sus only brings true rest to their souls and bodies. Nor is the tryal of such difficulty that you or my man else should refuse it. When you have left my company, and are retired to your self, do but fix your mind, as long as you are wont to do on lesser businesses, upon these truths; that Jesus is exalted at the right hand of God, that he hath received a Kingdom and Glory from the Father, that he hath power to raise up you to sit with him in his Throne, that he will infallibly take you up to himself, that you may be there where he is, and behold the Glory which God hath given him; and then tell me if ever you felt any thing touch your heart with such a pleasure as the bare contemplation of those divine enjoyments. The very fancy of them is delight∣ful. Such a dream, if a man was in it, he would not lose for all that he sees here. He would be troubled to be awaked, and shut his eyes again, wishing that it may know no end. And therefore the assurance of these things to be a certain truth which the Holy Ghost coming down from Jesus hath given to us, must needs give us a far greater satisfaction. A satisfaction as much beyond that of fancy; as a sensible enjoyment is beyond a dream. And what the contentment will be if we suffer these truths to go down to our hearts, to ravish our wills, to breathe into us the Love of Je∣sus, and to bring all those Blessed Vertues into our esteem and affection, I have not power enough to ex∣press. But as you love your soul, do not deny it your best endeavour, that before this day be at an end, you may have a real feeling of it.

And now it may be fit for your fuller conviction in this particular, to bid you turn your eyes to the con∣dition

of other men who are ingaged in a quite con∣trary course: and you will soon see that to be a plea∣sant path wherein I conduct you, by the misery and confusion which you will discern in their lives. It will not be long before you be satisfied, that they are not in a state of Nature. They will presently discover to you, that they are not as they should be: Nay, that they would be something else, than what they are, and that long use and custom hath rendred contradi∣ctions familiar to them. There is not one of them but he loves that which he hates, and pursues that which he flyes, and praises that which he cannot but also dis∣commend. There are strange seditions and clashings in their desires, and they are tossed about with I know not how many contrary winds. They all desire to be rich, and yet this very desire will not let them be so. They fear nothing more than need, and yet they are ever in great want, and cannot be filled. For they alwayes think that which they have to be less than that which they have not; and they take that which is present to be so little, that it is not worth their no∣tice in compare of what they expect in time to come. And is there is any greater consistency in their desires of pleasure? Alas! they pursue mirth, but they ever pull upon their heads a great deal of sorrow. They would have nothing at all but sweetness; and the more greedy they are of it, the greater is their bitter∣ness. When they think to heighten their delights; they quite destroy them, and take them away. When they would leave no place empty, they are so full that they cannot feel them. Do you not see all this verifi∣ed in drunken fools? Where is their pleasure after their Understanding is once blasted with the fumes of Wine? A Spunge is as good a Judge as they of plea∣sures,

which, without any difference, sucks in the best and the worst of liquors. And as for Death, Which of them is there that doth not fear it, and yet they take no care at all to live? They dread diseases, and yet they will not abstain from noxious and unwhole∣some things. When any trouble falls upon them, then they wish they were out of the world, and bless those that are dead; and yet when death comes, though they are never so ill, they wish it would stay a little longer. They hate many times to live, and yet they are afraid to dye. They think them happy who are in the other world, but yet they are loath to come among them. They cry out of the evils which they suffer, and yet they would fain spin out the most mi∣serable life to the greatest length. But there is ano∣ther thing that is stranger than this. For you have often heard them complain (I believe) of the great scarcity of time, and yet which of them is there that is not so prodigal of it, as if he had half a Age to spare? They say that it runs away very swiftly from us, and yet they spur on their hours, and would have them flye away faster than they do, as if they had too ma∣ny of them. There are but a few seasons, they say, in time, and yet they let those opportunities grow old in their hands, and suffer them to be bald before they mind to apprehend them. And did you ever mark how they deal one with another? Each man suspects his fellow, because he deserves to be suspected himself. Every one is afraid to be deceived, and labours all he can to deceive. He hath a great mind to be revenged, and yet he would not have Justice it self take any ven∣geance of him. He hates Tyranny, and yet he would fain be the Tyrant. He would have all men subject to those Laws, which he hath no mind to observe. He

