Deo Amicisque  
Amor  
Innocentia  
Prudentia  
Resolves Divine, Moral Political by Owin Felltham  Hor. ser. lib. jᵒ. His ego Comodius, quam tu praeclare Senator millibus atque aliis Vivo. 
London Printed for Henry Seile  
LEX  
EVAN●  
FIDES    

TO THE MOST VIRTUOUS, DISCREET, AND Noble; the Lady DOROTHY CRANE, daughter to the right Honourable, and Religious, the Lord HOBART.  
MADAM,  
IF ever Resolutions were needful, I think they be in this Age of looseness; wherein, 'twere some unhappiness to be good, did not the Consciousness of her own worth, set virtue firm, against all disheartenings. This makes her of so specious a glory, that though she need not the applause of any, to add to her happiness; yet she attracts the hearts of all that know her, to Love, Service, Admiraration. That I have sacred this offertory of my thoughts to your Ladyship, this is reason enough; if not, your Love to my dearest friend, may second it. To apparel any more in these paper vestments, I should multiply impertinents; and perhaps displease. For I have ever found facecommendation to dye Wisdom's cheek of a blush-colour. Discreet Nature is always modest, and deserving best, loves least to hear on't. This only I will truly add: that I know not the thing of that value, should make me shrine up a work of this nature, to any, in whom I could observe, the possibility of a fail in Virtue. Such a Dedication were to put Virtue to a Stepdame, that would not nurse, but stifle her. With your Goodness, I am sure, she shall find the tenderness of a maternal love. And if in these weak extractions, your judicious eye light you to aught, increasing that affection (all by-respects put away) my next Petition will be: that it may please you to command  
Your immutable servant, OWE. FELTHAM.   

TO THE PERUSER.  
TO begin with Apologies, and entreat a kind Gensure, were to disparage the Work, and beg partiality: equal with Ostentation I rank them both. If thou be'st wise, pleasing words cannot blind thy judgement from discerning errors, wheresoever they appear. If thou be'st foolish, they can neither blanche thy folly, nor make thee think better, than thy indiscretion leads thee to. Requests from others, may sway our words, or actions; but our minds will have their own free thoughts, as they apprehend the thing. Internal judgement is not easily perverted. In what thou shalt here meet with, use the freedom of thy native opinion: Et Lectorem, et Correctorem liberum volui. I shall ever profess myself his debtor, that greets me with reprehensions of Love.. The noblest part of a friend, is an honest boldness in the noting of errors. He that tells me a fault, aiming at my good; I must think him wise and faithful: wise, in spying that which I see not: faithful, in a plain admonishment, not tainted with flattery. That I have made it public, I plead not the importunity of friends: that were to play at Hazzard for folly, if it prove not. I writ it without encouragement from another; and as I writ it, I send it abroad. Rare, I know it is not: Honest, I am sure it is: Though thou findest not to admire, thou mayst to like. What I aim at in it, I confess, hath most respect to myself; That I might out of my own School take a lesson, should serve me for my whole Pilgrimage: and if I should wander from these rests, that my own Items might set me in heavens direct way again. We do not so readily run into crimes, that from our own mouth have had sentence of Condemnation. Yet, as no Physician can be so abstemious, as to follow strictly all his own prescriptions: So I think there is no Christian so much his minds master, as to keep precisely all his resolutions. They may better show what he would be, than what he is. Nature hath too slow afoot, to follow Religion close at the heel. Who can expect, our dull flesh should wing it with the flights of the soul? He is not a good man that lives perfect; but he that lives as well as he can, and as humane frailties will let him. He that thus far strives not, never began to be virtuous; nor knows he those transcending joys, that continually feast in the noble-minded man. All the external pleasures that mortality is capable of, can never enkindle a flame, that shall so bravely warm the soul, as the love of virtue, & the certain knowledge of the rule we have over our own wild passions. That I might curb those, I have writ these: and if in them, thou findest a line may mend thee; I shall think I have divulged it to purpose. Read all, and use thy mind's liberty; how thy suffrage falls, I weigh not: For it was not writ so much to please others, as to profit myself.  
Farewell.   


Ad Librum:  
— Quid miser egi?  
Quid volui? Dices.    

RESOLVES: DIVINE, MORAL, POLITICAL.  

I.  
IDLE books are nothing else, but corrupted tales in Ink and Paper: or indeed Vice sent abroad with a Licence: which makes him that reads them, conscious of a double injury: they being in effect, like that bestial sin of brutish Adultery. For if one reads, two are catched: he that angel's in these waters, is sure to strike the Torpedo, that in stead of being his food, confounds him. Besides the time il spent in them, a twofold reason shall make me refrain: both in regard of my love to my own soul, & pity unto his that made them. For if I be corrupted by them, the Comprisor of them is mediately a cause of my ill: and at the day of Reckoning (though now dead) must give an account for't, because I am corrupted by his bad example which he leaves behind him; So I become guilty by receiving, and he by thus conveying this lewdness unto me: He is the thief, I the reciever; and what difference makes our Law betwixt them? If one be cut off, the other dies; both I am sure perish alike. I will write none, lest I hurt them that come after me. I will read none, lest I augment his mulct that is gone before me: neither write, nor read, lest I prove a foe to myself. A lame hand is better than a lewd pen: while I live, I sin too much; let me not continue longer in wickedness, than life. If I write aught, it shall be both on a good subject, and from a deliberated pen: for a foolish sentence dropped upon paper, sets folly on a Hill, and is a monument, to make infamy eternal.   

II.  
The humble man is the surest Peacemaker: of all moral virtues, Humility is the most beautiful; she both shuns Honour, and is the way to it: she rocks Debate asleep, and keeps peace waking, nay, doth foster, doth cherish her: which is well expressed in a pretty story of two goats, that met at once, on a very narrow Bridge, under which there glided a deep, and violent stream: being both met, the straightness gave denial to their journey; get back they could not, the plank was too narrow, for their returning turn: stand still they might, but that could neither be continual, nor to purpose: and to fight for the way in so perilous a place, was either to put a wilful period to their lives, or extremely hazard them. That they may therefore both pass in safety, the one lies down, & th' other goes over him: so while their passage is quiet, their lives are secure, from death, from danger. I have ever thought it idle to continue in strife; if I get the victory, it satisfies my mind, but then, shall I have his malice too, which may endamage me more: so my gain will be less than my hindrance: If I be overcome unwillingly, them is the disgrace mine, and the loss: and though I have not his malice, yet shall I not want his scorn. I will (in things not weighty) submit freely: The purest gold is most ductible: 'tis commonly a good blade that bends well. If I expect disadvantage, or misdoubt the Conquest, I think it good wisdom, to give in soon; so shall it be more honour to do that willingly, which with stiffness I cannot but hazard upon compulsion. I had rather be accounted too much humble, than esteemed a little proud: the Reed is better that bends, and is whole; then the strong Oak, that not bending, breaks: If I must have one, give me an inconvenience, not a mischief: the lightest burden, is the easiest borne.   

III.  
To make a perfect man, there is requisite both Religion & Nature. Nature alone we know too loose: religion alone will seem too hard; some for Religion have I known formal, strict; yet have so wanted the pleasing parts of a good nature, as they have been feared, but not loved: for being of a fiery spirit, even slender occasions have made way to the divulging of their own imperfections: either by too severe a reprehension, or else by too soon sudden Contempt: both which make much for the harbouring of hate against themselves, by making them esteemed either rash Censurers, or angry proud ones: and we all know, that as judgement is never shot suddenly but from a fool's bow; so blind Choler broke into expression, is the true mark of an intemperate mind; others there yet rest, whom it tickles much to chatter of their own merits, and they cannot lay an egg, but they must cackle, or like the boasting PHARISEE, trumpet out the report of their own praises: if not out of an affected singularity, and an overweening opinion of their own excellence; yet for lack of an humble and discreet nature, that should cause their observation be busied at home. And this is that makes the world disdain, contemn them: self commendation is an arrow with too many feathers: which, we levelling at the mark, is taken with the wind, and carried quite from it. Some again for nature, I have found rarely qualified: ennobled with such a mild affability, such a generous spirit, and such sweetness of disposition, and demeanour, that their humble & courteous carriage have prevailed much in the affection of those with whom they have had commerce: yet because they have wanted Religion (that like a good subject should make an elaborate work rare) they have, only in a superficial applause, won the approbation of the unsteady multitude: who love them more for suffering their rudeness, then for any noble worth, that's obvious to their undiscerning judgements. But in all this they have got no reverence, no respect at all. Thus Religion without Nature (in men merely natural) begets a certain form of awful regard: but to them 'tis like a tyrannical Prince, whom the people obey more for fear of an austere rebuke, then for any true affection, they bear to his person. Now Nature without Religion oft wins love: and this is like a Master too familiar with his servant: that in the beginning gains love, but shall in the end find contempt: and his toleration will be made an allowance of ill. Both together are rare for qualification. Nature hath in herself treasure enough to please a man; Religion a Christian: the last begets fear, the other love, together admiration, reverence. I will like, I will love them single; but conjoined, I will affect and honour.   

FOUR  
I find, to him that the tale is told, belief only makes the difference betwixt a truth, and lies: for a lie believed, is true: and truth uncredited, a lie; unless he can carry his probation in's pocket, or more readily at his tongues end: for as he that tells a smooth lie, is judged to speak truth, till some step forth to contradict his utterance: so he that tells an unlikely truth, is thought to broach a lie, unless he can produce convincing reason to prove it; only the guilt, or justice of the thing rests in the knowing conscience of the Relator. In the hearer I cannot count it a fault: 'tis easy to be deceived in miracles, in probabilities: albeit the judgement that passeth on them, be both honest, wise, apprehensive, and clear. In the teller justly; if it be a lie, there needs no text to confute it; if it seem so, and he cannot purge it, discretion were better silent. I will tell no lies, lest I be false to myself: no improbable truths, lest I seem so to others; If I hear any man report wonders, what I know, I may haply speak; what I but think, shall rest with myself; I may aswell be too suspicious, as over credulous.   

V.  
Three things are there which aggravate a misery, and make an evil feeme greater than indeed it is. Inexpectation, Vnacquaintance, want of Preparation. Inexpectation, when a mishap comes suddenly, and unlooked for: it distracteth the mind, and scares both the faculties and affections from their due consultation of remedy: whereas an evil foreseen is half cured, because it giveth warning to provide for danger. Thus the falling of a house is more perilous, than the rising of a flood: for, while of the former, the hurt is more unavoidable, by reason both of the violence, and precipitation: The latter, through the remissness of coming, is less dangerous, less prejudicial; there being time, either to avoid the place, or to countermure. If this suffice not, think but how odious treason would show in a dear friend, from whom we only expected the sweet embraces of love: the conceit only is able to kill, like a mad Dogg's biting, that not only wounds the body, but insaniates the soul. Secondly, Vnacquaintance. Familiarity takes away fear, when matters not usual, prove inductions to terror. The first time the Fox saw the Lion, he feared him as death: the second, he feared him, but not so much: the third time he grew more bold, and passed by him without quaking. The Imbellicke peasant, when he comes first to the field, shakes at the report of a Musket: but after he hath ranged thorough the fury of two or three Battles, he then can fearless stand a breach; and dares, undaunted, gaze death in the face. Thirdly, want of preparation. When the enemy besiegeth a City, not prepared for War, there is small hope of evasion, none at all to conquer, none to overcome. How much more hard is the winter to the Grasshopper, than the Pismire, who before, having stored her Garner, is now able to withstand a famine? Lest then, I make my death seem more terrible to me, than indeed it is; I will first daily expect it: that when it comes, I may not be to seek to entertain it: if not with joy, as being but flesh: yet without sorrow, as having a soul. Secondly, I will labour to be acquainted with it, often before it come, thinking it may come: so when I know it better, I shall better sustain it: with less fear, without terror. Thirdly, I will prepare for it, by casting up my accounts with God, that all things even and straight betwixt us, whensoever he shall please to call for me, I may as willingly lay down my life, as leave a prison. Thus shall I make my death less dreadful, and finish my life before I die. He that dies daily, seldom dies dijectedly.   

VI  
A good beginning have I often seen conclude ill. Sin in the bud is fair, sweet, pleasing: but the fruit is death, horror, hell. Something will I respect in my way, most in my Conclusion: in the one, to prevent all wilful errors; in the other, to insure a Crown. For as judgement hath relation to the manner of dying; so hath death dependence on the course of living. Yet the good end hath no bad beginning; it once had. A good consequence makes the premises so esteemed of, and a sweet relish at the leaving off, makes the draught delightful, that at the first did taste unpleasant. That is well that ends well: and better is a bad beginning that concludes well, than a prosperous onset that ends in complaint. What if my beginning hath been ill? sorrow's overblown, are pleasant; that which hath been hard to suffer, is sweet to remember. I will not much care what my beginning be, so my end be happy. If my Sun set in the new jerusalem, I have lived well, however afflictions have sometimes clouded my course.   

VII.  
Extreme longings in a Christian, I seldom see succeed well: surely God means so to temper his, as he would not have their affections violent, in the search of a temporal blessing: or else he knows our frailty such, as we would be more taken with the fruition of a benefit, than the Author. Prosperities are strong pleaders for sin: Troubles be the surest Tutors of goodness. How many would have died ill, if they had lived merrily? GOD hath several ways to reduce his to his own orders, among which, I am persuaded none is more powerful, than restraint of our wills. It sends the soul to meditation, whereby she sees the world's follies in such true colours of vanity, that no sound discretion can think them worth the doting on: and though our discontentments so transport us, as we see not the good we reap by a Deprivation: yet sure we are happier by this want: for we are all like women with Child, if we had the things we long for; how soon should we eat and surfeit? When nature finds her ardent desires fulfilled, she is ravenous, and greedy; yea than she hath so little moderation, as 'tis not safe to satisfy her. If I can, I will never extremely covet: so though I meet with a Cross, it shall neither distemper, nor distract me: but if my desires outstrip my intention, I will comfort myself with this, that the enjoyment might have added to my content, and endangered my soul: but the want shall in the end be a means to embetter them both. God's Saints shall with joy subscribe to his will: though here for a time it may seem to thwart them.   

VIII.  
A worthy Act hath he done, that hath learned to refrain his tongue: and surely much evil hath he prevented, if he knows when to be well silent. unkindnesses breed not so many jars, as the multiplying of words that follow them. How soon would these coals dye, if the tongue did not enkindle them? Repentance often follows speaking; silence either seldom, or never: for while our words are many, sin is in some, in most. Go to the Crane, thou Babbler, read her story, and let her inform thee: who flying out of Sicily, puts little stones in her mouth, lest by her own garrulity, she bewray herself as a prey to the Eagles of the mountain Taurus: which with this policy, she flies over in safety: even silence every where is a safe safeguard: if by it, I offend, I am sure I offend without a witness: while an unruly tongue may procure my ruin, and prove as a sword to cut the third of my life in two: 'tis good always to speak well, & in season: and is it not as safe sometimes to say nothing? he that speaks little, may mend it soon: and though he speaks most faults, yet he exceeds not, for his words were few. To speak too much, betrays folly; too little, an unperceiving stupidity: I will so speak, as I may be free from babbling garrulity: so be silent, as my Spectators may not account me blockishly dull. Silence and speech are both as they are used, either tokens of Indiscretion, or badges of Wisdom.   

IX.  
'Tis a hard thing among men of inferior rank, to speak to an earthly Prince: no King keeps a Court so open, as to give admittance to all comers: and though they have, they are not sure to speed; albeit there be nothing that should make their petitions not grantable. Oh how happy, how privileged is then a Christian? who though he often lives here in a slight esteem, yet can he freely confer with the King of Heaven, who not only hears his entreaties, but delights in his requests, invites him to come, and promiseth a happy welcome; which he shows in fulfilling his desires, or better, fitter for him. In respect of whom, the greatest Monarch is more base, than the basest vassal in regard of the most mighty and puissant Emperor. Man cannot so much exceed a beast, as God doth him: what if I be not known to the Nimrods' of the world, and the Peers of the earth? I can speak to their better, to their Master; and by prayer be familiar with him: importunity does not anger him; neither cananything but our sins make us go away empty; while the game is playing, there is much difference between the King and the Pawn: that once ended, they are both shuffled into the bag together: akd who can say whether was most happy, save only the King had many checks, while the little Pawn was free, and secure? My comfort is, my access to heaven is as free as the Princes; my departure from earth not so grievous: for while the world smiles on him, I am sure I have less reason to love it then he. God's favour I will chiefly seek for; man's, but as it falls in the way to it: when it proves a hindrance, I hate to be loved.   

