Aphonologos. A dumb speech.: Or, A sermon made, but no sermon preached, at the funerall of the right vertuous Mrs Mary Overman, wife to Mr Thomas Overman the younger. Of the parish, formerly called, Saint Saviours, or vulgarly Mary Overis, in Southwarke. By B. Spencer, minister of Bromley.

Memoriale Sacrum.

To my friends at the Fune∣rall, not at the Sermon.

YOu all had, I Confesse, (deare friends) upon the sad occasi∣on of this Invitation, an un∣denyable Civil Right to this Funerall, not Factious Sermon, falsly so christned by some ill-meaning men, who would give it no other name, be∣fore it went to Church, or the Pulpit, but what a factious Conventicle begat, Which it seemes has this priviledge (unknowne till now) to miscall any thing. And since Innocence never is in greater danger, then when Detracti∣on acts its part against it, be pleased now to see, what would not then be suffered in your hearing, this dumbe Sermon speake, both for it selfe, and your deceased Sister, a choice young

Christian, silenced by death. Whose blessed innocence, hath made her unca∣pable of speaking here, but by a proxie; who being dead, yet speaketh, by her surviving husband, her proximated friend, by Gods appointment. Who, as hee must not be injurious in the least respect, to a deceased loving Wife, (that being wholy inconsistent, with his last dutie to her, to whom he must ever owe a pretious memorie) so must he now publish, to the impar∣tiall world, that she had an unquestio∣nable right, as dying a Christian, to a peacefull buriall. For, as she lived in faith fixt, so she died in the full hope, of a very good Christian. What An∣tichristians then were they that hindred it, I leave for you to judge.

I will therefore crave leave to be at this present what indeed I am, your sorrowfull Historian, yet my historie must be 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, a sad glad relation of this our sister, who is now gathered to her heavenly Father. I have there∣fore first presented you with the Sermon it selfe, which was then supprest, but not obliterated as you may perceive, you need not feare what Faction saith

against it, here's no such infection. The Sermon you shall finde attend the Text, and the occasion onely, and after take its leave of you. So that all the way, till it bring you home, it will entertaine you with no other dis∣course but the livelie Character of a true Christian, dead to the world be∣times. And the example of our de∣ceased friend will doe no lesse. A good, and full account she made of that preti∣ous time God left her here, which you will plainly perceive, both by the re∣joycings she had in her well-spent life, and with firme hopes in earnest of a full assurance of a comfortable death. And withall, have her dying example for your living patterne, which will guide you like wise, how to make up your accompts well, that you may be happie too, when ere you goe hence, and be no more seen; which wee all sooner or later inevtablie must. So that it highly concerns us whilst wee are here, to make good our accompts first, if at last wee would not misse of that happinesse of good Christians. And blessed be God, that of his fullnesse, this our deceased sister did receive grace

for grace; Who driving on towards the marke of her high calling, and aiming at perfection, went on from one degree of grace unto another, till glory came upon her. So that wee doubt not in the least measure of her fullnesse of glo∣ry, whither she is gone.

A Progresse you shall see she had, and that in goodnes, being well acquainted with that truely divine maxime, That not to goe forward is to goe backward, and not to thrive in goodnes, not to be good at all. But she stood not at such an unhappy stay, for I may safely af∣firme, that piety throve with her even from her infancy, humilitie with either, both strove to out-strip each other, neither came to full stature, yet perseverance crowned all. She well knew she must carry her goodnes to the grave, if shee meant to goe to heaven. For without holynes, no hopes of that happinesse, to see the face of God.

Minoritie and Sanctity do not usual∣ly meet, yet here both; we see a young Woman dead to sinne, and ready for death, which is no lesse admirable then rare.

A reason then you see I am ready to

give you of our good hope wee have of this dead Sister, twas such indeed, of which wee need not bee ashamed, no more then she was. So truly lively, that I may confidently say, The just mans, and the just womans hope were here all one. Her end then, must needs be like his. I will therefore first shew you how she led the life of the righte∣ous, and next, how shee dyed the death of the righteous too. And this taske I shall truly performe, if you please to consider with me, First, What she did.