accuses many things as base, but will not stick to do them. And on the contrary, he holds good fortune in great estimation, but cares not a rush for vertue, which yet he acknowledges deserves only to be fortunate.* 1.1 Philosophers themselves have been ashamed to see how they all behave themselves in every condition like un∣constant fools. They abhor War, but cannot tell how to live in Peace. They are miserably dejected if they be made slaves, but are so insolent in liberty, that they draw servitude upon them. They desire children, and when they have them take no care about them. They would leave them estates, but no ver∣tue to use them well, and to preserve them. They de∣sire to have their family alway flourish; but breed them so, as if they meant it should dye with the next Generation. Nay, God himself is not better used by them. For they pray to him, as if he was able to do them good, and yet they affront him, as if it was not in his power to do them hurt. At other times they fear him, as if he could severely punish, and yet for∣swear themselves, as if he had no Being but only when they pleased. But that I may not run into infinite par∣ticulars, let us once for all take a view of those who would attain to great honours, and see by what low, mean and servile practices they labour to ascend unto them. There is nothing which their heart abhors more than subjection to others, and yet they are forced to the basest prostrations. They stoop to the very feet of those, upon whose heads they would tread. They kiss those hands, which they wish a thousand times were cut off, if they oppose their designs. Their very idleness is in action day and night. The comple∣ments and ceremonies they bestow upon others, are a business of greater trouble, than the ruling of Pro∣vinces,

and disposing of Kingdoms. It may seem strange, but there is nothing truer, That if a man would climb to the highest place in the world, it is ne∣cessary he should become lame, and breath short, and take such little steps, as if a long Ague had but just left him to the use of his leggs; and in one word, seem al∣together unfit for the business he designs. You know what a glory it is to be the supposed Head of all Chri∣stendome. And yet they that are well acquainted with the wayes to that office, tell us in plain terms, that he must keep his Bed, and use all the Arts which Phy∣sick can assist him withall, not to be well, but to be ill; who hopes to attain that dignity. He must put him∣self into a feavourish heat; he must beg the help of de∣fluxions and catarrhs; he must procure a pale look, and a meagre aspect; he must cough as if he was cal∣ling for his grave; or else he must lose that place which will not come at easier rates. And now what think you? Are not these fine wayes to Glory? Have not they a great mind to trouble themselves, that pur∣chase trouble at so great a price? For the rising to high places (as a wise man of our own observes) is ve∣ry laborious, and by pains men come to greater pains: Nay, it is sometimes very base, and by indignities men come to dignities. Perhaps this ambitious fool doth flatter continually those whom he hates: He applauds and praises those whom he despises: He admires all that is ill done: He approves of all that a wicked and debauched appetite desires: He speaks against his con∣science; and smiles on him whom he could bite and fasten his teeth upon with all his heart. He dissembles all his resentments; and though he love revenge as well as his life, yet he is put to the pains of stifling all those passions which are its servants. There is a fire

in his bones, and he dare not give it the least vent, that others may feel it as well as himself. He swallows all the affronts which a Porter gives him at a Great mans Gate; and he bribes those with gifts whom he wishes dead, that he might enjoy their places. And when he is mounted to the top of his desires, I beseech you, on what Pinnacles doth he tread? Which are so small, that there is but a little between him and the danger of a fall; and withall so sharp, that they wound the feet which tread upon them. And did you never perceive the delight that some men take in laughing at the meanness of the extraction of this Me∣teor? The greatest honours are not able to cleanse the blemishes of his family. And when he hath done all that he can, bold spirits will throw in his face the dirt from whence he is sprung; and wound him with a remembrance that he is but a New Man.

But then if one of these persons chance to drop down to the place where he was before, and become the ob∣ject of scorn, in what a sad condition is he? When the Play is ended, and the high-heel'd Buskins are pull'd off which raised him above others, and the gaudy cloths are torn from his back, and he returns to his first form; he becomes a despicable creature even to himself. So mad a thing it is to judge of a man by the height of honour, to which he is advanced, for it is as if you would take the measure of a statue by the pe∣destal on which it stands. But besides all this, the conscience he hath of his crimes will render him still more miserable, because it will ever put him in mind that he deserves his misery. And as for others, it will likewise be a dangerous thing for any man to under∣take the protection or comfort of such a person, who

is known to have merited his misfortune. Nay more than this we have heard of such fools, that before they had lost all their imaginary happiness, have deprived themselves of the remainder, out of vexation that it did not continue as great as before. So that great glutton Apitius having wasted the best part of his estate, and finding but two hundred thousand Crowns remaining; imagined himself a Peggar, and drunk a draught of poison, because he thought he had not suf∣ficient to maintain his ancient riot. For which he was soundly jeered by one of the Sages of those dayes, who said this was the most wholesome draught that ever he made, which put an end to such a dissolute life.