X.  
The virtuous man is a true wonder: for it is not from himself, that he is so. But that I see so many wicked, I marvel not. 'Tis easier running down the hill, then climbing it. They that are this way given, have much the advantage of them, that follow goodness. Besides those inclinations that sway the soul to vice, the way is broader, and more ready: he that walks through a large field, hath only a narrow path, to guide him right in the way: but on either side, what a wide room he hath to wander in? Every virtue hath two vices, that close her up in curious limits: and if she swerves, though but a little, she suddenly steps into error. Fortitude hath Fear, and Rashness: Liberality, Avarice, and Prodigality: justice hath Rigour, and Partiality. Thus every good mistress, hath two bad servants: which hath made some to define virtue, to be nothing, but a mean between two vices, whereof one leads to excess, the other to defect: making her like the roof of a Church, on whose top, we scarce find room to turn a foot in: but on either side, a broad road to ruin: in which, if we once be falling, our stay is rare, our recovery a miracle. The man that is rare in vice, I will never admire: if he goes but as he is driven, he may soon be witty in evil: but the good man, I will worthily magnify: he it is can sail against the wind, make the thorny way pleasant, and unintangle the incumcumbrances of the world.   

XI.  
What sin is there, that we may account or little, or venial, unless comparatively? seeing there is none so small, but that (without repentance) is able to sink the soul in eternal Damnation? Who will think that a slight wound, which gives a sudden Inlet to Death? But should we grant this error, yet these of all other, I observe the most dangerous, both for their frequency, and secrecy; the one increasing them to a large heap, the other so covering them, as we see not how they wrong us: The rain that falls in smallest drops, moistens the earth, makes it mire, slimy, and dirt: whereas a hard shower, that descends violently, washeth away, but soaks not in. Even the smallest letters are more hurtful to the sight, than those that are written with a text pen. Great sins, and public, I will avoid for their scandal & wonder: lesser & private, for their danger, and multitude: both, because my God hates them. I cannot, if I love him, but abhor, what he loathes.   

XII.  
Memory and forgetfulness, are both in friendship necessary. Let me remember those kindnesses my friend hath done to me, that I may see his love, and learn gratitude. Let me forget those benefits I have performed to him, lest they shuffle out the effect of my love, and tell me he is requited. Thus may we together increase our friendship, and comforts: otherwise, a man may have many acquaintances, but no friends; though unthankfulness banisheth love, Gratitude obtains a repealement.   

XIII.  
I observe, besides the inward Contents of a peaceable conscience, two things, wherein a Christian excels all other men. In true Valour: In Fidelity. In true Valour; that is, in a just quarrel: for if his cause be naught, there is none more timorous than he; and indeed to show much Courage, in a bad matter, is rather a token of desperate folly, than any badge of a magnanimous mind; but in a just cause, he is bold as a Lyon. Nothing can daunt his ever undaunted mind. Not Infamy, for he knows in this, his share is not worse than his Masters; & while it is for his name's sake; he knows he is in it, blessed. If there be any Nectar in this life, 'tis in sorrows we endure for goodness. Besides, he weighs not how he falls to the world, and men; so he may stand firm, to his heavenly Father. That God we fight for, is able enough to vindicate all our wrongs. Not afflictions; how many did job, and the Apostles wade through with Courage, with Content? These he knows are here but for a time, transient, and momentany; neither shall the Israelites live always, under the tyranny of Pharaoh, or the travels of the Wilderness: He knows also, the more abundant in sorrows here, the more abundant in joys hereafter; His tears shall return in smiles, his weep in a stream of pleasures. God doth not recompense with a niggardly hand; he shall find his joys as an overflowing Sea; and his glory beyond thought, exuberant. Not Death; for he knows, that will be his happiest day; and his bridge, from woe, to glory. Though it be the wicked man's shipwreck, 'tis the good man's putting into harbour: where striking sails, and casting Anchor, he returns his lading with advantage, to the owner; that is, his soul to God; leaving the bulk still moored in the Haven; who is unrigged, but only to be new built again, and fitted for an eternal voyage. Had not Christians had this solace; how should the Martyrs have died so merrily, leaping for joy, that they were so near their home, and their heaven? dying often like Samson among his enemies, more victory attending their end, then proceedings. Ah peerless Valiance! unconquerable Fortitude! Secondly, in Fidelity. There is no friendship like the friendship of Faith. Nature, Education, Benefits, cannot all together, tie so strong as this. Christianity knits more sure, more indissoluble. This makes a knot, that Alexander cannot cut. For as grace in herself, is far above nature; so likewise is she, in her effects: and therefore unites, in a far more durable bond. And a Christian, though he would resolve with himself, to deal double; yet if he be sincere, in spite of his resolution, his conscience will rate him, check him, and deny him to do it; nay, though he would, he cannot resolve. He that is borne of God, sins not; and the Spirit of sanctification will not let him resolve upon ill. This is that Fidelity that we find, and admire in many, that have chosen rather to embrace the flame, & dye in silence, then to reveal their Companions, and Brethren in Christ. Tyrant's shall sooner want invention for torments, than they with tortures be made treacherous. The League that heaven hath made, hell wants power to break. Who can separate the conjunctions of the Deity? Again, as well in reproof, as in kindness, doth his love appear. For howsoever he conceals his friends faults, from the eye of the world; yet he affectionately tells him of them, in private: not without some sorrow on his own part, for his brother's fall. He scorns to be so base as to flatter: and he hates to be so currish as to bite. In his reprehensions, he mingles Oil and Vinegar: he is in them, plain, and loving. Inviolable amity! Invaluable love! here is met Courage and Constancy; one to withstand an Enemy, an other to entertain a friend. Give me any foe, rather than a resolved Christian: no friend, unless a man truly honest. A father is a ready treasury; a brother an infallible comfort; but a friend is both.   

XIIII.  
I will in all losses, look both to what I have lost, and to what I have left. To what I have lost: that if it may be, and be good, I may recover it: if not, that I may know what I have forgone. To what I have left: that if it be much, I may be thankful, that I lost no more, having so much, that I might have been deprived of: if little, that I may not repine; because I have yet something: if nothing but my life, that I may then be glad: because that will be the next thing I shall lose. Which whensoever it happens will with double joy recompense all the rest. God's presence is abundant plenty: having that, I know nor want, nor loss, nor admission of ill.   

XV.  
A man that would establish a troubled government, must first vanquish all his foes. Factious heads, must be higher by a Pole then their bodies. For how will the Folds be quiet, while yet among them, there be some Wolves? He that would rule over many, must fight with many, and conquer: and be sure, either to cut off those that raise up tumults: or by a Majestic awe, to keep them in a strict subjection. Slackness, and connivance, are the ruins of unsettled Kingdoms. My passions, and affections are the chief disturbers of my Civil State: What peace can I expect within me, while these Rebels rest unovercome? If they get a head, my Kingdom is divided, so it cannot stand. Separations are the wounds of a Crown; whereby (neglected) it will bleed to death. Them will I strive to subdue. If I cut them not off, I will yet restrain them. 'Tis no cruelty, to deny a Traitor liberty. I will have them be my Subjects, not my Prince: they shall serve me, and I will sway them. If it cannot be without much striving; I am content with a hard combat, that I may have a happy reign. 'Tis better I endure a short skirmish, than a long siege: having once won the field, I will hope to keep it.   

XVI.  
Death to a righteous man, whether it cometh soon, or late, is the beginning of joy, and the end of sorrow. I will not much care, whether my life be long, or short. If short; the fewer my days be, the less shall be my misery, the sooner shall I be happy. But if my years be many, that my head wax grey, even the long expectation of my happiness, shall make my joy more welcome.   

XVII.  
'Twas anciently said, that whatsoever good work a man doth with labour, the labour vanisheth, but the good remains with him that wrought it. And whatsoever evil thing he doth with pleasure, the pleasure flies, but the evil still resteth with the Actor of it: goodness making labour sweet; evil turning pleasure to a burden. I will not care how laborious, but how honest; not how pleasurable, but how good my actions be. If it could be, let me be good without pleasure; rather then lewd, with much joy. For though my good bee at first tedious; I am sure in time it will yield me content: whereas the evil that now is delightful, cannot but prove a woe to my soul. The sweetest liquor, is not always the most wholesome. The Limon is more tart, yet excelleth the Orange, that delighteth the taste: poison may a while seem pleasant, and a weak stomach think a Cordial fulsome.   

XVIII.  
What if I were the world's chief Favourite? endowed with the choicest ornaments her Treasury could afford me, adorned with beauty, embellished with a fair proportion, in policy subtle, in alliance great, in revenue large, in knowledge rich, famed with honour, and honoured with attendants; and to all these, had adjoined the prolonged years of Methusalah, yet if I wanted grace to use these graces right, they would all turn to my greater disgrace and confusion. Good parts employed ill, are weapons, that being meant for our own defence, we madly turn their edges, and wound ourselves: they might make me fair in show, but in substance more polluted: they would be but as a saddle of gold to the back of a galled horse; adorn me, they might, better me they could not. Grace only can make a man truly happy: what she affordeth, can content sufficiently; and with ease furnish the vast rooms of the mind: without her, all are nothing; with her, even the smallest is true sufficiency: how fully can she be rich, in the penury of these outward royalties? something indeed they add to her ornament, but 'tis from her, that they assume their goodness. For though heaven hath made them so in their own nature, yet is it from her that they prove so to me. Do we not oftener find them, lights to blind us, then to direct us? I will never think myself nearer heaven, for having so much of earth. A weak house with a heavy roof is most in danger. He that gets heaven, hath plenty enough; though the earth scorns to allow him any thing: he that fails of that, is truly miserable; though she give him all she hath. Heaven without earth is perfect. Earth without Heaven, is but a little more cheerly hell. Who have been more splendent in these external flourishes, then Heathen? but in the other, 'tis the Christian only can challenge a felicity. Having these, I might win applause with men; but the other wanting, I shall never gain approbation with God. And what will all their allowance avail, when the Earth's Creator shall judge and Condemn? 'tis a poor relief in misery, to be only thought well of, by those that cannot help me.   

XIX.  
Is not man born to trouble, as the sparks fly upward? is not his time short, and miserable, his days few, and evil? What madness then were it in me, to hope for a freedom from sorrows, or to think myself exempt from the common appointment of the most High? It hath been censured as frenzy, to undertake to expel nature; what shall I think it, to hope to frustrate the designment of the Lord of Nature? Humanity, and misery, are always parallels: sometimes individuals: and therefore when we would put sorrow in an Emblem, we paint him a man. If I have but few Crosses, I will truly then account myself favoured: if I have many, and be sometimes free, I'll think I escape well, being so untoward. If I have nothing but troubles; yet may I not complain: because my sin hath deserved more, than here I can be able to suffer. Had I but a being, though full of woe, yet were I beholding to God for it. His very least, and meanest gift, exceedeth much, even all, my best desert. I do infinitely want, how to merit a permission to live.   

XX.  
To have every man speak well of me, is impossible: because howsoever I carry myself, some Cynic will bark at my course. Who can scape the lash of Censure? If I should be vicious, and profuse, I should be loved of some; but not the best, not the good. If I should Chameleon-like, change myself to every object, if I were not extraordinarily wary, I might soon counterfeit some man's humour false, and that would bane my drift. For both to Virtue, and to Vice, is Flattery a false glass, making the one seem greater, the other less than it is: and if it lights on a noble discretion, it is ever so unhappy, as to beget the ruin of itself. But I imagine I could do it with such exactness, that even the eye of Lyncaeus could not espy it: yet when one should commend me for one thing, and another for the contrary; what would the world think of me, that could thus in one, be hot, and cold? should I not be censured as a Tymorist? Yes surely, and that justly: neither could it but be just with God, at last to unmask my Flattery, and unrip my folly, in the view of the multitude. Private sins are punished with a public shame. A supposed honest man found lewd, is hated as a grown Monster, discovered by the blab of Time. Sin is a concealed fire, that even in darkness will so work, as to bewray itself. If I live virtuously, and with piety, the world will hate me, as a Separatist: and my Reputation will be traduced, by the Ignominious aspersion of malevolent tongues. To be good, is now thought too near a way to contempt: That which the Ancients admired, we laugh at. A good honest man is a fool. What then? shall ay, to please a man, displease a Christian? I had rather live hated for goodness, then be loved for Vice. He does better that pleaseth one good man, than he that contents a thousand bad ones. I would, if it could be, please all: yet I would win their loves with honesty: otherwise, let their hate wound me, rather than their love embrace. What care I for his friendship, that affected not virtue? having his hate, he may hurt me outwardly: but enjoying his love, I will justly suspect my soul of some ill. For if his affection be toward me, 'tis sure because he sees something in me, that pleaseth himself: but while he sees every thing unlike him; how is't possible I should be beloved of him? since diversities breed nothing but disunion: and sweet Congruity is the mother of Love..   

XXI.  
Who admires not the Wisdom of Demosthenes, in the answer he returned to Corinthian Lais? [Poenitere tanti non emo.] Certainly, had he not known it from a self experience, 'tis not possible a Heathen should have spoke so divinely. All our dishonest actions, are but earnests laid down for grief. Vice is an infallible forerunner of wretchedness. Let the Worldling tell me, if he finds it not true, that all his warrantable aberrations, wherein he hath dilatedly tumbled himself, end at last, either in anguish, or confusion; Sin on the best condition, brings repentance: but for sin without repentance, is provided hell. 'Tis not folly, but madness, even the highest, that makes a man buy his vexation. I will force myself to want that willingly, which I cannot enjoy without future distaste. Though the Wasp falls into the honey, that after drowns her: yet the Bee chooseth rather, to go to the Flower in the field, where she may lad her thighs securely, and with leisure; then to come to the shop of the Apothecary, where she gets more, but makes her life hazardable.   

XXII.  
Works without faith, are like a Salamander without fire, or a fish without water: In which, though there may seem to be some quick actions of life, and symptoms of agility: yet they are indeed, but forerunners of their end, and the very presages of death. Faith again without Works, is like a bird without wings: who, though she may hop with her companions here upon earth; yet if she lives till the world ends, she'll never fly to heaven. But when both are joined together, then doth the soul mount up to the Hill of eternal Rest: these can bravely raise her to her first height: yea carry her beyond it; taking away both the will, that did betray her: and the possibility that might. The former without the latter, is selfecoozenage: the last without the former, is mere hypocrisy: together, the excellency of Religion. Faith is the Rock, while every good action is as a stone laid; one the Foundation; the other the structure. The Foundation without the walls, is of slender value: the building without a Basis, cannot stand. They are so inseparable, as their conjunction makes them good. Chiefly will I labour for a sure Foundation, Saving Faith: and equally will I seek for strong walls, Good Works. For as man judgeth the house by the edifice, more than by the Foundation: so, not according to his Faith, but according to his Works, shall God judge man.   

XXIII.  
'Tis a rare thing to see a rich man religious; we are told, that his way is difficult: and not many mighty are chosen. For while the earth allows them such joys, 'tis their heaven; and they look for no other: Their pleasures are sufficient unto them, both for honour, solace, and wealth: who wonders to see them careless of the better, when they dote upon the worse? neither the mind, nor affection, can be seriously divided at once. Again, even low Commons whom they think meanly of, are higher often in virtues of the mind; are dearer unto God than they: & shall sit in heaven above them. Are there not many servants, that in life have born the burden now crowned with unending joys, while their masters are either in a lower degree glorious, or excluded that celestial society? I dare make it a part of my faith; yet avouch myself no Heretic. Even in meanest things GOD shows his mighty power: Impossibilities are the best advancers of his Glory. For what we least believe can be done, we most admire being done. Yet in this observe the mercy of God, that though the Worldling hath not piety in his thoughts, yet God gives him all these good things that he hath no right to: albeit by his own ill, he, like envy, extracts evil out of good; so they prove in the end, nothing but paper pillars and painted fruit. Let all men bless God for what they enjoy: they that have wealth, for their riches: I will praise him, that he hath kept them from me. I have now what is good for me: and when my time comes, my joy shall abound.   

XXIIII.  
A virtuous man shining in the purity of a righteous life, is a Lighthouse set by the Seaside, whereby the Mariners both sail aright, and avoid danger: But he that lives in noted sins, is a false lantern, which shipwracks those that trust him. The virtuous man by his good carriage wins more to godliness, and is the occasion of much good, yea it may be, so long as the Moon renews: For his righteousness dies not with him: those good examples which he lived in, and those pious works which he leaves behind him, are imitated and followed of others, both remaining and succeeding. So they are conveyed from one generation to another: and he, next God, is a primary cause of a great deal of the good they achieve. So we cannot but grant, that while here his memory wears out, his glory in a better world augments daily: either by his good precedents, his pious institutions, his charitable deeds, or his godly works; each of which with God's blessing, are able to kindle some heat in the cold zeal of posterity. Examples are the best and most lasting lectures; virtue the best example. Happy man that hath done these things in sincerity; Time shall not outlive his worth: He lives truly after death, whose pious actions are his pillars of remembrance: though his flesh moulders to dross in the grave, yet is his happiness in a perpetual growth: no day but adds some grains to his heap of glory. Good works are seeds, that after sowing return us a continual harvest. A man lives more renowned by some glorious deeds, than ever did that Carian, by his Mausolean monument. On the contrary, what a woeful course hath he run, that hath lived lewdly, and dies without repentance? his example infects others, and they spread it abroad to more; like a man that dies on the plague, he leaves the infection to a whole City: So that even the sins of thousands, he must give an account for. What can we think of such as have been the inventors of unlawful games, and callings that are now in use? sure they have much to answer for, that thus have occasioned so much ill: yea better had it been, they had not been at all, then being, to be loaden with the sins of so many. Miserable man! that when thy own burden is insupportable, thou yet causest others to add to thy weight; as if thou wouldst be sure desperately to make thy rising irrecoverable: are the waters of thy own sins so low, that thou must have streams from every place, to run into thy Ocean? Who can without a shower of tears, think on thy deplorable state, or without mourning, meditate thy sad condition? Oh! Let me so live, as my life may be beneficial, not hurtful to other. Let my glory increase, when my life is done: I am sure, satiety in heaven, is not capable of either complaint, or discontent: but as for spoiling others, by my own confusion, sin: I should think death a fair prevention. I love not that life which makes death eternal. I have sin enough of my own, to sigh, and sorrow, and mourn for: I need not make others mine by my own bad actions. A little of this is too too much; yea, he hath enough, that hath none; he hath too much, that hath any at all.   