And in this I must beare her witnes, that in all her actions God had her early day, for in them she constanstly looked heaven-ward first, and let religion in. Full oft have I been an eye-witnes with joy, of her constancie in reading, nay and in writing too, some divine tract or other throughout the day, to exercise her hand, as well as heart, and both to God-ward, thereby on earth, to traine her selfe for heaven. And to my know∣ledge, who have perused her pious pa∣pers since her death, both these were daily busied, and piously lifted up, her heart in ejaculalory devotions, and her

hand in devout transcriptions. So that nor here, nor else where neither, is any handwriting against, but for her. Who was so sincerely constant in all her de∣votions, that she seldome, I may say, never, willingly missed her dutie to God in prayer either in closet, Church, or familie. This was her piety to God. And for the prosecution of the dutie or obedience to her Mother, I have veiwed the deep impressions of it long since, & to expresse it, will give it you, in her Mothers owne phrase, as neere as I can, as she was heard to utter this spon∣tancous good testimony of her: This dutifull daughter was alwayes won by love, not feare, and that by a motherly admonition onely, but never did I force her to her duty by a severe correction. So that conclude of her we may justly from these good premises, That the in∣nocence of her nature, made this meek reverence, coupled with love, not feare, in her behaviour to her mother.

Give me leave yet farther, to go with∣in the sphere of mine owne know∣ledge in her due commendations in some other relations. Her love and loyalty to her husband, with whom she

ran a five yeares race, so even, that I may justly say, we were true yoak fel∣lows, and good fellowes well met. Our loves were reciprocall, and equal∣ly swayd us both, till Death dissolv'd this Gordian knot, and left me alone to mourne for this lost Turtle. For though this match on earth, was made in hea∣ven for her, she rested unsatisfied, till she reached heaven to obtaine a better, which will admit of no divorce by death: where marryed now she is, to that eternall Bridegroome of her soule, Christ Jesus. Stay here with her faine I would, but I must leave her to goe on.

This Jewell had more Diamonds which did adorne her, other spirituall graces which were resplendent endow∣ments in her: I will make them trans∣parent.

God had given her that discreet pie∣ty in her deportment, as that she con∣stantly held a respective carriage to∣wards her superiours, a friendly corre∣spondencie towards her equalls, being ever ready to pleasure all, and loth to offend any. A love she bore to her kindred, both naturall, and adopted,

and an innate curtesie to all she knew. Besides, she had Sobriety and Modera∣tion in her selfe, and lastly, Modesty and Humility in the possession of all these. All which deserve our Commemorati∣on, Imitation, and Admiration also: Hereby adorning not her selfe alone, but spreading the pious care of her pa∣rents in her religious education. And thus you see how in all relations, she ran the course of her health constantly well. So that by this time I hope you are resolv'd to say what you see, That she led the life of the righteous, and all good men will be glad thereof.

I shall now draw on my Speech to∣wards her better end, that you may not doubt but that she dyed the death of the righteous too: And indeed her last end was like his, in perfect peace. For having thus wholly dedicated her first fruits of sanctity to God by a pious life, her next studie is to triumph in the assu∣rance of a comfortable death, endea∣vouring thereby to adjoyne her selfe to him, who is become the first fruits of them that sleep: Nothing doubting, but as she was Gods servant on earth,

so to be his Saint in heaven. It should seeme, sicknesse was to this good wo∣man no other then as indeed it is, Deaths elder brother. For, Omnis pas∣sio being Janua lethi, every paine giving to the soule of every Christian, an Item of his mortality, she beganne to thinke with her selfe, what she after∣wards felt by experience, that her Consumption might crack her earthen vessell, and reduce her to her first prin∣ciples. Whereupon shee gave that at∣tention to sicknesse, which sick Heze∣kiah gave to Esaiah, she put her house in order that shee might die, and so composed her selfe wholly in heaven∣ly meditations, the better to prepare her soule for heaven, as well as her bo∣dy for death: Seeming thereby to say, Quo propinquior morti, eo latior: that the neerer she was to her dissolution, the firmer she was in her resolution. Et vicinior coelo, longior à terrâ: the neerer she was to heaven, the far∣ther her thoughts were from the earth.

In her sicknesse, being often asked, How she did? she still answered, Not sick, as if then she would thank God

for being heart-whole. And having laid one hand on her heart, and lifting up the other heaven-ward, said sighing, I am opprest; yet thy grace (Lord from above) gives no roome to sicknesse. Each day was to her a new life; and that daily life but one continued sick∣nesse, ever in a Consumption, and de∣caying daily. Yet had God so sancti∣fied this her tedious visitation, that she did every day promote her owne good by it; in so much that it did ra∣ther improve, then impaire her: for it did not onely draw her nigher to her end, but to God also. So that it seemes this fornace did but refine her from her drosse, and purifie her for God him∣selfe. Death came not to her more sud∣den then expected; not feared, but em∣braced, yea earnestly desired. For being conscious every day, what might befall her ere the next, betaking her selfe at last wholly to her bed, she doth like∣wise to her continuall prayers. Which she ceased not, till her selfe ceased to be. And having now armed her selfe for death, feared no more to goe to her grave, then to her bed, since she was certainly assured, both tended to her

rest. When shee lay downe to sleepe, she thought it her last, knowing then onely she should truly be at rest, when she should be no more here. And ha∣ving obtained the end of her dying pray∣ers, and of her never dying hopes, ha∣ving thus set her house in order for a more durable repaire, sweetly compo∣seth her selfe for death, and falls asleep in peace. When she awakes againe, she will account her life not continued, but restored, which shee was ascertained should be made good to her at the Re∣surrection of the just. And thus our friend sleepeth.