Thus, you see, these vitious men are so hated while they are alive, and their memory is so persecuted when they are dead, that I believe you would not stand in one of their places. And the more injuries they have done to others, to raise themselves; the more odious they grow, and the more curses follow them to their graves. So toilsome it is to follow those courses, that men will not suffer them to rest in peace even in the Sanctuary and common refuge of all the miserable. They that did not know how to be revenged on their persons while they were here; are wont to fall upon the Phantasm which they have left of themselves in their imagination; and to wreak their spleen upon their memory, and stab their reputation. They please them∣selves in their greatness for a while, and then they pay very dearly for it. Nay, the time of their pleasure is so small, that they come to it by a far longer time of pains; and when they enjoy it, we scarce know how to distinguish the moments of the one from those of the other; for pains are either mingled with

their pleasures, or presently tread upon the heels of them.

All which, when I consider, it calls to my mind the Story of the Fool, who passing thorow the Forrest of Ravenna as he came from Rome, filled a whole Wallet and a Pillow-bear top full of Flyes, Gnats and Hornets, of which that place affords good store, and of no small bigness, to bring them home with him. Whither when he was arrived, he sent to his friends and kinsfolks round about, desiring to see them, that he might pre∣sent them with some rarities and curious things which he had brought from Rome. Though they knew him to be a Ninny, yet they could not imagine him to be such a Sot as afterward they found him; but fan∣cied that he might have light upon something in his Journey, which might be worth one of theirs to go and see it. But when they were met together, and were come into his Chamber, after many complements and great expectations; he had nothing to entertain them withall, but a huge number of those troublesome creatures which he poured out of his baggs upon them; thinking because of their various colours, that they were precious things, and would yield a fine sight un∣to his friends. They laught a little at the jest at first, but they soon felt there was no cause, when rhey found them about their ears, and flying in their faces, and their eyes in such a manner, that it was no small affli∣ction and pain unto them. Just such, me-thinks, is the condition of those who live in sin. They are pro∣mised fine things, and secret delights by the tempta∣tions which send to them, and invite them into their society. Great hopes are given them of new pleasures, and such rare satisfactions as hitherto they have not

met withall. And they are such fools as to believe their imagination, or an idle companion who intices them by fair speeches, though they know very well how often they and others have been deluded by such flatteries. The sin indeed seems pretty at the first; it makes them some sport for a while, and you think that they are much pleased. But alas! they come a great way for that short mirth, and it is so trivial, that it is not worth a flye; and at last they are stung worse than by a whole nest of angry Wasps. Their conscience is alwayes buzzing some evil in their ears; they are persecuted by it continually, and it follows them with its secret murmures; they are tormented as with a swarm of Hornets, which will never cease to trouble them as long as they stay there, and will not open the door and run away from their sins.

And truly by this time it is like you will wonder that they should be content to stay in their company. You may very well ask, what do these men mean thus to trouble themselves, when there is such a visible way to their peace and quiet? Why do not they break loose from their sins, and seek their satisfaction in some other course? Had they not better become good, than be at so much pains to make themselves miserably bad? They cannot but discern sure, that happiness lyes not in their Rode; and that to enjoy repose, they must be∣come the followers of Vertue. And to tell you my mind plainly, I verily think there is a number of them would gladly be her servants, if to be made so might be wholly the Act of another, and not at all their own. They would think it a blessed change to do well, as naturally as they do ill; if this New Nature would but come into them of it self, and not require