XXV.  
He deserves not commendation, that for being commended grows proud: every good thing, a good man speaks of me, shall, like the blast of a trumpet in war, incite and encourage me, to a closer pursuit of more nobler virtue: not like Bucephalus trappings, blow me up in a higher conceit of overprizing my own weakness: So while some speak well, let my deeds exceed their tongue. I had rather men should see more than they expect, then look for more than they shall find.   

XXVI.  
When a man hath the project of a course in his mind, 'tis good wisdom to resolve of secrecy, till the time his intent be fulfilled: neither can he but be foolish, that brags much, either of what he will do, or of what he shall have: For if what he speaks of, falls not out accordingly, than will the world mock him with derision and scorn: and oftentimes his liberal tongue, may be occasion of some ones sudden intercepting his aim: divulged intentions seldom proceed well: multitudes make a jar in businesses; their opinions, or Counsels either distract judgement, or divert resolution: But howsoever, if what we boasted of cometh to pass, yet shall we be reputed vainglorious, boasters, unwise. Brags lift up expectation so high, that she overthinkes the birth: and many times, the child which indeed is fair, we think not so, because we were possessed with hopes of finding it rare. Secrecy is a necessary part of policy: things untold, are yet undone: then to say nothing, there is not a less labour. I observe, the Figtree whose fruit is most pleasant, blooms not at all: whereas the Sallow that hath glorious palms, is continually found Barren. I would first be so wise, as to be my own Councillor: next, so secret, as to be my own Council-keeper.   

XXVII.  
Some men read Authors as our Gentlemen use flowers, only for delight and smell; to please their fancy, and refine their tongue. Others like the Bee, extract only the honey, the wholesome precepts, and this alone they bear away, leaving the rest, as little worth, of small value. In reading I will care for both; though for the last, most: the one serves to instruct the mind; the other fits her to tell what she hath learned: pity it is, they should be divided: he that hath worth in him, and cannot express it, is a chest keeping a rich jewel, and the key lost. Concealing goodness, is vice; virtue is better by being communicated. A good style, with wholesome matter, is a fair woman with a virtuous soul, which attracts the eyes of all; The good man thinks chastely, and loves her beauty, for her virtue; which he still thinks more fair, for dwelling in so fair an outside. The vicious man hath lustful thoughts; and he would for her beauty, fain destroy her virtue: but coming to solicit his purpose, finds such divine lectures, from her Angel's tongue, and those delivered with so sweet a pleasing modesty, that he thinks virtue is dissecting her soul to him, to ravish man with a beauty which he dreamed not of. So he could now curse himself, for desiring that lewdly, which he hath learned since, only to admire, and reverence: Thus he goes away better, that came with an intent to be worse. Acquaint phrases on a good subject, are baits to make an ill man virtuous: how many vile men seeking these, have found themselves Convertites? I may refine my speech without harm: but I will endeavour more to reform my life. 'Tis a good grace both of Oratory, or the Pen, to speak, or write proper: but that is the best work, where the Graces, and the Muses meet.   

XXVIII.  
We see in the Moon a threefold condition, her Wane, her Increase, her Full: all which, I lively see resembled in a Christian, three causes working them: Sin, Repentance, Faith. Sin; which after the act, when he once considers, it makes him like the Moon in her Wane, or state of Decrement, obscuring, and diminishing that glorious light of the spirit, which whilom shined so brightly in him: nay, sometimes as the Moon in her latest state of Diminution, he seems quite gone, resting for a time like a man in a trance, like a tree in Winter, or as fire buried in concealing Embers, without either sense, or show, of either light, or heat. But than comes Repentance, and casts water in his face, bedews him with tears, rubs up his benumbed soul; that there is to be seen some tokens, both of life, and Recovery: This makes him spring, causes him to begin to bud again, unburies his lost light, and by little and little, recollects his decayed strength of the apprehension of God's Spirit: so sets him in the way to joy, and renewed courses. But lastly, Faith appears, and perfects what Repentance began, and could not finish: she cheers up his drooping hopes, brings him again to his wont solace, spreads out his leaves, blows up his fainting fire to a bright flame: makes him like the Moon in her full glory, endues him with a plenteous fruition of the presence of the Almighty, and never leaves him, till he be resettled in his full joy, contentment, happiness. Thus while he sins, he is a Decressant; when he reputes, a Crescent; when his faith shines clear, at full. Yet in all these, while he lives here, he is subject to change: sometime like a Beacon on a Hill, he is seen a far off, and to all: sometime like a Candle in a house, nearer hand, and only to his familiars: sometimes like a Lamp under a bushel, he is obscured to all; yet in all he burns: though in some, insensibly: and is never without one sound consolation, in the worst of all these: for as the Moon when she is least visible, is a Moon as well, as when we see her in her full proportion; only the Sun looks not on her with so full an aspect, and she reflects no more, than she receives from him: So a Christian in his lowest ebb of sorrow, is the Child of God, as well, as when he is in his greatest flow of comfort, only the Sun of Righteousness darts not the beams of his love so plentifully, and he shows no more, than God gives him. When God hides his face, man must languish: his with-drawing, are our miseries: his presence, our unfailing joy.. Sin may cast me in a trance, it cannot slay me: it may bury my heat, for a time, it cannot extinguish it: it may make me in the wane, it cannot change my being: it may accuse, it shall not condemn: Though GOD deprive me of his presence for a time, he will one day re-inlighten me, polish me, and crown me for ever: where the Moon of my inconstant joy shall change to a Sun, and that Sun shall never set, beclouded, or eclipsed.   

XXIX.  
In expenses I would be neither pinching, nor prodigal: yet if my means allow it not, rather thought too sparing, than a little profuse: 'tis no disgrace to make my ability my Compass of sail, and line to walk by. I see what I may do; others but what I do: they look to what I spend, as they think me able; I must look to what my estate will bear: nor can it be safe, to strain it at all: 'tis fit I should respect my own ability, before their forward expectation. He that when he should not, spends too much, shall when he would not, have too little to spend. 'Twas a witty reason of Diogenes, why he asked a halfpenny of the thrifty man, and a pound of the prodigal; the first, he said, might give him often, but the other e'er long, would have none to give. Yet say I had to dispend freely; as to be too near having enough, I esteem sordid: so to spend superfluously, though I have abundance, I account one of follies deepest oversights. There is better use to be made of our talents, then to cast them away in waste: God gave us them, not to spend vainly, but to employ, for profit, for gain.   

XXX.  
As the Needle in a Dial removed from his point, never leaves his quivering motion, till it settles itself in the just place it always stands in: So fares it with a Christian in this world; nothing can so charm him, but he will still mind his Saviour: all that put him out of the quest of Heaven, are but disturbances. Though the pleasures, profits, and honours of this life, may sometime shuffle him out of his usual course; yet he wavers up and down in trouble, runs to and fro like Quicksilver, and is never quiet within, till he returns to his wont life, and inward happiness: there he sets down his rest, in a sweet, unperceived, inward content: which though unseen to others, he esteems more, than all that the world calls by the name of felicity: they are to him, as May-games to a Prince; fitter for children, than the Royalty of a Crown. It shall not more grieve me, to live in a continued sorrow, than it shall joy me, to find a secret perturbation in the world's choicest solaces. If I find my joy in them, without unquietness, that will prove a burdensome mirth: For finding my affections settle to them without resistance, I cannot but distrust myself, of trusting them too much. A full delight in earthly things, argues a neglect of heavenly. I can hardly think him honest, that loves a Harlot for her bravery, more than his Wife, for her virtues. But while an inward distaste shows me these Cates unsavoury, if my joy be uncompleat in these terrene felicities, my inward unsettledness in them, shall make my content both sufficient, and full.   

XXXI.  
Strange is the enchantment that the world works on us, when she smiles, and looks merrily: 'tis justly matter of amazement, for a man to grow rich, and retain a mind un-altered: yet are not all men changed alike, though all in something admit variation. The Spider kills the man, that cures the Ape. Fortune's effects are variable, as the natures she works upon: some, while their baskets grow more full, their minds are higher, and rise: they now know not those friends, that were lately their companions: but as a Tyrant among his Subjects, grows haughty, and proud: so they, among their familiars scorn, and contemn: spurning those with arrogant disdain, which but of late, they thought as worthy as themselves, or better: high fortunes are the way to high minds: pride is usually the child of riches. Contempt. too often sits in the seat with Honour. Who have we known so imperious in Offices, as the man that was borne to beggary? As these rise, so some fall: and that which should satiate their desire, increaseth it: which is ever accompanied with this unhappiness, that it will never be satisfied: this makes them base, by being wealthier: profit (though with drudgery) they hug with close arms. All vices debase man, but this makes a Master a slave to his servant, a drudge to his slave; and him that GOD set over all, this puts under all. Pitiful! that man when good things are present, should search for ill: that he should so care for riches, as if they were his own: yet so use them, as if they were another's: that when he might be happy, in spending them, will be miserable in keeping them: and had rather dying, leave wealth to his enemies, then being alive, relieve his friends. Thus as one aspires, the other descends: both extremes, and justly unblamable. If my estate rise not, I hope my mind will be what it is, not Ambitious, nor Avaricious. But if ever the Divine providence shall, beyond either my desert, or expectation, bless me, I will think, to grow proud, is but to rise, to fall: and to prove covetous, only to possess wealth, that the nobler minds may hate, and scorn me. For what is there they esteem more sordid, then for a man's mind to be his money's Mercenary?   

XXXII.  
A weak Christians life, is almost nothing but a Vicissitude of sin, and sorrow. First, he sins, and then he laments his folly: like a negligent schoolboy, he displeaseth his master; and then beseecheth his remission with tears. Our own coruptions are diseases incurable: while we live, they will break out upon us; we may correct them, we cannot destroy them: they are like the feathers in a fowl, cut them they will come again: break them, they will come again: pluck them out, yet they will come again: only kill the bird, and they grow no more. While blood is in our veins, sin is in our nature; since I cannot avoid it, I will learn to lament it: And if through my offences, my joy be made obscure, and vanish: that sorrow shall new beget my joy; not because I have been sinful, but because, for sin, I find myself sorrowful. All other sorrows are either foolish, fruitless, or beget more: only this dark entry, leads the way to the fair Court of happiness. God is more merciful in giving repentance to the Delinquent, then in granting remission to the Repentant: He hath promised pardon to the Penitent, no Repentance to the Peccant.   

XXXIII.  
In choosing friends there be two sorts of men, that I would for ever avoid: For besides the learning of their vices, I dare not trust them with a secret. There is the Angry man, and the Drunkard: The first in his fit is merely mad, he speaks not a word by reason, but by brutish passion: not upon premeditated terms, but whatsoever his memory on the sudden catches, his violent passion driveth out, be it known, or hidden: so oft in a brawl he blabs out that, which being cooled, he much reputes to have named: committing that in his sparkling fury, which his appeased soul will tremble to think of. Anger is the fever of the soul, which makes the tongue talk idle: it puts a man into a tumult, that he cannot hear what Counsel speaks: 'tis a raging Sea, a troubled water, that cannot be wholesome for the use of any: and if it be true which Hypocrates tells, that those diseases are the most dangerous, that alter the habit of the patient's countenance: this must needs be most perilous, that voice, colour, countenance, pace, so changeth, as if fury dispossessing reason, had set a new Garrison in the Citadel of man. This he knew that gave us that precept, Make not friendship with an angry man. The other hath no memory at all: For the abundance of wine, hath drowned up that noble Recorder: and while Bacchus is his chief god, Apollo never keeps him company: Friends and foes, familiars, and strangers are then all of equal esteem: so he forgetfully speaks of that in his cups, which if he were sober, should be buried in silence. First he speaks he knows not what, nor after, can he remember what that was he spoke. He speaks that he should forget, and forgets that, which he did speak. Drunkenness is the funeral of all intelligible man, whom only time and abstinence can resuscitate. A Drunkard's mind and stomach are alike; neither can retain, what they receive. I would be loath to admit of a familiar so infectious as either; more unwilling to reveal myself to any so open. What friend soever I make choice of, I will be sure he shall have these two properties, Mildness, Temperance: otherwise 'tis better to want companions, then to be annoyed with either a madman, or fool. Clitus was slain by a Drunken Master: The Thessalonians massacred by an angry Emperor: and the deaths of of either, lamented by the Agents.   

XXXIIII.  
I see, liberty makes licentious, and where the reins are given too loosely, the affections run wildly on, without a guide, to ruin: For man's will without discretion, that should add limits, is like a blind horse, without a bridle, that should guide him aright: he may go fast, but runs to his own overthrow, and while he mends his pace, he hastens to his own mischief. Nothing makes us more wretched, than our own uncontrolled wills. A loose will fulfilled, is the way to work out a woe. For besides this folly in beginning wrong, the greatest danger is in continuance: when like a Bowl running down a hill, he is ever most violent, when he grows nearest his Centre & period of his aim. These follies are prettily shadowed in the sports of Actaeon, that while he suffered his eye to rove at pleasure, and beyond the pale of expedience, his Hounds, even his own affections, cease him, tear him, prove his decay. Let it be my vigilance to curb my beginning desires, that they may not wander beyond moderation; if my own will be a blind conductor, good precepts to an ingenious nature, are bits that restrain, but hurt not. I know, to follow a soothing fancy, cannot be but ridiculously ill: and this inconvenience beside have I seen; That he which may do more than is fit, will in time do more than is lawful. He that now exceeds the measure, will ere long exceed the manner. Vice is a Peripatetic, always in Progression.   

XXXV.  
Even between two faithful friends, I think it not convenient that all secrets should be imparted: neither is it the part of a friend, to fish out that, which were better concealed. yet I observe some, of such insinuating dispositions, that there is nothing in their friend's heart, that they would not themselues know with him; and this, if I may speak freely, I count as a fault. For many times by too far urging, they wring blood, from whence only milk should flow: knowing that by their importunity, which not only breeds a dislike in them to hear, but also when their conference is ended, begetes a repenting sorrow in him that told it: and makes him wish, he had locked up his lips in silence, rather than have poured out his heart with such indiscretion. How many have bewailed the untimely disclosures of their tongue? how many have screwed out secrets, that would have given thousands to have returned them unknown? If I have a friend that I care not to lose, I will never engage myself so much, as to be beholding to him to know all. If I have one that is faithful, I will not wrong him so much, as to wrest that from him, should cause him be sorrowful. If he reveals aught un-urged, my advice is faithful, and free: otherwise, to press out a secret that may prove prejudicial, I esteem as the beginning of the breach of Amity, and the primary breeder of a secret dislike.   

XXXVI.  
We know 'tis sometimes better to sound a retreat, & so retire, then 'tis to stay in the field, and conquer: because it may so fall out, that the prize we win, cannot countervail the loss, that by this War we shall sustain: so like the foolish Mariner, that seeing a Fish in the Sea, leaps into water to catch that, which together with his life he loseth. We often lose an eternal Kingdom, for the gain of toys, and vanities. Who is there that hazards not his soul, for the pleasures, or the profits of sin? which when they have, what have they got, but shadows, or vexations? The wealthy man is like a powder-master, who hath provision against an enemy, but is ever in danger of being blown up. As for pleasure, 'tis at best but a hilded vessel; which though it please the palate for a cup or two; yet the Lees are at hand, and they mar it: a little disturbance turns it into distaste. What a fool were I to cast away my soul on such transitory trifles? which when I have, I am neither sure to enjoy, nor to find commodious: what I cannot keep without danger, I will never earnestly seek: to lose a Crown of gold, for a counterfeit, is more than a childish fondness. I had better sit still, and be quiet in peace, then rise to conquer a petty Village, when my loss is a large City.   

XXXVII.  
Christ healed diseases three manner of ways; with means, as the Leper in the eighth of Matthew: without means, as the ten Lepers in the seventeenth of Luke: against means, as the man borne blind, in the ninth of john. I will look to means as being more ordinary, more revealed: but if my blind eye sees not that present succour, my fear is not more, nor my grief. 'Tis as easy to God to work without means, as with them: and against them, as by either: 'Tis all one to him, Be clean, or Go wash. Yea, though every argument concludes danger, let not my hopes fail me yet, his omnipotency is beyond that feeble stay of the soul: nor yet will I so depend on his will hidden, as I neglect to practise his will revealed. For as to disregard his appointed means, is a supreme contempt: so to depend too much on things unsearchable, is rather a badge of rash presuming, than any notable courage of faith. I must look to my way, and let him alone in his.   