Now blessed be the God of peace, who gave her his peace so abundantly both in life and death. For she being one of Christs disciples whilst she lived, tooke her Masters legacie hee left his Saints on earth to heaven with her. Where shee enjoyes, God the Father of peace, her Redeemer the Prince of peace, his Angels, her fellows, the mes∣sengers of peace, and heaven her inheri∣tance, the place to perfect peace, as well as her. For in the presence of all these must needs be the fullnesse of peace; else in a word we know not what it is, nor what she has. Yet this we know of this

deare Saint our Sister, A peace she had internall and externall too, even whilst she lived here, and they are good fore∣runners of that eternall in the heavens. Where to be sure it concernes them she be at peace, who were the uncivill di∣sturbers of her Funerall Rites, or they might feare thence a suddaine requitall for those disturbances.

However: such is the Saints insupe∣rable happinesse, not to be touch'd with things below. And such is hers. Who though she might not be permitted to goe downe to the earth her Mother in peace, no more then so me of them, yet can she not be hindred from sitting downe in peace with those holy ones in the bosome of her Father which is in heaven. It is enough then that God has plac'd her in so serene a Region, as that she is beyond the sphere of malice, (though not to envie, yet) to reach her blisse, or to molest the quiet of her better part. No wonder then this young sweet Saint hasted thither, whither her early perfections did convey her timely holi∣nesse, being to God most acceptable. Yet did she stay Gods leasure here, and went not hence without his great

Commission, till patience had her full effect in her, and seal'd her up for hea∣ven: Where now her innocence and patience, have captivated death in perfect tryumph. And this may com∣fort us who here remaine behind her, that God in his due time, will silence such who ere they be, who thus like foule-mouth'd earth-wormes, not Chri∣stians, fasten thier teeth, Caniball-like, upon a dead corps.

However yet, such times we live to see, Depart in peace we may, not buried be.

But God forgive them, (I doe) this unseasonable malice to my dearest spousesse, whose death gave life to this Funerall Sermon. Yet you will find, as it is in the naturall, so in this spiritu∣all body; this pious Sermon, it could not quicken, except it selfe dyed first. It did so: for it lay speechlesse, and so dead all this while, and now it lyes in thine owne power, by Gods grace as∣sisting, to let it quicken both it self and us. Nay, let the power of God accom∣pany this power of godlinesse, we need not doubt its fruitfulnesse: but expect

rather a very plentifull harvest, even from those envious men, who pluckt these eares too soon. So farre were they in practise from his precept, who bad them let even the tares grow untill the harvest. So hope we will, and pray we must, that those rude hands who would not let alone a peacefull Ser∣mon, may yet at least reape somthing better by it, then the shamefull fruits of their inhumanities from it. However, here it is, a Treatise I may say able to rectify those spirits of contention and blind zeale which led them thus to violate the dead, even before they could come into their dormitories. And now they have the Sermon in their eyes, and at their hand when ere they please to take it. They cannot say, but that they have it ready, to convey it to their hearts, one way or other, if God have not deny'd, or they refus'd humility, to en∣tertaine it. Else I am sure, it cannot prove to the living a dead letter, but serve to quicken them, as well as bury her, which was intended. The presse must be the Preacher, and as it falls out anticipate the Pulpit. This now, supplies that then. A 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, I

confesse no good decorum here. Yet let it not trouble thee (good reader) in order unto truth, to see it come to light in such disorder. Let this content thee, Truth hath so prevaild, as that it comes at length in greater power. Ready for birth this Sermon was before, yet it has gaind perfe∣ction by staying in the wombe, and here that presseth forth in greater strength which was supprest by some mistaking men, even at the Pulpit. Yet this must I say, had we had the happinesse to have heard it from the Authors lips, wee had met with Chrysostomes lively voice, and golden mouth, in the delivery, which would have mov'd us more, yet writing teacheth more. This giveth thee leasure for thy contemplation, and leave thou hast to bore thine eare and tansack thine owne heart when ere thou wilt. Words spoken, have their wings, 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, though ne∣ver so eloquently or aptlie spoken. And though like apples of gold in pictures of Silver, they doe too neer∣ly resemble those apples of Sodome which turne to nothing with a touch,