their pains to quit the Old. They commend the wayes of Vertue, and think them happy who live tem∣perately and chastly; but how to get into them, there is the difficulty. They would gladly find themselves there the very next moment, but to travel thither is a business of too much labour. Their own life is a very great trouble to them, but there is some trouble also in the beginning of a new. Though the way that I shew you be so pleasant, that they who are not in it cannot but have a mind to be translated thither; yet the entrance of it is not without some difficulties. The stings which I told you are in their conscience, cannot be pulled out without more pain than they are willing to endure. It is a business of much anguish to have the wounds which are made in their natures searched and dressed, and such applications made, as will draw out all the corruption and filth. They had rather palliate their sores, than have them raked into, in or∣der to their being healed. It is a new thing to which we would ingage them, and they apprehend it so la∣borious also, that they think it better to continue as they are, than with a great deal of pains to take up∣on them another burden. They that are free from their prepossessions, find excellent things to be very irksome when they first begin to set about them. With what unwillingness do children learn their first let∣ters, though afterward it prove delightful to be able to read? And how hard do most men find the first step to any Science, which when they are a little Ma∣sters of, is infinitely pleasant? And therefore every one must expect to find the gate to be strait which opens to that way wherein you are to travel. There all their old customs are to be put off. There I know not how many desires of the flesh are to be denyed and

left behind. There a man must be stript stark naked: He must become like a little child, and reduced just to nothing in his own eyes, that so he may be able to en∣ter. And then also there are many strange paths pre∣sent themselves with which he hath had no acquain∣tance; which is the cause that many are affrighted and start back again, rather than they will undergo the troule of pressing in at so strait a passage. Though, if it be well considered, this is just such a folly as if a man in a long Journey perceiving himself out of his way, should chuse still to go on in his errour, rather than go back again, because of the many wearisome steps which he must be forced to take before he reco∣ver the right Rode. The further he goes on, the fur∣ther is he out of his way; and consequently must ne∣ver come to his Journeys end, unless it be with greater pains hereafter, than those which he now avoids.

But not to deceive you, (nor forget a short Answer to your other doubt) I must also let you know, that the way it self, for a few of the first miles, is very nar∣row as well as the gate; though afterwards it be as wide and broad as heart can wish. That which a man hath put off in resolution at his entrance into the way, he may find still to hang upon him when he comes to move, and very loath to be quite shaken off. His de∣sires which he had contracted, may begin to stir and to inlarge themselves, and complain that they are con∣fined too much, and reduced into too narrow a room. And so it will still seem, till by often denyals they grow content, and make room for nobler desires to spring up in him. Then will he think himself pressed and straitned no more, when he finds his soul inlarged ano∣ther way, and his appetites carried unsatiably toward

diviner objects. Then he will not say he is pent up, when he feel, that the retrenching of his worldly de∣sires hath set his heart at liberty to go whither it na∣turally would, without any restraints upon it. He will find that he is at ease by being straitned; that he hath got his freedom by being bound up; and that he en∣joyes as much as he desires, by denying and pareing of his desires. It may seem indeed a strange way of en∣larging our souls, by bringing their desires into a nar∣row compass: but if you consider it, there is nothing truer, than that it is much better, and more to our con∣tent, not to desire some things at all; than to desire them, and withall to have them as much as we desire. As for example; we see men mad to have their fill of bodily pleasure. But how doth it fare with them at that season? Have not these desires brought a torment to them? No doubt they have much more pleasure than in abstaining from that of which they were so greedy, than in continuing to enjoy it. Why should it not be thought better than to do that out of vertue which disordered fulness forces them to? Is it not much more eligible to abstain out of choice, than not to forbear till we are constrained? Yes verily; and men would receive a greater satisfaction in subduing such mad desires; than it is possible to do in the fulfilling of them. It is with these carnal people, saith one of the old Directors in the way to Jerusalem, as if a man should be so dry, that he calls for one cup after another, and though he drink never so much, yet cannot quench his thirst. Certainly such a man cannot be esteemed happy, because he never wants liquor, but hath still at hand as much as he desires. No, he is the happy man, who feeling no thirst is free from this necessity of drinking so much, and is no way urged to desire it. For the first