XXXVIII.  
'Tis a Capital misery for a man to be at once both old, and Ignorant. If he were only old, and had some knowledge, he might abate the tediousness of decrepit age, by the divine raptures of Contemplation. If he were young, though he knew nothing, yet his years would serve him, to labour, and learn: whereby in the Winter of his time, he might beguile the weariness of his pillow and chair. But now his body being withered by the stealing length of his days, and his limbs wholly disabled, for either motion, or exercise: these together with a mind unfurnished of those contenting speculations of admired Science, cannot but delineate the pourtraicture of a man wretched. A grey head with a wise mind, is a treasury of grave Precepts, experience, & judgement. But foolish old age, is a barren Vine in Autumn: or an University to study folly in: every action is a pattern of infirmity: while his body sits still, he knows not how to find his mind action: and tell me if there be any life, more irksome than idleness. I have numbered yet but a few days; and those I know, I have neglected. I am not sure they shall be more, nor can I promise my head, it shall have a snowy hair. What then? Knowledge is not hurtful, but helps a good mind: any thing that is laudable, I desire to learn. If I die tomorrow, my life to day shall be somewhat the sweeter for knowledge: and if my day prove a Summer one, it shall not be amiss, to have provided something, that in the evening of my Age, may make my mind my Companion. Notable was the answer that Antisthenes gave, when he was asked what fruit he had reaped of all his studies? By them, saith he, I have learned, both to live, and to talk with myself.   

XXXIX.  
There is a twofold way to honour: Direct, when God calls: Indirect, when man seeks it, without the Lords warrant. David went the first, and his Crown departed not from his head, till nature had paid her debt, and his life dissolved: And when he is gone, his Issue succeeds him. Absalon went the other, but his sins pulled him down with vengeance; and only a dumb pillar speaks his memory. God cannot endure the aspiring spirit, that would climb the hill of preferment, without his leave. thieves of honour, seldom find joy in their purchases, stability, never. Besides, I observe the man that is fit for a place of note, never seeks it so much, as he is sought for, for it: whereas ever the Bramble, that is low, and worthless, cries out aloud, Make me a King: 'tis incident to a weak mind, to overvalue itself. How many would be Magistrates, that know not how to be men? Moses objects much, when God himself imposeth a charge: For a man of understanding knows, that 'tis better to live in the Valley, where the times tempests blow over him: then to have his seat on the Mountain's top, where every blast threatens both his ruin, and fall: howsoever others measure him, he knows his own height; and will not exceed it. Yet being placed by an Almighty hand, he that set him there, can keep him secure. But he must then beware, that he makes not that his King, that should he his Subject: that he gives not the reins, where he should uselthe check: and that he plays not the Ape too much, either by too idle imitation, or by doting too fond, on his darling Honour. Thus cautelous, may he live safe: When he that reacheth promotion without Gods calling him, may flourish awhile, but not thrive. In ascents, those are the safest, that are broadest, and least sudden, and where the light is open: how soon is a fall caught in those stairs that are dark, narrow, & quickly rising? I will as well look to the way, as the thing: There is no path to happy preferment, but that which virtue treads: which was well noted by the Heathen, when they built the Temple of honour so, that none could enter it, but they must first pass through that of virtue. I had rather live honestly, though meanly: then by unlawful practices usurp a Crow ne.   

XL.  
Nothing more disworthes a man, than Cowardice, and a base fear of danger: the smooth way it makes difficult, the difficult inaccessible. The Coward is an unfinished man; or else one which nature made less than others: If ever he did any thing well, fortune was his guide, not wisdom. His fear in him begets delay, and delay breeds that he fears, danger: the soldier that dares not fight, affords the Enemy too much advantage for his preparement; both for directing his soldiers, plotting his Stratagems, strengthening his files, ordering his Camp, or doing any thing may turn disadvantage upon his foe: when as the valorous warrior gives most discomfiture, in his sodainest onset, where he takes away the time for fortification. If it be by speech a man is to act his part, fear puts an ague in his tongue, and often leaves him, either in an amazed distraction, or quite elingued. For the too serious apprehension of a possible shame, makes him forget that, should help him a 'gainst it: I mean a plain boldness, bequeathing a dilated freedom to all his faculties, and senses: which now with a cold fear, are frozen and congealed. If not this, out of an unmeasured care to do well, it drives a man into affectation: and that like misshapen apparel, spoils the beauty of a well limbed body: For nature will not endure the rack; when you set her too high, she proves untuneable, and in stead of a sweet close, yields a crack: she ever goes best in her own free pace: I will neither stay her solong, as to meet delay: nor run her so far, as to do aught affectedly. I had rather be confidently bold, then foolishly timorous; he that in every thing fears to do well, will at length do ill in all.   

XLI.  
Many have much lamented the loss of trifles, when they might have gained by such damages, had they not with them, lost themselves: I mean, their quiet minds, and patience. Unwise so to debar themselves of rest, when their vexation cannot yield them profit; if tears could either recover a loss, or recall time, then to weep, were but to purpose; but things past, though with prudence they may be corrected, yet with greatest grief, they cannot be recalled: make them better we may, but for to make them not to be at all, requires more than a humane strength, or a finite power. Actions once done, admit a correction, not a nullity. Although I will endeavour to amend what is gone by amiss, yet will I labour, never to grieve for any thing past, but sin: and for that always. A small loss shall never trouble me: neither shall the greatest hindrance, make my heart not mine own. He spoke well that said, He which hath himself, hath lost nothing.   

XLII.  
Some men are of so noble, and free a disposition, that you cannot being a friend, ask aught, to receive a denial: it being one part of their happiness, to pleasure the man they love. Yet these in the end, and these times, are the only unhappy men. For being exhausted by the necessities of others, and their base working on a free nature; an unwelcome want, at once undoes them, and the goodness of their disposition. pity such willing courtesies should be cast away in such ungrateful ground; that like an unbottomed Gulf, swallows, but returns not: or that a man's firm love should make him do that, should kill himself in future. Contrary to these, you have another sort are fast, and holding: and though sometimes they might pleasure a friend, without a self prejudice: yet their inbred crabbedness reserves all, with a close hand. And while the other ruins with a fair affection; he thrives with a vulgar hate, and curses; such as the first, are best to others: such as the last, to themselves. I will so serve others, as I injure not myself: so myself, as I may help other.   

XLIII.  
As there is no feat of Activity so difficult, but being once done, a man ventures on it more freely the second time: so there is no sin at first so hateful, but being once committed willingly, a man is made more prone for a reiteration. For there is more desire of a known pleasure, then of that which only our ears have heard report of. The horse that hath fed on provender, will look and long for it: but the jade that hath only had hey, expects no more than his rack. So far is ignorance good, that in a calm, it keeps the mind from distraction; and knowledge, as it breeds desire in all things, so in sin. Bootless therefore shall ever be that cunning fetch of Satan, when he would induce me once to make a trial of sin, that I might thereby know more, and be able to fill up my mouth with discourse, my mind with fruition; bearing me in hand, I may at my pleasure give it the hand of parting, and a final farewell. Too often (alas) have I been deceived with this beguiling persuasion, of a power to leave, and a will to return at my will. Henceforth shall my care be to refrain from once. If I grant that, stronger persuasions will plead for a second action: 'tis easier to deny a guest at first, then to turn him out, having stayed a while. Thou knowest not, senseless man, what joys thou losest, when thou fond lashest into new offences. The world cannot repurchase thee, thy pristine integrity: thou hast hereby lost such hold of grace, as thou wilt never again be able to recover. A mind not conscious of any foul enormities, is a fair temple in a dirty street: at whose door, Sin, like a throng of rude plebeians, knocks incessantly: while the door is shut, 'tis easi to keep it so, and them out▪ open that, but to let in one, thousands will rush in after him, and their tramplings will for ever soil that unstained floor, while thy conscience is unspotted, thou hast that can make the smile upon the rack, and flames; 'tis like Homer's Nepenthe, that can banish the sadness of the mind. But when thou woundest that, thou buriest thy joys at once: and throwest a jewel from thee is richer than the wealth of worlds. Fool that thou art, that wand'ring in a dark wilderness, dost wilfully put out thy candle; and thinkest cold water can slake thy thirst, in the burning fit of an Ague; when it only breeds in thee a desire to pour in more. He that never tasted the pleasures of sin, longs less, after those baneful discontenting contents. What sweets of sin I know not, I desire still to be unexperienced in. I had rather not know, then by knowledge be miserable. This Ignorance will teach me Knowledge, of an unknown peace. Let me rather be outwardly maimed, and want discourse: then be furnished of that, and possess a wound, that bleedeth within.   

XLIV.  
'Tis foolish, and savours not of common policy, to purchase friends by large gifts: because having once used them to rewards, they will still expect more: and custom that pleaseth, is seldom omitted, without either discontent, or danger. If then our love's tokens shall seem to diminish, friendship likewise will decrease: and if not quite consume, yet easily be drawn to allow harbour to base disrespect: which what a thorn it is to an affectionate mind, I desire rather to know by judicious observation, then by real experience: but sure I am, it no way can be small: yet most true must it needs be, that friendship won by large gifts, resembles but the straw fire; that having matter to feed upon, burns brightly: but let new fuel be neglected; it dies, consumes, and quite goes out. Nor further can this amity be ever approved, or sure, or sincere. For he that loves me for my gifts sake, loves my gifts, above myself: and if I should happen to light on adversity; I should not find him then to appear: there being no hope of a gainful requital. If I give any thing, it shall be because he is my friend: not because I would have him so: not so much that I may have his love; but that already, he hath mine. I will use them sometimes to continue friendship, never to begin it. I do not hold him worthy thanks, that professeth me a kindness for his own ends.   

XLV.  
Nothing more saddens the soul of a good man, than the serious apprehension of a just shame. If it were false, his own clearness would be a shield strong enough, to repel the darts of slander. For man is never miserable, till Conscience turns his enemy. If it were but the loss of riches, there were a possibility of a recovery: if of friends, he might find more, or content himself with the knowledge of their happiness, in that glorious Mansion of the Saints: if of corporal anguish, a quiet mind might mitigate his pains, or industry with time, take a truce with sorrows: but this misery is immedicable. Credit once lost, is like water so diffusively spilt, that 'tis not in humanity to recollect it. If it be, it hath lost the purity, and will for ever after, be full of soil: and by how much his honesty was more noted; by so much will his shame be more, and his grief. For see what a horror he hath before him; all will be now ready to brand him with the odious, and stigmatical name of an Hypocrite. His Reputation (which though it be not dearer than his soul, yet he prizeth above his life) will be blacked with an eternal stain: which nor absence, time, endeavour, nor Death can wash away. If he lives, and could in himself forget it: yet the envious world will keep it upon record: and when he minds it not, rub it on his galled soul. If he could fly from his Country, that would like a Bloodhound follow him: if he dies, that will survive him, and make his very grave contemptible: nay, so far will it spread, as somewhat to infect his friends: and though haply in himself he may be bettered, by so rash a fall: yet the cruel, and uncharitable world will ever think him worse. In this I dare not follow it: in doing that may cause this, I hope I shall not. I will first strive to be void of the act might bring shame, next, not to cast it in the dish of the penitent. If my sufferings be unjust, I am sure in the end I shall find them comfortable. If God hath pleased to remit offences, why should I commemorate them? A good life is a fortress against shame: and a good man's shame, is his benefit: the one keeps it away; the other when it comes, makes it prove profitable.   

XLVI.  
The will for the deed, is oft with God accepted: and he that is a thankful Debtor, restores a benefit. Many benefits, nay, all I possess, O Lord, from thee I know I have received: requite them I cannot, return them I may not, and to rest ingrateful, were a sin inexcusable. Since than I cannot retaliate thy love, or retribute thy favours: yet Lord will I owe them, with a desire to pay.   

XLVII.  
There is not any thing eats out friendship, sooner than concealed grudges. Though reason at first produceth opinion, yet opinion after, seduceth Reason. Conceits of unkindness harboured and believed, will work even a steady love, to hatred. And therefore, reserved dispositions, as they are the best keepers of secrets: so they are the worst increasers of love. Between friends it cannot be, but discourtesies will appear: though not intended, by a willing act, yet so taken by a wrong suspect: which smothered in silence, increase daily, to a greater distaste: but revealed once, in a friendly manner, oft meet with that satisfaction, which doth in the disclosure banish them. Sometimes ill tongues, by false tales, sow Discord between two lovers. Sometimes mistakes, set the mind in a false belief. Sometimes jealousies, that flow from love, imprint suspicion in the thoughts. All which may find ease in the uttering: so their discovery be in mildness; otherwise, choler casts a mist before the eyes of the mind, and when it might see clearly, will not let it. If between my friend, and myself, a private thought of unkindness arise; I will presently tell it, and be reconciled: if he be clear, I shall like him the better when I see his integrity: if faulty, confession gains my pardon, and binds me to love him: and though we should in the discussion jar a little, yet will I be sure to part friendly. Fire almost quenched, and laid abroad, dies presently: put together, it will burn the better. Every such breach as this, will unite affection faster: a little shaking prefers the growth of the tree.   

XLVIII.  
I have sometimes wished myself in some high seat of honour: with what folly, I have after seen, and been displeased, with myself, with my desires: so unbefitting wisdom, so dissonant from Christianity. For what can a high place confer unto me, that can make my life more truly happy? if it adds to my joys, it increaseth my fear; if it augments my pleasure, my care is more, and my trouble. But perhaps I shall have reverence, wear rich apparel, and fare deliciously: alas! cold flames, wet raiment. Have I not known some enjoying all, and never found other fruit, but envy, beggary, and disease? so have in the end, wished to change, for lower Honours, for meaner dignities, accounting themselves as the flag, on the top of a ship-mast, as more high, and more visible; so more, and ever open, to the wind, and storms: being as a worthy judge once answered one, that gave him his title of Honour: True, Honourable servants: to post through the toils of a circuit, and think on any man's business but their own. Ah Tissue cover, to a straw Cushion! But I shall have more means, so shall I do the more good: I grant; but may I not do as much good, with less means? 'Tis a question who shall have more reward, of him that does most in quantity, or most according to the proportion of his means; If Christ may be admitted as arbitrator, the poor Widow gave more, than all the rich ones. I fear, if I had more, I should spend more in waste: sure I am, I should have more to answer for. Besides, who knows what a change wealth might work in me? what a snare hath it proved to many, that like the Sun, have in the morning of their time, mounted themselves to the highest pitch of perspicuity, and brightness? which when they have once attained, they decline, fall, vanish, & are gone; leaving nothing behind them, but dark night, black reputation. If not this, what can I tell, but that I might gather like a sponge, to be squeezed out again, by some grinding oppressor? So be more vexed with an unexpected loss, then pleased with my short enjoyment. The thief that meets with a full purse, takes away it, and returns a stab; while the empty pocket makes the life secure: then perhaps we could wish to be poor, but cannot: that so we might lessen our grief, by the sorrow for our loss. Tell me then, O my soul! what should make thee wish to change? I live in a rank, though not of the highest, yet affording as much happiness, more freedom: as being exempt from those suspicious cares, that prick the bosom of the wealthy man: 'tis such as might content my better, and such as heaven smiles on, with a gracious promise of blessing, if my carriage be fair and honest; and without these who is well? I have necessaries, and what is decent; and when I desire it, something for pleasure. Who hath more that is needful? If I be not so rich, as to sow alms by sackfulls, even my Mite, is beyond the superfluity of wealth: and my pen, my tongue, and my life, shall (I hope) help some to better treasure, than the earth affords them. I have food convenient for me: and I sometimes find exercise to keep my body healthful: when I do, I make it my recreation, not my toil. My raiment is not worst, but good; and then that, let me never have better. I can be as warm in a good Kersey, as a Prince in a Scarlet robe. I live where is much means of true salvation: my liberty is mine own, I can both frequent them, and desire to profit by them. I have a mind can be pleased with the present; and if time turns the wheel, can endure a change, without desiring it. I want nothing but abundance; and this I need not, because want herein, I account much better than real possession: if it had been fit for me, I know, my God would have bestowed it on me. He never was so careless of a child of his, as to let him miss that, he knew might make for his good. Seeing then, he sees it inconvenient, it shall be my joy to live without it; and henceforth, will I not long any more to change. He is not a complete Christian, that cannot be contented with that he enjoys. I will rather settle my mind to a quiet rest, in that I find: then let her wander, in a wearied solicitude, after ungotten plenty. That estate that God gyves me, ever will I esteem best: though I could not think it so, I am sure it is so: and to think against knowledge, is a foolish suspicion.   

XLIX.  
'Tis a precept from a perfidious mind, that bids us think all knaves we deal with: so by distrusting, to hinder deceit. I dare not give my mind that liberty, lest I injure charity, and run into error. I will think all honest, if strangers: for so I'm sure they should be; only let me remember, they are but men: so may upon temptation, fall with the time; otherwise, though they want religion, Nature hath implanted a moral justice, which unperverted, will deal square. Christ's precept was found in the mouths of Heathen. Do not to another, what thou wouldst not have done to thyself.   