and doe too often teach but for one houre: But hee that writeth seemes to teach for ever. By voice we profit those in compasse onely; by penne, those at the greatest distance, yea the yet unborne. Which conside∣ration moved me with so much zeale, though little skill, to penne this Fu∣nerall Oration, in honour of my most beloved Spouse, who though dead, justly bespake this blessed memory of her selfe in the sad heart of her sur∣viving Husband, who hath no better Trophee to erect, worthy so much vertue.

And if in this last duty to my dearest, I seeme a passionate admirer of her, I have reason to appeare so; And you must pardon me to take my leave with some solemnity of that same house wherein did lately dwell that soule, which was indeed the soule of my contentment. And you may well con∣ceive none else knew how to value this jewell so well as did the owner: who must acknowledge it no low∣priz'd happinesse to have enjoyed the society of so sweet a companion. Yet if you thinke I glory too much in this

particular, I must tell you, as concerning my selfe, I doe not glory, but in the Crosse of Christ, who was pleased to take from me this crowne of my rejoy∣cing upon earth. But I must remem∣ber my selfe, and not dwell too long in this kind of speech. Onely thus I leave her, the joy of my life is gone be∣fore, and I must be patient till I can follow after.

You all see by this time, That as Sampson did with honey, so have I all this while done with my speech of this blessed woman, imparted some of her spirituall endowments, that you also might have a taste of her heavenly consolations.

And now to you, my loving friends, will I addresse my speech: Yet first, present you with the Sermon: Ye had had it sooner, had the learned Author enjoy'd his wonted health, to have transcrib'd a Copie. It is now at last in your possession, you have had it long enough in expectation, and you deserve it now. You travelled for it first, since thirsted for it, and now at last tis come home to you, to make amends for your lost journey then. I cannot be so inhu∣mane

to the dead, nor yet so injurious to the living, as to defraud either of their due. Nor shall it ere be said, I engrossed that to my selfe, which did so truly belong unto you all. You all did honour me (I thank you) to follow the body of my deare Bed-fellow with solemnity to her bed of rest; But see what happened, (to my grea∣ter griefe I speake it, for it added much to my affliction then) you were dismist without your spirituall banquet. Unci∣vill men dispoyled you of your Feast, and having fasted from it ever since, you needs must have it now: And here it is. Fall to it when you please. I doe perswade my selfe, you came so well resolved, as that you meant to profit by the dead, why should I fru∣strate this chiefe end of yours? I need not, others did, who promised well, but ill performd it. They spake of peace, yet would not let it follow her to the grave.

If to excuse themselves, they aske, What profit is a Sermon to the dead?

I must answer, it is the businesse of the living, who were by them de∣frauded of this excellent Sermon:

wherein the Prophet Ezechiels dead and dry bones are gathered together to a happy Resurrection, Death it selfe en∣livened by the pious Authors eloquence, into a profitable life: By whose skilfull guidance thou mayst be instructed so to live, that thou shalt never dye; and so to dye, that thou shalt live for ever. What kind of Adders then were those, who did not onely stoppe their owne, but others eares, against the voyce of this wise Charmer here? Who, how injuriously he was accused, upon suspi∣cion for this Sermon, has by the pub∣lication of it, made you judges, and the world besides.

And now high time it is to cloze with you, (deare Mother) and to re∣move my foot a little from this house of sorrow, at least from the depth of it, to comfort you. And you will give me leave to say after the story of so much goodnesse eminent in our depart∣ed friend, wee have something to re∣joyce in, in the midst of all our teares, that she both lived and dyed so exem∣plarily well.

It hath pleased God indeed, to call you and me in a more especiall manner

to the house of mourning. A sad truth, if wee consult with flesh and blood onely. God hath of late depri∣ved us of a very neere relation to each of us; You, of an obedient daughter in her youth; Me, of a bosome friend too soone. Both these were deare rela∣tions in our affections, which having had a Benjamins portion in our love, must needs have the same proportion in our sorrow for her losse. I can no more forget my wife, then you your daughter. I must acknowledge, the separation of an obedient daughter from an indulgent mother, to be cause sufficient of lamentation: yet you will pardon me if I say that I have more. If you consider us in those sacred bonds wherein heaven had joyned us, where I met with so much mutuall conversa∣tion and affection, with such an union, that as living I could not over-love, so neither now over-grieve the separation. The tribute of my teares must needs be larger then, who beare a larger share in the same losse.