is like a man in a burning feavour, and the other like one that injoyes a perfect health. And there is ano∣ther of them also who verifies this in his own example. For he confesses that walking one day with some friends through the City of Milan, having his head full of an Oration he was to make in the Emperours praise, and his heart thirsting after Glory and prefer∣ment, which he thought it would procure him; and therewith very much contentment: He chanced to cast his eye upon a Begger who having newly received an Alms, was very blithe and of a pleasant counte∣nance. At which spectacle, he fetcht a deep sigh and said to his company, What a mischief is this that I should thus drag my own infelicity after me by the fu∣ry of my desires, and with so much trouble seek in vain for that satisfaction, which this poor fellow is already arrived at, without so much ado? It is better by far to have none of these longings, then to take such pains, and perhaps without any fruit, to give them content∣ment. If we should have all that our desires crave, yet it is a shorter way to make us happy, To be with∣out them. For why do we desire those pleasures or honours so inordinately? Is it not for the satisfaction and joy which we expect to meet with in them? But that we may have sooner if we can be rid of those desires. Especially since by wanting them, the soul hath leave to fill it self with better pleasures. Such pleasures as we cannot desire, but we shall have them: and which we cannot have, but we shall be filled: and which by filling of us do only more enlarge our souls that we may receive a greater fulness.

But there is something still more considerable in those words of Jesus which have occasioned this dis∣course,

course, for if the propriety of that word be examined whereby he expresses the condition of the Way, it doth not seem to signifie so much the narrowness of it, as the roughness, stoniness and external difficulties wherewith it is incumbred. There are many afflictions and crosses which may lye in this way; and they deterr so much the more delicate sort, that they seem to be the great∣est rub they meet withall, and the strongest objection which they make against what I have said of the plea∣sure of these paths. But let me tell you, that if you imagine it to be far more pleasant to live after the flesh, then to take up your Cross and follow Christ in his sufferings; there is not a grosser error that can possess your mind. For he was made perfect through sufferings: And there was a joy set before him which made him dure the Cross:* 1.2 And his followers bid us also rejoyce in as much as we are partakers of the sufferings of Christ, that when his Glory shall be revealed, we may be glad also with exceeding joy. Nay for the present they say we shall feel our selves happy if we be reproached for the name of Christ; for the Spirit of Glory and of God rest∣eth upon us. It is a most Heroick and Divine temper of mind which expresses it self in meek and chearful suffering. Then we have opportunity to use the most glorious vertues. Then those Graces of God shine most illustriously which else would be obscured. And cherefore one of these great souls cryes out and sayes, Behold,* 1.3 we count them happy which endure. The bravest men that ever the world bred, were of the mind that there was no joys comparable to those, which are pro∣per to couragious and patient Vertue. It was impos∣sible to gratifie them more; you could not lay an higher obligation upon them; then if you presented them with an occasion to show their Constancy, their

Faith and their Valour. You know who he was that refused to be called the son of a Kings daughter; choosing rather to suffer affliction with the people of God, then to enjoy the pleasures of sin for a season;* 1.4 esteeming the re∣proach of Christ greater riches then the treasures of Egypt: for he had respect to the recompence of reward. Nay I have learnt thus much from Heathens themselves (for I do not think them unfit for my converse) that it is necessary for good men to enter into agonies and con∣flicts. They are in need of some thing or other to combate withall: and therefore afflictions and trou∣bles are the Antagonists of Vertuous souls, without whom they could not be lawfully crowned. The Ge∣nerosity then of Christian Religion I am sure is such that it will make you welcome Crosses and stretch out your arms to receive them with more resolution and chearfulness then ever Pagans did. You have been a School-boy it is like in your time, and then you could not but hear as well as I the story of Ʋlysses. How he was persecuted at home and abroad; how he encoun∣tred Gyants, barbarous and inhospitable people; how he was in danger of Witchcraft and inchantments; underwent cold Winters, Shipwracks, and Beggary, being forced to wander about in rags: And I can re∣ceive no other account of all this from the Wise men of those dayes, but that, he being a good man,* 1.5 God was pleased in meer love and friendship to him thus to exercise and try his Vertue; proposing him as an ex∣ample of the contentment which both God himself and vertuous souls do take in their induring the hard∣ships which heaven layes upon them. And what do they say think you of that great man Hercules the be∣ginning of whose story you heard before? They tell us that he was beloved of God, and had the highest