L.  
Though the body's excretions grow but insensibly, yet unless they be daily taken away, we see, they make men monstrous: as nabuchadnezzar's hairs were like Eagles feathers, and his nails like birds claws, in his seven years' bestiality. So that those things which nature with due ordering, hath made for use and ornament: with a careless neglect, grow to mischief, and deformity. In the soul I find it yet worse: and no Vice so soon steals on us, as the abuse of things in themselves lawful: For Nature ever since her first depravation, without a corrigible hand to restrain her, runs into wide extremities. I know, 'tis good the Vine should flourish, but let it alone, and it ruins itself, in superfluous branches. Our pleasures we see, are sometimes the enlivenings of a drooping soul: yet how easily do they steal away our minds, and make us with a mad affection, dote upon them? none suspecting in so fair a semblance, a Sinon, that should gull us, with such dilusive postures: but because we know them lawful, we boldly, and heedlessely use them: and as Providence is the mother of happiness: so negligence is the Parent of misery. I will ever be most circumspect, in things veiled with either goodness, or sweetness. Nothing steals more souls from God, then lewd courses that are outwardly glorious. Reason hath not so dull an eye, but she may see those things, that are apparently ill: but those that are so, only by their accident, have power to blind her sight: so require more care, more vigilancy. I'll only use them, to make me better: when they leave that, I'll leave them: and deal with'vm in a wise discretion, as the Emperor Commodus did with his servants, in a wicked jest, banish them: not for the ill they have done me; but for the harm they may do. Since all my goodness cannot make one sin good: why should an accidental sin spoil that, which is good in itself?   

L I  
There is no man that lives well, but shall be suspected for self-conceited, unless he can live like a Hermit, in a Cell: or like some Satire, in an unfrequented Desert. He cannot for his life so carry himself, but he shall sometimes light on lewd company: such as he neither loves, nor cares for. If he continues society with them, he endangers his soul: either by participating of their bad actions, or else by conniving at those offences, he sees they delight in: either of which, not only cast a present guilt on the soul, but even work it to such a temper, as makes it apt to receive the impression of any ill; So secretly insinuating, till it come from toleration, to allowance, Action, Custom, Delight. Bad Companions are like Traitors, with whom if we act, or conceal, we are guilty: this Pitch will defile a man. If he shall out of an honest care of his soul's welfare, and his love to Religion, labour to avoid such bad associates: or being unhappily fallen among them, seek for a present escape: Then pride, and a high conceit of himself, is guessed the only motive of his body's departure: when indeed 'tis only goodness, that importunes his absence. But tell me now, is't not better I leave them, & be thought proud wrongfully: then stay with them, and be known bad certainly? He's a fool that will sell his soul, for a few good words, from a bad man's tongue. What is't to me, how others think me, when I know, my intent is good, and my ways warrantable? A good conscience cares for no witness: that is alone, as a thousand. Neither can the world's Calumnies, work a change in a mind resolved. Howsoever here my Reputation should be soiled unworthily, yet the time is not far off, when a freedom from sin will be more worth, than a perpetuated fame from Adam, till Doom's day. While heaven and my Conscience see me Innocent, the world's suppositions cannot make me culpable. He that is good, and ill spoken of, shall rejoice, for the wrong is done him by others. He that is bad, and well reported, shall grieve for the injury he does himself. In the one, they would make me what I am not: in the other, I make myself what I should not. Let me rather hear ill, and do well: then do ill, and be flattered.   

LII.  
For injuries, my opinion is with Socrates: 'Tis better to suffer, then to offer them. He may be good that bears them: he must be ill that proffers them. Saul would slay David, when himself only is vicious, and ill. Vice, is accompanied with injustice; Patience, is an attendant on Virtue.   

LIII.  
In all nations, two things are causes of a common prosperity: Good Government: and good Obedience: A good Magistrate, over a perverse people, is a sound head, on a surfeited body. A good Commonalty, and a bad Ruler, is a healthful body, with a head aching: either are occasions of ruin: both sound, preservatives. A good Governor is a skilful Shipmaster, that takes the shortest, and the safest course: and continually so steers, as the Rocks, and Shelves which might shipwreck the state, be avoided: and the voyage ever made, with the soon speed, best profit, most ease. But a wicked Magistrate is a Wolf made leader of the fold: that both satiates his cruelty, and betrays them to danger. To whom if you add but ignorance, you may upon certain grounds, prophesy destruction. The judge's insufficiency, is the Innocents' calamity. But if the Commonwealth be obedient, & the Ruler worthy: how durable is their felicity, and joy? Solon might well say, That City was safe, whose Citizens were obedient to the Magistrates, and Magistrates to the Laws. What made the Mayor Scipio so victorious, but his wisdom in directing, and his Soldier's willingness, in obeying, when he could show his troops, and say, You see not a man among all these, but will, if I command him, from a Turret throw himself into the Sea? The inconvenience of stubbornness, that Consul knew, who meeting with an obstinate Youth, sold both him, and his goods, saying, He had no need of that Citizen, that would not obey. As it is in the larger, and more spacious world; so is it in the little world of Man. None if they serve their true Prince, but have a Governor completely perfect. Criticism itself, cannot find in God to cavil at. He is both just, and merciful, in the Concrete, and the Abstract, he is both of them. Who can tax him with either cruelty, or partiality? though my obedience cannot answer his perfection; yet will I endeavour it. If Christ be not my King to govern, he will neither be my Prophet to forewarn, nor my Priest to expiate. If I cannot come near it, in effect, as being impossible: I will in desire, as being convenient: so though less, yet if sincere, I know, he will accept it: not as meritorious, but respecting his promise.   

LIIII.  
'Tis an Aphorism in Physic, that they which in the beginning of sickness eat much, and mend not, fall at last to a general loathing of food. The Moral is true in Divinity. He that hath a sick conscience, and lives a hearer under a fruitful Ministry, if he grows not sound, he will learn to despise the word. Contemned blessings leave room for curses. He that neglects the good he may have, shall find the evil he would not have. justly he sits in darkness, that would not light his Candle when the fire burned clearly. He that needs counsel, and will not hear it, destinies himself to misery, and is the willing Author of his own woe. Continue at a stay he cannot long: if he could, not to proceed, is backward. And this is as dangerous to the soul, as the other to the body. Pitiful is his estate, that hates the thing should help him: if ever you see a drowning man refuse help, conclude him a wilful murderer. When God affords me plentiful means, woe be to me if they prove not profitable: I had better have a deaf ear, then hear to neglect, or hate: to the burying of such treasures there belongs a curse, to their misspending, judgements.   

LV.  
God gives three kinds of gifts, Temporal, Spiritual, and Eternal; Temporal, as Wealth, Pleasure, Honour, and such like. Spiritual, as Saving Faith, Peace of Conscience, and assurance of Salvation. Eternal, as Glory and happiness in heaven for ever. The first is common to the wicked, as well as the godly, and they mostly flourish in these terrene beauties. For who so great in favour with the world as they? They live, become old, and are mighty in power, as job speaks in his 21. yet all these sweets pass away like a vapour, and though they revel out their days in mirth, yet in a moment they go down to the grave. The two other God bestows only upon his Elect: all that here he often gives them, is only one of these: some spiritual favours he bestows upon them, the other he reserves for them, when Earth cannot call them her Children. One he gives them not, till they be gone from hence; the other when they have it, the world sees it not. What difference can a blind man perceive, between a sparkling Diamond, and a worthless pebble? Or what can a natural man spy, in an humble Christian, that ever he thinks may make him be happy? Afflictions here are the Lot of the righteous, and they dim those splendid beauties, that speak them fair in the eye of the Almighty: they are sports of the privy Chamber, that these King's joy in: the uncivil vulgar see not the pleasures of their Crown: Whereas the wicked, and God-forsaken man spreads out his plumes, and seems even to check the Sun in his glory. Vice loves to seem glorious, yea more to seem, then to be. What a Lustre these Glow-worms cast in darkness, which yet but touched, are extinct? a poor reckoning alas in the end! when all these counterfeit jewels shall be snatched from him, and he answer for all strictly, at the unavoidable bar of the last judgement. They had need have some pleasure here, that can have nothing but woe hereafter. Flesh, rebellious flesh, would sometime set me to murmur at their prosperity; but when my mind in her Closet revolves their fickle estate, and finds all their good in present, & outward, I see nothing may be a midwife to the least repining envy. When my soul solaceth herself in those ravishing delights that exhilarate a Christians mind, how poorly can I think of those lamentable joys? the spiritual man looks on the flourishes of this life with pity, not desire. If God gives the wicked one, and me two, why should I complain? but when the least of mine, is infinitely better than his all, let me never grudge him, so poor, and so short a heaven. If God affords me his children's favours, (though oppressed with poverty) I am richer, than all their gaudy Adulations can make me: because I have already the earnest of a World of joy, which the wicked shall never obtain.   

LVI.  
I wonder what spirit they are endued withal, that can basely libel at a man that is fall'n! If they were heavenly, then would they with him condole his disasters, and drop some tears in pity of his folly, and wretchedness: If but humane, yet nature never gave them a mind so cruel, as to add weight to an overcharged beam. When I hear of any that fall into public disgrace, I have a mind to commiserate his mishap, not to make him more disconsolate. To invenome a name by libels, that already is openly tainted, is to add stripes with an Iron rod, to one that is flayed with whipping: and is sure in a mind well-tempered, thought inhuman, diabolical.   

LVII.  
Our years at full are fourscore and ten: much time compared to a day; but not a minute in respect of eternity: yet how few live to tell so large a succession of time? One dies in the bud, another in the bloom, some in the fruit, few like the sheaf, that come to the barn in a full age; and though a man lives to enjoy all, see but how little he may call as his own. He is first Puer, then Iwenis, next Virro, and after Senex; the first he rattles away in toys and fooleries, ere he knows where he is, spends a great part of his precious time: he plays as if there were no sorrow, and sleeps as if there would never be joy. The next, pleasures and luxury shorten and hasten away: unchecked heat makes his nimble spirits boil; he dares then do that, which after he dares not think of: he does not then live, but revel; & cares not so much for life, as for that which steals it away, Pleasure. He hath then a soul that thinks not of itself, but studies only to content the body: which with her best indulgence, is but a piece of active earth: when she leaves it, a lump of nastiness. The third, Cares of the world, and posterity, debar of a solid content: and now when he mounted to the height of his way, he finds more misery, than the beginning told him of. What jars, what toils, what cares, what discontentments, and what unexpected distractions, shall he light upon? if poor, he's miserable, and ridiculous: if rich, fearful & solicitous: this being all the difference between them, the first labours how to live, the other studies how to continue living. In the last, nature grows weak and irksome to herself, venting her distaste with Solomon, and mourns that now she finds her days, that be unpleasing. He that lives long hath only the happiness, to take a larger taste of misery: what before he thought hurled about with more than a spherical swiftness, he now thinks more tedious, than a tired Hackney in foul ways: Time, that before he hath wooed to stay for him, now he could on his knee sue to, to haste him away. But if (that honey of all humanity) Learning, hath taught him a way to cousin his sorrows, he could then with old Themistocles, find in his heart to weep, that he must then leave life, when he begins to learn wit. Thus all man's ages are so full of troubles, that they filch away his time of living. The first is full of folly: the second of sin: the third of labour: the last of grief. In all, he is in the Court of this world, as a ball bandied between 2. rackets, joy, & sorrow: If either of them strike him over, he may then rest: otherwise, his time is nothing, but a constant motion in calamity. I have only yet run through the first, and passed my Puerilia; whether my life, or my youth shall be ended first, I neither know, nor care. I shall never be sorrowful, for leaving too soon, the tempests of this tumbling Sea. But if I see my Summer past, I hope in Autumn God will ripen me for himself, and gather me; if my Maker, and master saw it fit, I could be content neither to see it, nor winter, I mean the winter of age: but if he shall appoint me so large a time, I shall willingly pray as my Saviour hath taught me, His will be done: though I wish not the full fruition of all, yet do I desire to borrow a letter from each: So in stead of Puer, Iwenis, Vir, & Senex; give me the four first letters, which will make me PIUS.   

LVIII.  
Two things in my apparel, I will only aim at; commodiousness, Decency: beyond these I know not, how aught may be commendable; yet I hate an effeminate spruceness, as much as a fantastic disorder. A neglective comeliness is a man's best becoming ornament. Sardanapalus was as base in his Feminine vestures, as Heliogabalus was mad, when he wore Shoes of Gold, and Rings of Leather: the one showed much pride, the other more wantonness: let me have both these excluded, and I am pleased in my Garments.   

LIX.  
Though an enemy be not a thing necessary; yet is there much good use to be made of him: yea, sometimes he doth a man a greater pleasure, than a dearer friend. For whereas a friend, out of a fear to displease, and a kind of conniving partiality, speaks only Placentia, & such as he thinks, may not give a distaste, an enemy utters his opinion boldly, and if any act, misbeseeming virtue, spring from a man, he will be sure to find it, and blow it abroad. So that if a man cannot know by his friends, wherein he offends; his enemy will be so much his friend, as to show him his folly, and how he fails. 'Twas a good speech of Diogenes, We have need of faithful friends, or sharp enemies. Every man hath use of a monitor: yet I see in all, such a natural and wilful blindness through self-love, that every man is angry when his enemy reviles him, though justly: and all pleased, when a friend commends, though his Encomion be false, and desertless. I will entertain both with an equal welcome: neither, without some meditation, and good use. If one praise me for the thing I have not, my first following endeavour shall be to get what he commends me for; lest when the time comes that I should show it, he reap disgrace, by reporting untruths, and I lose my credit, by wanting that, I am supposed to possess. If for that I have: I will strive to attain it, in a measure more large: so shall his words be truth, and my deeds prove them. If my enemy upbraids me, let me see if it be justly. It was an argument of much worth, in that renowned Macedonian, which made him (when he was told Nicanor railed on him) say, I believe he is honest, and fear I have deserved it. If it be so, I will labour to shake off that corruption, and be glad I have so discovered it. But if injuriously he reports foul, it shall be my joy to bear contentedly, the unjust aspersions of malicious Censure: who ever was, that was not slandered? Though he should be believed awhile: yet at last, my actions would outweigh his words, and the disgrace rest, with the intender of the ill. So that web of scandal, they would iniect upon me, my life shall make a garment, for themselves to wear. That stone that injury casts, ever in the end, lights on herself.   

LX.  
Two things a man ought to respect while he lives here; his inward integrity, and his outward uprightness: his piety toward God, and his reputation among men. The one is by performance of religious duties; the other by obedience to the laws public; the one makes his life famous; the other, his death happy: so both together, bring credit to the name, and felicity to the soul. I will so be alone, as I may be with God: so with company, as I may please the godly; that, report from good men, may speak me virtuous. Thus whensoever my breath shall be made but air, they shall believe, and I know, myself to be blessed. The death of a good man, is like the putting out of a wax perfumed Candle; he recompenses the loss of light, with the sweet odour he leaves behind him.   

LXI.  
As it fareth between two friends, that have been ancient familiars, yet dwelling asunder, the one out of a careless neglect, forgets and omits his usual duty of visitation; and that so long, that at last he forbears to go at all: so their love's decay, and diminish: not proceeding from any jar, but only out of a stealing neglect, of renewing their loves: Even so it falls out between God, & the careless Christian: who when he hath long omitted the duty of Prayer, and perhaps hath some small motives of a happy return; the Devil asks him with what face he can now repair unto him, having been so long a stranger, both to him, and that holy duty. Disrespect is the way to lose a friend: He that would not continue a friend, may neglect him, and have his aim. Experience hath taught me how dangerous neglience hath been, how prejudicial: how soon it breeds custom; how easily, and insensibly, custom creeps into Nature; which much labour, and long endeavour cannot alter, or extirpate. In this cause there is no remedy but violence, and the seasonable acceptance of opportunity: The vigilant Mariner sails with the first wind, and though the gale blow somewhat adversely, yet once launched forth, he may either find the blast, to womb out his sails more fully, or else help himself, by the advantage of Sea-room: whereas he, that rides still anchored in the River, and will sail with none, but a wind fair, may either lie till he lose his voyage, or else rot his Bark in the Harbour. If a supine neglect run me on these sands, a violent blast must set me afloat again. In things that must be, 'tis good to be resolute. I know not whether I shall have a second call, or whether my first motion shall die Issueless. I am sure I must return, or perish: and therefore necessity shall add a foot to my weak desires; yet I will strive more to prevent this, by frequent familiarity; then being an estranged friend, to renew old loves: not that after error, I would not return; but that I would not stray at all.   