But we will not vie teares in this sad contention, but rather strive to beare our selves as Christian Mourners,

Not so full of teares, as hope. She dyed in hope, let us mourne too, as for our Freind who is but gone before to that place of joy, whither we hope, to follow her in Gods due time. Hee onely make us ready as she was, and then wee shall not need to feare our Masters call, how soone or late, so∣ever. So shall not death over-master us, but we shall conquer it, through him that tooke away its hurtfull sting. And let us now remember, all teares are wiped from her eyes, why should ours then, stand full of teares for her? If all her sorrowes be fallen asleepe and buried in the grave, Why should ours live too passionatly to bemoane her? Let us not then drop a teare more here, but rather lend each other both our hands to helpe us beare this weighty crosse betweene us. I must confesse, no crosses doe so much affect us as those which teare away the things wee dearliest love, and when the cheife object of our affections is taken from us, a generall lamentation followes it through all the powers both of soule and body. We cannot suffer it to be divided from us without

abundance of teares. I neede not ap∣plie it.

Yet must I give my Soule this con∣solation for the losse, (If I doe not so miscall the blessed death) of my deare Spouse, she is not dead, but sleepeth, And if no more. I may thinke further, Worldly occasions have many nights separated our bodies, when the next morning has rejoyned us; and it is but one night, one short night of this dull life she shall be from me, when the morning of glory shall ap∣peare, wee shall appear together. And since this comfort of my life could not here stay with me, this comfort is my stay of life, that a little time of patience will bring mee to her.

And for you (deare Mother) the Argument is as good: you may mourn excessively, as David did for Absalom; Yet you must expect a loab to chide you for it. So much the more, in that David had more cause to bewaile his Absolom, then you, your Mary, hee knew not how God would deale with that rebellious Sonne, but you cannot doubt but he has dealt well with

your obedient daughter.

My advice therefore to you, shall be no other then this in briefe, neither too much to remember, nor altogether to forget so good a daughter. Could she not have dyed, it had been worthy of wonder, not at all that she is dead.

I might save you, and my selfe this quere, Whether we loved her, whom we lately have forgone? and could we love her, and not wish her happie? Could she be happie, and not die? God gave you this daughter as a gift, and me this wife, and hee hath againe taken her as his due, may hee not doe with his Theodosia, his owne gift, as hee pleases? It was Iobs saying in the midst of all his losses, The Lord gi∣veth, and the Lord taketh away, bles∣sed be the Name of the Lord.

In all afflictions, we must consider, both what we have lost, and what we have left, and blesse God in every losse that we have lost no more, having so many things to be deprived of.

Tis some comfort in calamity not to be altogether miserable. And it is as much as we can expect whilst we are here, to part with our earthly happinesse

by degrees, tis but a kindlie passage to those eternall ones above: which will sufficiently recompence all our losses here below.

This must be the consideration which in this, and the like occasions must satisfy both you and me.

For any other satisfaction, we must not expect. Nor must the deniall of that Christian solemnity, which was designed for her more honourable in∣terment afflict or trouble us, we know the times, and men. And if we looke abroad, we shall behold great, noble, farnous persons, thrust into their graves with lesser ceremony. And we must not thinke much to sympathize a little with the disquiet of the times.

And if yet any be so censorious, to look upon this speech, or that Sermon with an ill aspect, in respect that it is now made publicke; It suffices me that I have hereby given my cheife freinds their owne content, which is my duty. For sure I am, they were sufficiently discontented with what befell at the Funerall. And I have hereby decently interred my deare Wife, (having no e∣ther way left me to performe it) as be∣came

the last duty of an affectionate Husband. For till now, she was bu∣ried in silence, whom no man can blame me if I perpetually speake of, as well as continually remember. And I must further professe, that both the Preacher, and my selfe, have modestly and truly deciphered her proper Cha∣racter, as became her by the law of Christianity to be reported of.

If now all this vertue and good∣nesse make thee (whoever thou art that readest) presse forward to the same practise, Thou wilt suffici∣ently justifie the justnesse of this true, though ceremonious commen∣dation.

And you my freinds, as you will acknowledge, that I have thus but paid the honour I owed to her beloved ashes: So you will confesse your selves honoured, by the interests and relations you once had, to so deserving a Saint; And for her sake, retaine with love, the antient respects and freindship, to her, lately beloved Husband, and still, your freind, and Servant,

THO: OVERMAN.

FINIS.