place in his favour; nay they call him his son, and say that God committed to him the Government of the World. And yet he was alwayes assaulted with some Monster or other, and God would not suffer his own child (as one of them speaks) to be nursed up in idle∣ness and the delicacies of life. No, he fought with Lyons, and Boars, and Serpents, and Tyrants, and Theeves; and he was appointed to travel into strange lands, to cross dangerous seas, and to go through ter∣rible wildernesses and deserts; And all to testifie the favour of Heaven to him that would thus imploy him. No doubt his Father could have freed him from such conflicts, but he would not; because (as they render the reason) it is not lawful for him to will any thing but that which is best and most excellent. Or he might have freed himself and perhaps some men would have ad∣vised him to flee these dangers, and rather to quit his place then expose his life to so many hazzards. But they knew not the pleasure which he found in his heart, when he remembred that he was thought wor∣thy by God to be singled out to be his Champion; and that Heaven had not an ill opinion of him, nor judged him a weak and effeminate person. It was a strange contentment also to imagine that all these dangers presented themselves only that he might overcome them; and he felt that there was not half so much pains in fighting, as there was pleasure in the very hopes of having the Victory. Nay if he had perished in the encounter, so he had carried Victory out of the World with him, he would have thought himself crowned with an high satisfaction. He would have thought that he dyed more happily then Cowards live; and that it was more glorious thus to end his dayes, then to spin them out basely to the longest Age.

Besides, herein there being so considerable a proof of the sincerity and fidelity of such persons unto God, it cannot but please them very much to reflect upon it. It yields them a great joy to remember that they have his approbation, and that after many fiery tryals, he finds that they are not indued with a counterfeit Ver∣tue. Nay, it is some joy to think that their enemies judge them so considerable, as to raise such mighty forces against them, and fight so many battels with them. They assure them hereby, that they are more in their account, than they could wish. And that power which gave them a shock, but could not shake them, doth demonstrate the solidity of their souls, and the great strength they have to resist such forcible impressions.

I do not know whether it be a tale or no, but I have been told that among other wayes, the Queen of Sheba tryed the wisdom of Solomon, by offering certain Boys and Girles to be distinguisht one from the other by him, when they were put into the very same garb and had been taught the same gestures and carriage of their bodies: And that he calling for some cold water, commanded them all to wash themselves. Into which the youths plunging their hands boldly, and then rubbing their faces very hard; and the others tender∣ly dipping their fingers, and only sleaking their faces over with it; he soon discerned the difference, and separated them according to their sexes. Hardships will make a true proof of the strength and masculine force of our spirits. Prosperity (as a wise man of later times observes) doth best discover Vice, and Adver∣sity makes the best discovery of Vertue. And as the one is not without many fears and distasts; so the

other is not without its hopes and comforts: of which this is not the least, that God thinks us worthy to be the men, in whom he would make an Experiment, what Christian souls are able to suffer. The Vertue of Prospe∣rity is Temperance, and the Vertue of Adversity is Fortitude; which in the account of all the world is the more Heroical of the two, and yields the greatest Triumphs. Nay, He fears not to say, that Prosperity is the blessing of the Old Testament, and Adversity is the blessing of the New, which carries the greater be∣nediction, and the clearer revelation of Gods favour. And therefore do not take that ill, which to such a man as you is a mark of the Divine Love. Be not un∣willing that God should do you an honour, and be∣stow upon you a blessing. Let him have the pleasure of seeing you behave your self gallantly. Deny him not that spectacle which is not to be had in Heaven, and for which he manifested himself in flesh. Let it not repent him of his choice, if he pick out you for some notable Combate. The General appoints the stoutest men for the hardest services. And they do not say. He bears an ill will to us, and owes us a spite; but he hath an high opinion of us, and intends to do us cre∣dit. Do you now issue forth with an heart full of the same thoughts, and take my word you shall never want the noblest pleasures. You will thank God for placing you in the foremost rank of Christian Souldiers. You will praise him for esteeming a poor Pilgrim capable of such atchievements. You will rejoyce to see your self herein preferred before the Angels: For if they can do more than you, yet you can suffer more than they. Nay, you will find your self in the fellowship of the Son of God, who was never so glorious as when he hung upon the Cross; never triumphed so much as

when he seemed to be trampled under feet; and then spoiled principalities and powers, when he was robb'd of all, and lost even life it self.

Notes

• * 1.1

  Max. Tyr. dissert. 20.
• * 1.2

  1 Pet. 4.13, 14.
• * 1.3

  Jam. 5.11.
• * 1.4

  Heb. 12.25, 26.
• * 1.5

  Max. Tyr. diss. 22.