LXII.  
The good man hath many sorrows, that the wicked man never knows of: his Offences, the sins of the Time, the dishonour of God, the daily increasing of Satan's kingdom, and the present misery of his father's children: So that many times, when the profane man is belching out his blasphemies, he inwardly drops a tear in his soul, and is then petitioning heaven for his pardon. But to strengthen him under the burden of all these, he hath one joy (that were all his sorrows doubled) could make him lightly bear them: and this is the truth of God's promises. If I have more troubles then another, I care not; so I have more joys. God is no tyrant, to give me more than my load. I am well in the midst of all, while I have that, which can uphold me in all. Who deserves most honour of the sluggard that hath kept his bed warm, or the man that hath combated a monster, and mastered him? job was not so miserable in his afflictions, as he was happy in his patience.   

LXIII.  
The envious man is a squint-eyed fool; and must needs want, both wit and honesty: for as the wise man hath always his mind fixed most on his own affairs: so on the contrary, he observes other men's; while those that are proper and pertaining to himself, enjoy the least of his counsel and care. He sees others, & is blind at home; he looks upon others as if they were his, and neglects his own as if they were another's. Again, that which he intends for mischief, & a secret disgrace; ever adds some splendour to the brightness of his worth, he doth so unjustly malign: as if wishing him infamous, he would labour to make him famous: or desiring to kill him, would prescribe him a Cordial. Envy, like the worm, never runs but to the fairest and the ripest fruit: as a cunning Bloodhound, it singles out the fattest Deer of the Herd: 'tis a pitchy smoke, which wheresoever we find, we may be sure there is a fire of virtue. Abraham's riches were the Philistines envy. Jacob's blessing bred Esau's hate. He's a man of a strange constitution, whose sickness is bred by another's health; as if nature had made him an Antipathite to virtue; If he were good, or meritorious, he would never grieve to have a companion: but being bad, and shallow himself, he would dam up the stream, that is sweet and silent: so by envying another, for his radiant lustre, he gives the world notice, how dark and obscure he is in himself. Yet to all these blurs, if it were a vice, that could add but a dram of content, there might something be spoken in way of Apology; But whereas all other vices are retained, either for pleasure or profit; this only like a barren field, brings forth nothing, but briars, and thorns: nothing but a meager leanness to the pined corpse, accompanied with grief, vexation, madness. If another excel me in goodness, I'll make him my example to imitate: not my block to stumble on. If in wealth, I shall with him bless God for his plenty, never grudge at those fair favours of heaven, God hath enough, both for me, and him: but if he deserves better, let me applaud the divine justice, not tax it. If the vice itself shall not cause me to shun it; yet the folly of it shall awe me so much, as not to shake hands with a Serpent so foul: 'tis only the weak-sighted, that cannot endure the light. A strong eye can unhurt gaze the Sun.   

LXIIII  
The Council the Philosopher gave the young men of Athens, may with much profit, be applied by a Christian: viz. That they should often view themselves in a glass, that if they were fair, and well featured, they should do such things, as should be beseeming their amiable shape: but if foul, and ill favoured, that then they should labour to salve the body's blemishes, by the beauties of a mind, accoutred with the ornaments of virtue, & good literature. The Law is the Christians looking glass; which will show all, without either flattery, or partiality. 'Tis a globe hung in the midst of the room, which will show thee every dirty corner of thy soul. If thou hast wandered in a dark way, this will tell thee thy aberrations: and put thee again into true path. In it will I often behold myself: that if I be free from the outward, actual violation of it, any thing fair, or have some beauties, I may study daily, how to maintain them, how to increase them. But if I find myself like a Leopard in his spots, or an Ethiopian in his hue natural, black and deformed (as I cannot be otherwise in myself) it shall yet make me see my defects, and strive to mend them. Known deformities incite us to search for remedy: The knowledge of the disease, is half the cure.   

LXV.  
There is no man so badly inclined, but would gladly be thought good: no man so good already, but would be accounted somewhat better: Which hath oft made me sit down with wonder, at the choice excellency of religious virtue; that even those which in heart contemn this Princess; yet cannot but think it an honour, to be counted as attendants to her. Such a divine, and amazing Majesty there is in Goodness, that all desire to wear her Livery, though few care to perform her service: Like proud Courtiers, they would fain be Favourites, but scorn to attend. If then they cannot but affect her, that are her enemies; how should they love her that joy to be friends? If I be bad, let my care be to be good indeed, not thought so. If any good parts already shine in me; I had rather in silence know myself better, then have the unconstant world deem me, either rare or excellent.   

LXVI.  
It was well said of David, The wicked man shall not live out half his days: for by his intemperancy, he pulls on himself either diseases, or judgements; which cut him down, before he be fully grown. And though his days be multiplied, he makes them seem much shorter, than indeed they are. For besides the being taken away by untimely accidents, there be two things that seem to contract time, in a more compendious scope. Either excessive and secure joy: or else a sure expectation of ill. One of these in every wicked man hath residence: The former is too ordinary: the latter not so common, nor fully so dangerous. The first hath his conscience so cast in a sleep, that it feels not those privy and perilous wounds, that sin impairs it withal. All is frolic, jocund, merry: and he swims in the fullest delights invention can procure him: his eye's enchanted with lascivious objects; his ear charmed with scurrilous talk; his taste glutted with luxurious riots; his smell filled with artificial perfumes; and his arms heated with the wanton embraces of lust: every sense hath his several subject of solace: and while in all these, his affections are wholly taken up in the present apprehension of pleasure; how can he count of the precipitate pace of time, that like an Arrow, from a strong bend Bow, sings with the speed of his course? If his delights would give him leisure, to meditate a little on this, he might be so much himself, as to know how his time posteth: But letting it pass, as a thing unthought of, his end steals on him, unlooked for, unwelcome, unawares: and all those voluptuous merriments, wherein in his life-time, he imbathed himself: now seem as a day that is past, whose Sun declined at noon. But if otherwise, this sensuality blinds him not, or that his conscience be awake already: then alas! how timorous and terrified he is, with the expectation of his doom, and final confusion? wishing that he were either some senseless stone, that the bitter throes and pangs of despair might not feelingly pierce him; or else that he had such wings, as could procure his escape from death, and marrowsearching judgement. So like a condemned man, that knows the date of his days, he lies telling the clock, and counting the hour; which he spends, in wishing every day a year, every hour a day, every minute an hour, that still he might awhile enjoy the sweet possession of his dear and beloved life. Thus either while his soul cleaves to the midst of his mirth, his way beguiles him: or else while he quivers with the consideration of the shame that attends him, he sails with such fear, that he minds not his voyage; so is sucked into Gulf, ere ever he be aware. A full swinge in pleasure, is the way to make man senseless: A confident persuasion of unavoidable misery is a ready path to despair. These potions that are good but tasted, are mortal ingurgitated. Pleasure taken as Physic, is like a cordial to a weakened body: and an expedient thought of our dissolution, may be as a corrosive plaster to eat away the deadness of the flesh. Both are commendably useful. I will neither be so jovial, as to forget the end; nor so sad, as not to remember the beginning of life, God.   

XLVII.  
Though Prayer should be the key of the day, and the lock of the night: yet I hold it more needful in the morning, then when our bodies do take their repose. For howsoever sleep be the Image, or shadow of death, & when the shadow is so near, the substance cannot be far: yet a man at rest in his chamber, is like a sheep impenned in the fold; subject only to the unavoidable, and more immediate hand of GOD: whereas in the day, when he roves abroad in the open and wide pastures, he is then exposed to many more unthought of accidents, that contingently and casually occur in the way: Retiredness is more safe than business: who believes not a ship securer in the Bay, then in the midst of the boiling Ocean? Besides, the morning to the day, is as youth to the life of a man: if that be begun well, commonly his age is virtuous: otherwise, God accepts not the latter service, when his enemy joys in the first dish. He that loves chastity, will never marry her, that hath lived a Harlot in youth. Why should God take thy dry bones, when the devil hath sucked the marrow out?   

LXVIII.  
GOD hath left three books to the world, in each of which he may easily be found: The Book of the Creatures, the book of Conscience, & his written Word. The first shows his omnipotency. The second his justice: the third his mercy, and goodness. So though there be none of them so barren of the rudiments of knowledge, but is sufficient to leave all without excuse, apologies: yet in them all, I find all the good, that ever either the Heathen, or the Christian hath published abroad. In the first, is all Natural Philosophy: in the second, all Moral Philosophy: in the third, all true Divinity. To those admirable Pillars of all humane learning, (the Philosophers) God showed himself in his omnipotency and justice, but seemed as it weet to conceal his mercy: to us Christians he shines in that which outshines all his works, his Mercy: Oh! how should we regratulate his favours for so immense a benefit, wherein secluding himself from others, he hath wholly imparted himself to us? In the first of these I will admire his works, by a serious meditation of the wonders in the Creatures. In the second, I will reverence his justice, by the secret and inmost checks of the conscience. In the third embrace his love, by laying hold on those promises, wherein he hath not only left me means to know him, but to love him, rest in him, & enjoy him for ever.   

LXIX.  
If the fault be not in the misapplication, then is it true that Diogenes spoke of Learning; That, It makes young men sober, old men happy, poor men rich, and rich men honourable. Yet in any, without grace, it proves a double mischief; there is nothing more pestilent, than a ripe wit applied to lewdness. Because he that knows himself to be quick and acute, relies on his own brain, for evasion from all his villainies; and is drawn to the practice of much vice, by the too much presuming on his own dexterity. Ability & a wicked will, is fuel to burn the world with; wit and wantonness are able to entice a chaste one. Resolution and policy can cast broils in Christendom, and put civil men into civil wars; if you believe not this, examine the jesuit. On the contrary, where grace guides knowledge, and Religion hath the reins of Art: there, though on earth, the man is made heavenly; and his life is truly Angelical, He does good by the instinct of Grace, and that good he doth well, by the skilful direction of Learning. Religion is as Grammar, that shows him the word, and the ground: while knowledge, like Rhetoric, doth polish it with beseeming ornaments. He that gives alms, does good, but he that gives willingly to the needy, and in season does better. I will set my self to attain both: for as he can never be a good Orator, that wants either Grammar, or Rhetoric: So there is no man can be a complete Christian, without Grace, and some knowledge. Vzzah intended well, but did not know so; & want of goodness spoiled Achitophel's Council. How can we either desire or love him that we do nor know? since affectus motus est Cordis, à notitia & cognition obiecti, ex●…citatus.   

LXX.  
The covetous man cannot be a true or faithful friend to any: for while he loves his money better than his friend, what expectation can there be of the extent of his liberality? In adversity, and the time of tempest, when he should be a haven to rest in, and an Altar Idem; he will either like the Crocodile cease on him in the fall, and take the advantage of his necessities: or else out of a loathness to lose any thing by his disbursement, rather see him macerated by a consuming want, than any way send him a salve for distress. Words from a dead man, and deeds of charity from a man covetous, are both alike rare, and hard to come by. 'Tis a miracle if he speaks at all; but if he doth break silence, 'tis not without terror & amazement to the hearers. A covetous man's kindness, is like the fowler's shrap wherein he casts meat, not out of charity, to relieve them; but treachery to ensnare them. He reaches thee bread in one hand and shows it; but keeps a stone in the other and hides it. If yet his courtesies were without danger, I would rather endure some extremity, then be beholding to the alms of Avarice. He that overvalues his benefit, never thinks he hath thanks sufficient. I had better shift hardly, then owe to an insatiable Creditor.   

LXXI.  
I have seen some high minded roisters, scornfully contemn the lowly poor of Christ; as if they were out of the reach of the shattering wind of judgement, or thought it an impossibility, ever to stand in need of the help of such humble shrubs. Fool's so to contemn those, whose aid they may after want: 'tis no badge of Nobility to despise an inferior. Magnanimity and humility are Cohabitants: Courtesy is one of the fairest gems in a Crown; 'twas Caesar's glory, to save his Countrymen, which lives still in that speech, which says, he pardoned more, than he overcame: True Honour is like the Sun, that shines as well to the Peasant in the field, as the Monarch in his throne: he that withholds his clemency, because the subject is base, denies a remedy to his wounded foot; because 'tis an inferior part so he may justly after complain and want it: when the Lion was catched in a snare, 'twas not the spacious Elephant, but the little Mouse, that restored him his wont liberty: though the head guides the hand, the hand defends the head.   

LXXII.  
As sudden passions are most violent; so sudden occasions of sin are most dangerous: for while the senses are set upon by unthought of objects, reason wants time to call a Counsel to determine how to resist the assault: 'tis a fair booty makes many a thief, that if he had miss of this accident, would perhaps have lived honestly. Opportunity is a wooer, that none but heaven can conquer. Humanity is too weak a spell for so powerful a charm: she casts a fury into the blood, that will tear out a way, though the soul be lost by it. The rack is easier than her importunity; flames are snowballs to it: sure if the Devil would change his properties, he would put himself into this subtle thing: she pulls us with a thousand chains; at every nerve she hangs a poise, to draw us to her sorcery: and many times in our gain, we are lost for ever. What, tortures cannot force us to, she will smoothly persuade: she breaks all bonds, laws, resolutions, oaths. Wise was the abstinence of Alexander, from the sight of Darius his daughters; lest their beauty should incite him to folly: she runs us into forbidden errors, & makes us so desperate, as to dare any thing: If she offer me her service to ill, I'll either kick her as a bawd to vice, or else wink, when she shows me her painting. Occasion is a witch, and I'll be as heedful in avoiding her; as I will be wary to eschew a sin. But if I be constrained to hear the Siren sing, Ulysses was wise, when he tied himself to the mast.   

LXXIII.  
My hatred to my enemy shall be but in part, my love to my friend, whole and entire: for howsoever I may hate my enemy's vices, and his ill conditions; yet will I love his person, both as he is a man, and my brother. His detestation is too deep, that will burn his linen, because 'tis foul; they may both return to their former purity, and then to hate, is sinful. But as for my friend, I will love both his person, and his qualities: his qualities first, and for them his person. Yet in neither will I so hate, as to be a foe to goodness; nor so love, as to foster Iniquity: 'Tis a question which is the worst of the two, to be vices friend, or virtue's enemy.   

LXXIV.  
Next God, the good man is the only friend; for when all other slink out of the way, he only is a secure harbour for a shipwrecked soul to ride in; If he be upright that be fall'n in distress, he than relieves him, as a brother, as a member: If lewd, yet necessity induceth a commiseration, and seeing the glorious Impress of the Almighty's image in him, he can not, but for his Father's sake, affect him. If he be poor, of God's making, by the unavoidable designment of a supreme providence, nature incites a relief: For he knows not how soon, a like lot may fall in his own ground. The same sun saw job both rich, and poor to a Proverb. If his own ill courses have brought his decay; he is not so obdurate, and flinty, but that he can afford him a hand of compassion, to strengthen him a little, in the midst of disasters: hoping that his charity may either work his return, or stay him from speedy ruin. If he be ill, he is a Magistrate, to correct and reclaim him: if good, he is a father, to uphold, and love him: if rich, he reads him a lecture of moderation, and discreet disposure; tells him, not possession, but use, divitiates a man more truly: if poor, he sets him to School with Paul there to learn, Content is plenty; tells how that Pagan Cynic could laugh at riches, when he called them nothing but fortune's vomit; if wise, he is his delight, and solace; even the Granar, where he leaves his load, and locks his store: if ignorant, he instructs him with the Oracles of God, dictitates sentences unto him, & speaks all, tanquam ex tripod. Every way I find him so beneficial, that the pious will not live, but with him: and the bad man cannot live without him. Who had salved the offending Israelites, had not Moses stood up for to intercede? it shall more joy me to live with Christians, than men.   

LXXV.  
The hard-hearted man hath misery almost in perfection: and there is none more wretched, than a man with a conscience feared. Other sinners march in the highway to ruin; but he as he goes, builds a wall at his back, that he cannot retire to the tent. Neither Mercies, nor judgements, win him at all. Not mercies: those his pride makes him think but his due, and while they are but common ones, they pass away with his common thoughts. Benefits seldom sink deep in obdurate minds: 'tis the soft nature that is soon taken with a courtesy. Not judgements; for either he reverberates them back, before they pierce, as a wall of steel doth a blunt-headed arrow: or if they do perhaps find entrance, like the Elephant, with the convulsion of his nerves, & his body's contraction; he casts out the shaft that sticks within him: so still he rests unmollified, for all this rain, and hail. Warnings to perverse dispositions, are the means to make them worse: Those plagues, and wonders that would have melted a milder soul, only reduced Pharaoh's to a more hard, and desperate temper. Strange! that he should lock out of his own good, with so strong a key, so sure a Ward; when every vice that defiles the mind, finds both ready and free welcome. If I live in sin, God's first call is mercy; I had better go willingly, then be led by constraint: 'tis fit he should know the smart of torture, that nothing will cause to confess but the Rack: if I find God whips me with any sensible stroke, I will search the cause, then seek the cure: such blows are the physic of a bleeding soul: but neglected, my sin will be more, and my punishment: 'tis in vain to be stubborn with God: he that can crush us to nothing, can turn us to any thing: let me rather return speedily, and prevent judgements, then stay obstinately and pull down more: as 'tis a happy fear, which prevents the offence, and the rod: so that is a miserable valour; which is bold to dare the Almighty.   

LXXVI.  
Some men's Censures are like the blasts of Rams Horns, before the walls of jericho: all the strength of a man's virtue they lay level at one utterance: when all their ground is only a conceited fancy, without any certain basis to build on. What religious mind will not with amazement shudder, at the peremptory conclusions, where they have set their period? Wondering, Man that knows so little, should yet so speak, as if he were privy to all. I confess, a man may rove by the outward lineaments, what common inclinations rule within: yet that Philosopher did more wisely, that seeing a fair face, with a tongue silent, bade him speak that he might see him. For the cheek may be dimpled with a pleasing smile, while the heart throbs with undiscerned dolours: and as a clear face shows not always a sound body: no more is an ingenuous look, always the ensign of a mind virtuous I will only walk in Christ's path, and learn by their fruits to know them: where I want experience, charity bids me think the best, and leave what I know not, to the Searcher of heart's. Mistakes, Suspect, and Envy, often injure a clear fame, there is least danger in a charitable construction; 
In part he's guilty of the wrong that's done,  
Which doth believe those false reports, that run.   
I will neither believe all I hear, nor speak all I believe; A man's good name is like a milk-white ball, that will infinitely gather soil in tossing. The act of Alexander in this cause, merits an eternal memory: that having read a Letter with his Favourite Hephaestion, wherein his mother calumniated Antipater, took his Signet from his finger, and appressed his lips with it: Conjuring as it were, the strict silence of another's disgrace: Oh Alexander! this very action was enough to make thee famous, who should not in this admire, and imitate thee? A desire to disgrace another, cannot spring from a good root: Malice and baseness ever dwell with calumny. I will judge well of every man, whom his own bad life speaks not ill of: if he be bad, I'll hope well; what know I show his end may prosper? I had better labour to amend him to himself, then by publishing his vices, make him odious to others. If he be good, and belongs to God, how can I choose but offend much, when I speak ill of a child that is endeared to such a father's affection? God loves his own tenderly; and whosoever offers a disgrace to them, shall be sure to pay for't, either by tears, or torment.   

LXXVII.  
There are three things especially that a Christian should know: His own Misery: God's Love: his own thankful Obedience. His misery, how just; Gods love, how free, how undeserved; his own thankfulness, how due, how necessary. Consideration of one, successively begets the apprehension of all: Our misery shows us his Love: his Love calls for our acknowledgement. Want makes a bounty weightier: if we think on our needs, we cannot but admire his mercies: how dull were we, if we should not value the relief of our necessities? he cannot but esteem the benefit, that unexpectedly helps him in his deepest distress: That Love is most to be prized, whose only motive is goodness. The thought of this, will form a disposition grateful: who can meditate so unbottomed a love, and not study for a thankful demeanour? His mind is cross to Nature, that requites not affection with gratitude. All favours have this success, if they light on good ground, they bring forth thanks. Let me first think my misery, without my Saviour's mercy: next, his mercy, without my merits: and from the meditation of these two, my sincerer thanks will spring. Though I cannot conceive of the former as they are; Infinite, and beyond my thought: yet will I so ponder them, as they may enkindle the fire of my unfeigned, and zealous thanksgiving. That time is well spent, wherein we study thankfulness.   

LXXVIII.  
Though the fools of the world think outward beauty the only jewel that deserveth wearing; yet the wise man counts it but an accident; that can neither add, nor diminish, to the worth of virtue, as she is in herself: so as he never esteems her more, or less, but as he finds her accomplished with discretion, honesty, and good parts. If my friend be virtuous, and nobly-minded, my soul shall love him, howsoever his body be framed: and if beauty make him amiable, I needs must like him much the better: the Sun is more glorious in a clear sky, then when the Horizon is clouded. Beauty is the wit of Nature put into the frontispiece. If there be any humane thing may teach faith reason, this is it: in other things, we imagine more than we see: in this we see more than we can imagine. I have seen (and yet not with a partial eye) such features, & such mixtures, as I have thought impossible for either Nature to frame, or Art to counterfeit; yet in the same face, I have seen that, which hath outgone them both, the Countenance. Oh! if such glory can dwell with corruption, what celestial excellencies are in the Saints above? who would not gaze himself into admiration, when he shall see so rich a treasure, in so pure a Cabinet, unmatched virtue, in matchless beauty? But if my friend's body hath more comeliness, than his soul goodness; I like him the worse, for being but outwardly fair. Wickedness in beauty, is a traitor of the Bedchamber; poison in sweet meats. A vicious soul, in a beautiful body, I account as a jesuit in the Robes of a Courtier; or somewhat more fitly, a Papist, that will go to Church.   

LXXIX.  
As I think there are many, worse than they seem; so I suppose there are some, better than they show: and these are like the growing Chestnut, that keeps a sweet, & nutrimental kernel, included in a rough, and prickly husk. The other, as the Peach, hold a rugged and craggy stone, under the cover of a Velvet Coat. I would not deceive a good man either way: both offer a wrong to virtue: The one shows her worse than she is; dulling her beauty with dim colours, and presenting her, with a harder favour than her own: The other doth varnish over the rottenness of Vice, and makes goodness but the vizor for hypocrisy. Either are condemnable: painting the face, is not much worse, then wilful soiling it. He is as well a murderer, that accuseth himself falsely, as he that did the act, and denies it. One would obscure goodness, with Vice; the other would palliate Vice, with goodness. Fraud is in both: and I am sure no Plea can make deceit allowable. I will therefore strive to avoid both; and with Chrysostom either seem as I am, or be as I seem. But if I should err on one side, I had rather resemble a plain Countryman, that goes in russet, and is rich in revenues; then a riotous Courtier, that wears glorious apparel, without money in's purse.   

LXXX.  
A Christians voyage to heaven, is a sentence of three stops; Comma, Colon, Periodus. He that reputes, is come to the Comma, and begins to speak sweetly, the language of salvation; but if he leaves there, God understands not such abrupt speeches: sorrow alone, cannot expiate a Pirates robberies; he must both leave his theft, and serve his Country, ere his Prince will receive him to favour. 'Tis he that confesseth & forsakes his sin, that shall find mercy: 'tis his leaving his wickedness, that is as his Colon, and carries him half way to heaven. Yet here also is the Clause unperfect, unless he goes on to the practice of righteousness, which as a Period knits up all, and makes the sentence full. Return, and penitence is not sufficient for him, that hath fled from his Sovereign's banner; he must first do some valiant act, before by the law of Arms, he can be restored to his former bearing. I will not content myself with a Comma; Repentance helps not, when sin is renewed; nor dare I make my stay at a Colon; not to do good, is to commit evil, at least by omission of what I ought to do: before I come to a Period, the constant practice of piety, I am sure, I cannot be sure of complete glory. If I did all strictly, I were yet unprofitable; and if God had not appointed my faith to perfect me, miserable. If he were not full of mercies, how unhappy a creature were man?   

LXXXI.  
Even from natural reason, is the wicked man proved to be son unto Satan, and heir of hell, and torments. For not to speak of heaven, (where the blessed are happy, and all things beyond apprehension excellent,) even in the Firmament, we see how all things are preserved by a glorions order: the Sun hath his appointed circuit, the Moon her constant change, and every Planet & Star their proper course and place. For as they are called fixed Stars, not because they move not at all, but because their motion is insensible, and their distances ever the same, by reason of the slow motion of the eighth sphere, in which they are: So they are not called wand'ring Planets, for that they move in an uncertain irregularity; but because those seven inferior Orbs, wherein they are set, are diversely carried about; which makes them appear sometimes in one place, sometimes in another, yet ever in the settled place of their own Orb, whose Revolutions also, are in most strict, and ever certain times▪ The earth likewise hath her unstirred Station; the Sea is confined in limits; and in his ebbings, & flow, dances as it were after the influence, and aspect of the Moon; whereby it is both kept from putrefaction, and by struggling with itself, from overflowing the land. In this world, Order is the life of Kingdoms, Honours, Arts: and by the excellency of it, all things flourish, and thrive. Only in hell is confusion, horror, and amazing disorder. From whence the wicked man shows himself sprung, for there is nothing that like him, lives so irregular, and out of compass. Disorder is a bird of the Devil's hatching: I fear lest those that rend the Church for Ceremony, have some affinity with that prince of misrule: we oft find the parent's disposition, though not propagated to the child, yet followed by him. I do not censure, but doubt. We have seldom known him good, that refuseth to obey good orders. Who can expect a fruitful crop, when the field is sometimes blasted with Lightning, sometime drenched with inundations, but never cherished with a kindly Sun? things uncapable of a true form, are ever mending: yet ever unperfect: when the ranks are broken, the victory is in hazard. One bad voice, can put twenty good ones out of tune. I will first order my mind by good resolution; then keep it so, by a strong constancy. Those Soldiers died bravely, that where they stood to fight, they fell to death.   

LXXXII.  
In every man there be three things that encounter our Consideration; The Mind, the Behaviour, the Person. A gross blemish in any of which, stick some disgrace on the unhappy owner. If the Mind be vicious, though the carriage be fair, and Person comely; Honesty esteems not outward parts, where inward Grace is wanting. If his mind be good, & carriage clownish, his outward bad demeanour makes his inward worth ridiculous: and admit he hath both deserving applause; yet a surfeited and diseased body, makes all disregarded; while the approach of his presence may prove prejudicial, infectious, noisome. To remedy the defects of all these, I find three noble Sciences: Divinity, Philosophy, Physic: Divinity, for the Soul; to preserve that unstained, and; holy; as also to endue it with understanding; for God with his Graces, instils Knowledge: it was the keeping of his Law, made David wiser than those that taught him. Divine knowledge is not without humane; when God gives the first, in some measure he gives both: and therefore we seldom find the ignorant man honest; if he be mentally, yet he fails expressively. Philosophy, for his manners and demeanour, in the many contingent things of this life; to fit him both with decent Compliments, and sufficient staidness: neither savouring of Curiosity, nor rusticity: nor was ever Religion found a foe to good manners; For she shines brightest in a brave behaviour, so it be still free from affectation, flattery. Philosophy is the salt of life; that can dry up the crude humours of a novice, & correct those pestilent qualities wherewith nature hath infested us: which was ingenuously confessed by Socrates, when Zopyrus by his Physiognomy, pronounced him foully vicious. Physic, to know the state of the body; both to avoid distempers in health, and to recover health, in wearying diseases; 'tis the restitution of decaying nature: when she is falling, this gives her a hand of sustenance: it puts away our blemishes, restores our strength, and rids us of that, which would rid us of our lives. In all these though a man be not so learned, as to teach them to others; yet in all I would know so much, as might serve to direct me, in mine own occasions. 'Tis commendable to know any thing that may bear the title of Good; but for these so pleasing Sciences, I will rather study with some pains, then want experience in things so necessary. Thus shall I fit my mind for God, my body to my mind, my behaviour to both, and my friends.   

LXXXIII.  
The distempers of these times, would make a wise man both merry, and mad: merry, to see how vice flourishes but a while, and being at last frustrate of all her fair hopes, dies in a dejected scorn; which meets with nothing in the end, but beggary, baseness, and contempt. To see how the world is mistaken in opinion, to suppose those best, that are wealthiest. To see how the world thinks to appall the mind of nobleness with misery; while true resolution laughs at their poor impotency, and slights even the utmost spite of tyranny. To see how men buy Offices at high rates, which when they have, prove gins to catch their souls in, and snare their estates, and reputations. To see how foolishly men cousin themselves of their souls, while they think they gain, by their cunning defrauding another. To see how the projectors of the world, like the spoke of the Wheel of SESOSTRIS Chariot, are tumbled up and down, from beggary, to worship; from worship, to honour; from honour, to baseness again. To see what idle compliments are currant among some that affect the Fantastic garb: as if friendship were nothing but an apish salute, glossed over with the varnish of a smooth tongue. To see a strutting prodigal overlook a region, with his waving plume; as if he could as easily shake that, as his feather; yet in private creep like a crouching Spaniel, to his base muddy prostitute. To see how pot-valour thunders in a Tavern, and appoints a Düell, but goes away, and gives money to have the quarrel taken up underhand. Mad on the other side, to see how Vice goes trapperd with rich furniture, while poor Virtue hath nothing but a bridle and saddle, which only serve to increase her bondage. To see Machiauel's tenants held as Oracles; honesty reputed shallowness; justice bought and sold; as if the world went about to disprove Zorobabel, and would make him confess, money to be stronger than Truth. To see how flattery creeps into favour with Greatness, while plain dealing is thought the enemy of state, and honour. To see how the Papists (for promotion of their own Religion) invent lies, and print them; that they may not only cozen the present age, but gull posterity, with forged actions. To see how well-meaning simplicity is foot-balled. To see how Religion is made a Politician's vizor; which having helped him to his purpose, he casts by, like Sunday apparel, not thought on all the week after. And which would mad a man more than all, to know all this, yet not know how to help it. These would almost distract a man in himself. But since I find they are incurable; I'll often pray for their amendment in private, never declaim, but when I am called to't. He loseth much of his comfort, that without a just deputation, thrusts himself into danger. Let me have that once, and it shall never grieve me, to die in a warrantable War.   

LXXXIV.  
To revenge a wrong, is both easy, and usual; and as the world thinks, savours of some nobleness: but Religion says the contrary, and tells us 'tis better to neglect it, then requite it. If any man shall willingly offer me an injury, he shall know, I can see it; but withal, he shall see, I scorn it: unless it be such, as the bearing is an offence. What need I do that, which his own mind will do for me? If he hath done ill, my revenge is within him: if not, I am too blame in seeseeking it. If unwillingly he wrongs me, I am as ready to forgive, as he to submit: for I know, a good mind will be more sorrowful, than I shall be offended: With his own hand he rebateth his honour, that kills a prisoner humbly yielding: Who but a Devil, or a Pope, could trample on a prostrate Emperor?   

LXXXV.  
I observe none more liable to the world's false censure, than the upright nature, that is honest, and free. For many times, while he thinks no ill, he cares not though the world sees the worst of his actions; supposing he shall not be judged worse, than he knows himself: but the world being bad itself, guesses at others by his own: so concludes bad, of those that are not. Some have I known thus injured; that out of a mind not acquainted with ill, have by a free demeanour, had infinite scandals cast upon them; when I know, the ignorant and ill world is much mistaken, and conjectures false. I will never censure till I see grounds apparent: he that thinks ill without this, I dare pawn my soul, is either bad, or would be so, if opportunity but served him. In things uncertain, a bad construction must needs flow from a bad mind: who could imagine private vice which they do not see, by a harmless carriage, which they do see, unless either their own ill practice, or desires, had prompted them? Vice as it is the Devil's issue; so in part it retains his qualities; and desiring others bad, believes them so. But virtue had a more heavenly breeding: she is wary, lest she censure rashly: and had rather strain to save, then err to condemn. If my life be free from villainy, and base designs, I know, the good will speak no worse than they see: as for those that are lewd, their black tongues can never spot the fair of virtue: only I could sometimes grieve, to see how they wrong themselves, by wronging others.   

LXXXVI.  
Every man either is rich, or may be so; though not all in one and the same wealth. Some have abundance, and rejoice in't: Some a competency, and are content: some having nothing, have a mind desiring nothing. He that hath most, wants something: he that hath least, is in something supplied; wherein the mind, which maketh rich, may well possess him with the thought of store. Who whistles out more content, than the low-fortuned Ploughman, or sings more merrily, than the abject Coblar, that sits under the stall? Content dwells with those, that are out of the eye of the world, whom she hath never trained with her gauds, her toys, her lures. Wealth is like learning, wherein our greater knowledge, is only a larger sight of our wants. Desires fulfilled, teach us to desire more: so we that at first were pleased, by removing from that, are now grown insatiable. Wishes have neither end; nor End. So in the midst of affluency, we complain of penury; which not finding, we make. For to possess the whole world with a grumbling mind, is but a little more specious poverty. If I be not outwardly rich, I will labour to be poor in craving desires; but in the virtues of the mind, (the best riches) I would not have a man exceed me. He that hath a mind contentedly good, enjoyeth in it boundless possessions. If I be pleased in myself, who can add to my happiness? as no man lives so happy, but to some his life would be burdensome: so we shall find none so miserable, but we shall hear of another, that would change calamities.   

LXXXVII.  
To have been happy, is wretched; to be happy, momentany; to may be happy, doubtful. All that the world yields, is either uncertainly good, or certainly ill. Even his best cordials, have some bitter ingredients in them; lest foolish sensuality should catch them with too greedy a hand. We should surfeit with their honey, if there were not gall intermingled. The reason of defect I find in the object, which being earthly, must be brittle, fading, vain, imperfect: so though it may please, it cannot satisfy. Earth can give us but a taste of pleasure, not fill us. What she affords, let me lawfully use; trust to, never. He only, that hath been, is, and shall be for ever, can make my past happiness present, my future certain, and my present continue, if not as 'tis, better, and then for ever.   

LXXXVIII.  
A good name is among all externals, both the best, and most brittle blessing. If it be true, that Difficilia quae pulchra, this is a fair beatitude. 'Tis the hardest both to get, and keep: like a glass of most curious workmanship, long a making, and broke in a moment. That which is not gained but by a continued habit of many virtues, is by one short vicious action, lost for ever. Nay, if it could only vanish in this sort, it would then by many be kept untainted: If it could not be lost but upon certainties; If it were in our own keeping; or if not in our own, in the hands of the wise and honest; how possible were it to preserve it pure? But alas! this is the misery, that it rests upon probabilities, which as they are hard to disprove, so they are ready to persuade: That it is in the hands of others, not ourselves: in the custody not of the discreet, and good only; but also of Fools, Knaves, Villains: Who though they cannot make us worse to ourselves; yet how vile may they render us to others? To vindicate it from the tongues of these, there is no remedy but a constant careful discretion. I must not only be good, but not seem ill: Appearance alone, which in good is too little, is in evil too much. He is a wilful murderer of his own fame, that willingly appears, in the ill action he did not. 'Tis not enough to be well lived, but well reported. When we know good fame a blessing, we may easily in the contrary, discern a curse: whereof we are justly seized, while we labour not to avoid it. I will care as well to be thought honest, as to be so: my friends know me by the actions they see, strangers, by the things they hear: the agreement of both, is the confirming my goodness. The one is a good complexion; the other a good countenance: I deny not but they may be several; but they are then most graceful, when both are seated together. It had been well spoken of Caesar, if he had not put her away, when after trial, and the crime cleared, he said, Caesar's wife should not only be free from sin, but from suspicion. An ill name may be free from dishonesty, but not from some folly. Though slanders rise from others, we ourselves oft give the occasion. The first best way to a good name, is a good life: the next, is a good behaviour.   

LXXXIX.  
All earthly delights I find sweeter in the expectation, than the enjoyment: All spiritual pleasures, more in fruition, than expectation. Those carnal contentments that here we joy in, the Devil shows us through a prospective glass; which makes them seem both greater, and nearer hand: when he took Christ to the Mountain, he showed him all the Kingdoms, and the glory of them; but never mentions the troubles, dangers, cares, fears, vigilancies, which are as it were the thorns, wherewith a Crown is lined. Oh! what mountains of joy do we cast up, while we think on our earthly Canaan? whatsoever temporal felicity we apprehend, we cull out the pleasures, and overprize them; the perils and molestations we either not see, or not think of: like the foolish man, that at a dear rate buys a Monopoly, wherein he counts the gains, and over-casts them; but never weighs the charges, nor the casualty, in making of him liable both to the hateful curse of the people; and the severe censure of a Parliament. Herein we are all fools, that seeing these Bladders, we will blow them beyond their compass. 'Tis Satan's craft, to show us the enticing spots of this Panther, concealing the toruitie of her countenance. But when again we look at heavenly things, like a cunning juggler, he turns the glass; so detracts from those fair proportions, the chief of their beauty, and worth: those, we believe both less, and more remote; as if he would carry us in Winter, to see the pleasures of a Garden. Thus the heart informed by abused senses, is content to sail as they steer; so either tombs herself in the bosom of the waves; or cuts through the way to her enemy's Country; where she is quickly taken, ransacked, and rifled of all. If this were not, how could we be so heartless in pursuit of celestial prizes, or what could breed so soon a loathing of that, which most we have coveted, and sweat to obtain? If my mind grow enamoured on any sublunary happiness, I will cool it with this knowledge: and withal tell her, she is happier in apprehending the taste, without the Lees; then in drinking the Wine, that is yet unfined. That felicity which experience finds lame, and halting, Thought and supposition give a perfect shape. But if the motions of my soul wheel toward any divine sweet, my strongest arguments shall persuade a proceeding. here imaginations dark eye is too dim, to fix upon this Sun. When I come to it, I am sure I shall find it transcending my thoughts: Till then, my faith shall be above my reason, and persuade me to more than I know. Though fruition excludes faith, yet belief makes blessed. So I will believe, what yet I cannot enjoy.   

XC.  
Every man's actions are according to his mind, tedious or delightful. For be it never so laborious and painful, if the mind entertains it with delight, the body gladly undergoes the trouble, and is so far at the mind's service, as not to complain of the burden. And though it be never so full of pleasure, that might smooth the senses; yet if the mind distastes it, the content turns to vexation, toil. Desire is a ●ind that against the tide can carry us merrily; with it, make us fly. How pleasant would our life be, if we had not cross gales to thwart us, various tides to check us? With these, how full of distress? yet in them, we often increase our sorrows, by vainly striving against unconquerable fate; when if we could but persuade our mind, we might much ease both it, and our body. That which is bad, though never so pleasurable, I'll strive to make my mind dislike; that my body also may be willing to forgo that, which my mind hates. That which is good, and should be done, I'll learn to affect, and love; howsoever my body refuse. As my mind is better than it; so my care shall be more to content it: but most to make it content with goodness, otherwise I had better cross it, then let it settle to unlawful solaces. I prefer this unquietness, before the other peace. That which is easy, I'll easily do; that which is not, my mind shall make so. My life as it is full enough of travail; why should I by my minds loathing, make it seem more difficult?   

XCI.  
I cannot know God as he is; if I could, I were unhappy, and he not God. For then must that eternal omnipotency of his be finite, and comprehensible; else, how could the fleet dimensions of the mind of man contain it? I admire the definition of Empedocles, who said, God was a Sphere, whose Centre was every where, and Circumference no where. Though his full light be inaccessible, yet from this ignorance springs all my happiness, and strongest comfort. When I am so ingulfed in misery, as I know no way to escape; God, that is so infinite above me, can send a deliverance, when I can neither see, nor hope it. He needs never despair, that knows he hath a friend, which at all assays, can help him.   

XCII.  
If I were so punished as to live here perpetually, I would wish to have always such a mind, as I find after the conquest of a strong temptation: then have I as much happiness, as can be found in this life's movables. The trial first betrays the danger, than the escape ushers in succeeding joy: and all know, the Sun appears more lustrous to a prisoner that comes out of a Dungeon, then to him that daily beholds his brightness. When is wine so pleasant as after a long thirst? Besides, the soul withdrawn from GOD, returns in the end with comfort, and again sweetly closeth with her Maker; whose goodness she knows it is, to make her so bravely victorious. We are never so glad of our friend's company, as when he returns after tedious absence. All the pleasures that we have, relish better when we come from miseries; then, what a glory is it to a noble spirit, to have endured and conquered? there being more sweetness in a hard victory, where we come off fair; then in the neglected pleasures of a continual peace. Those Fowls taste best, that we kill ourselves in birding: what bread eats so well, as that which we earn with labour? And indeed 'tis the way to make us perfect; for as he can never be a good Soldier, that hath not felt the toil of a battle: so he can never be a sound Christian, that hath not felt temptations buffets. Every fire refines this gold. If I did find none, I should fear I were vices too much: or else that God saw me so weak, as I could not hold out the encounter: but seeing I do, the pleasantness of the fruit, shall furnish me with patience, to abide the precedent bitterness; This gone, I shall find it a felicity to say, I have been wretched.   

XCIII.  
Earth hath not any thing more glorious than ancient Nobility, when 'tis found with virtue. What barbarous mind will not reverence that blood, which hath untainted run through so large a succession of generations? Besides, virtue adds a new splendour, which together with the honour of his house, challengeth a respect from all. But bad greatness, is nothing but the vigour of vice; having both mind and means to be uncontrollably lewd. A debauched son of a Noble Family, is one of the intolerable burdens of the earth, & as hateful a thing as hell: for all know, he hath had both example, and precept, flowing in his education; both which, are powerful enough to obliterate a native illness: yet these in him, are but auxiliaries to his shame, that with the brightness of his Ancestors, make his own darkness more palpable. Vice in the Son of an Ancient Family, is like a clownish Actor in a stately Play, he is not only ridiculous in himself; but disgraces both the plot, and the Poet: whereas virtue in a man of obscure Parents, is like an unpolished Diamond, lying in the way among pebbles; which howsoever it be neglected of the uncivil vulgar; yet the wise Lapidary takes it up, as a jewel unvaluable; it being so much the more glorious, by how much the other were base. He that is good and great, I would sell my life to serve him nobly; otherwise, being good, I love him better, whose father expired a Clown; then he that being vicious, is in a lineal descent from him, that was knighted with Tubal-Cain's falchion which he made before the Flood.   

XCIIII.  
I find some men extremely passionate: and these, as they are more taken with a joy; so, they taste a disaster more heavily. Others are free from being affected; and as they never joy excessively; so they never sorrow immoderately: but have together, less mirth, and less mourning: like patient gamesters, winning, and losing, are one. The latter I will most labour for. I shall not lose more contentment in apprehending joys, than I shall grief in finding troubles. For we are more sensible of pain, than delight; the one contracting the spirits, the other dilating them. Though it were not so, living here, vexations are more ordinary: joy is a thing for hereafter. Heaven cannot be found upon earth. Many great joys are not so pleasant, as one torment proves tedious. The father sighs more at the death of one son, than he smiles at the birth of many.   

XCV.  
In weighty affairs, we can never do well, unless we know both ourselves, and the thing we intent. Truth falls into hazard, when it finds either a weak Defender, or one that knows not her worth. How can he guide a business, that needeth a guide for himself? Have we not known many, taking their abilities at too high a pitch, rush upon matters that have proved their overthrow? Rash presumption is a ladder that will break our necks. If we think too well of ourselves, we overshoot the mark; If not well enough, we are short of it. And though we know ourselves, yet if ignorant in the thing, we expose ourselves to the same mischief. Who is so unwise as to wade through the river he hath not sounded, unless he can either swim well, or have help at hand? He that takes upon him what he cannot do, rides a horse which he cannot rule; he can neither sit in safety, nor alight when he would. In whatsoever I undertake, I will first study myself; next the thing that I go about: being to seek in the former, I cannot proceed well; understanding that, I shall know the other the better; if not the particulars, I may cast it in the general; something unseen, we must leave to a sudden discretion, either to order, or avoid. 'Tis not for man to see the events, further than nature and probabilities of reason lead him. Though we know not what will be, 'tis good we prepare for that which may be: we shall brook a check the easier, while we thought on't, though we did not expect it. But if knowing both aright, I find myself unable to perform it; I will rather desist from beginnings, then run upon shame in the sequel. I had better keep myself and ship at home; then carry her to sea, and not know how to guide her.   

XCVI.  
What an elated Meteor would man grow to, did prosperity always cast sweetening dews in his face? Sure he would once more with Ovid's Giants, fling Mountains on heaps, to pull down God from his throne of Majesty; forgetting all felicity, but that airy happiness he is blinded with. Nothing feeds pride so much, as a prosperous abundance: 'tis a wonder to see a Favourite study for aught, but additions to his greatness: If I could be so uncharitable, as to wish an enemy's soul lost, this were the only way: Let him live in the height of the world's blandishments. For how can he love a second Mistress, that never saw but one beauty, and still continues deeply enamoured on it? Every man hath his desires intending to some peculiar thing: GOD should be the end we aim at; yet we often see, nothing carries us so far from him, as those favours he hath imparted us: 'tis dangerous to be outwardly blessed. If plenty and prosperity were not hazardous, what a short cut should some have to heaven, over others? 'Tis the misery of the poor, to be neglected of men: 'tis the misery of the rich, to neglect their God. 'Tis no small abatement to the bitterness of adversities, that they teach us the way to heaven. Though I would not inhabit Hell, if I could, I would sometimes see it; not out of an itching desire to behold wonders; but by viewing such horrors, I might value heaven more dear. He that hath experienced the Seas tumultuous perils, will ever after, commend the Lands security. Let me swim a river of boiling Brimstone, to live eternally happy; rather than dwell in a Paradise, to be damned after death.   

XCVII.  
Every Vice makes the owner odious; but Pride and Cruelty more than any beside. Pride hath no friend: His thoughts set his worth above himself, all others under it. He thinks nothing so disgraceful, as want of reverence, and familiarity. There is a kind of disdaining scorn writ in his brow, and gesture; wherein all may read, I am too good for thy company. So 'tis just all should despise him, because he contemneth all. He that hath first overprized himself, shall after be undervalved by others; which his arrogancy thinking unjust, shall swell him to anger, so make him more hateful. Pride is ever discontentive: It both occasions more than any, and makes more, than it doth occasion. As Humility is the way to get love and quietness: so is Pride the cause both of Hatred, and War. He hath angered others, and others will vex him. No man shall hear more ill of himself, than he that thinks he deserves most good. It was a just quip of that wise King, to that proud Physician, who writing thus, Menecrates jupiter, Regi Agesilao salutem; was answered thus, Rex Agesilaus, Menecrati sanitatem indeed he might well wish his wits to him, that was so unwise as to think himself God. Aristotle, when he saw a youth proudly surveying himself, did justly wish to be as he thought himself; but to have his enemies such, as he was. I dare boldly say, never proud person was well beloved. For as nothing unites more, than a reciprocal exchange of affection: so there is nothing hinders the knot of friendship more, then apparent neglect of courtesies. Cruelty is a Cur of the same litter. 'Tis nature's good care of herself, that warns us from the den of this Monster. Who will ever converse with him, that he hath seen devour another before him? A Tyrant may rule while he hath power to compel; but when he hath lost that, the hatred he hath got, shall slay him. Who wonders to hear young Cato ask his Schoolmaster, how Silla lived so long, when he was so hated for his cruelty? it was a devilish speech, that Caligula borrowed of the Poet, Oderint dum metuant: I am content if they fear me, that they should hate me. And sure if any man took the course for't, he did; when he bade his executioners so strike, as they might feel that they were a dying. He that makes cruelty his delight, shall be sure to have hate his best recompense. Detestation waits upon unmercifulness: who would not help to kill the Beast, that sucks the blood of the Fould? What hath made some Nations so odious as these two; Pride, and Cruelty? The proud man will have no friend; and the cruel man shall have none. Who are more miserable than they that want company? I pity their estate, but love it not. Were I Lord of the whole Globe, and must live alone, I had unhappiness enough to make my commands my trouble. The one turned Angels out of Heaven; the other, Monarches from their thrones: both, I am sure, are able to turn us to hell: it is better being a beast, than a dying man, with either unpardoned.   

XCVIII.  
I know not whether is more true, That, likeness is the cause of Love: or, Love the cause of likeness. In agreeing dispositions, the first is certain; in those that are not, the latter is evident. The first is the easier love; the other the more worthy. The one hath a lure to draw it; the other without respect, is voluntary. Men love us for the similitude we have with themselves; GOD, merely from his goodness, when yet we are contrary to him. Since he hath loved me, when I was not like him, I will strive to be like him, because he hath loved me. I would be like him being my friend, that loved me, when I was his enemy. Then only is love powerful, when it frames us to the will of the loved. Lord, though I cannot serve thee as I ought, let me love thee as I ought. Grant this, and I know, I shall serve thee the better.   

XCIX.  
What we either desire, or fear, we are easily drawn to believe. Tell the prodigal, his Kinsman's dead should leave him an estate to swagger with, he'll quickly give credit to 't. The mother of a sick infant, if she but hears death whispered, she is confident her child is gone: either of them transport the mind beyond herself, and leave her open to inconueniencies. How many have shortened their days, by sudden false apprehensions, that have been helped forward, by one of these two; or else so discovered their minds, as they have made way for themselves, to be wrought upon by flattery, by seducement? In the one, Nature is covetous for her own good; so dilates herself, & as it were stretcheth out the arms of her soul, to embrace that, which she hath an opinion may pleasure her: and this is in all sensitive creatures; though I know the desire of only rational, and intelligible things, is peculiar to Man: who by virtue of his intellectual soul, is made desirous of things incorporeal, and immortal. Thus he that would be well spoken of, believes him, that falsely tells him so. In the other, Nature is provident for her own safety; so all the spirits shrink in to guard the heart, as the most noble part: whereby the exterior parts, being left without moisture, the hair is sometimes suddenly turned grey: the heart thus contracted, and wrought upon, by itself; more easily then, admits any thing, that is brought her by the outward senses. Thus if the miserable Man hears a fire hath been in the town where his house is, he cries undone, though his own were never in danger. In either of these, how might persuasion work, and betray us? What nature hath infused, I cannot cast out; correct I may. If I must desire, and fear, I will do it so moderately, as my judgement, and reason may be still clear. If unawares I be overtaken, I will yet be careful to conceal myself: so though my own passions be overstrong; others shall not see them, to take me at advantages. As many have been spoiled by being soothed, in their plausible desires: so have many been abused, by being malleated, in their troublesome fear.   

C.  
Resolutions may often change; sometimes for the better; and the last ever stands firmest. But vows well made; should know no variance: For the first should be sure, without alteration. He that violates their performance, fails in his duty: and every breach is a wound to the soul. I will resolve oft, before I vow once; never resolve to vow, but what I may keep; never vow, but what I both can, and will keep.   
FINIS.   


When thou viewst this, mend faults,  
that here are shown;  
And when thou viewst thyself,  
then mend thine own.   
In the 12. line of the third page to the Reader, for noting, read, notifying: in line 13. for tells me a fault, read, tells me of a fault, pag. 60. line 5. for I imagine, read, imagine: pag. 294. lin. 16. for mind, read wind.