AN ALARM FOR LADIES. BY THE SIEUR DE LA SERRE, Historiographer of France. Newly turned out of Franch into English, by FRANCIS HAWKINS, drawing on to the tenth year of his age. A PARIS, Chez NICOLAS & JEAN de la COSTE, au mont S. Hilaire, àl'Escu de Bretagne. M.DC.XXXVIII. portrait of Francis Hawkins Francois Hawkins tyrant a l'aage des dix ans. Francis Hawkins about the age of Ten years. See here th' effigies of a Child whose wit So far outstripps his years & ruderthronge That at Ten years he doth teach with what's ' fit For their behaviour from a foreign tongue TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE EDWARD SAKVILE. EARL OF DORSET, One of his Majestye's most Honourable Privy Council, Knight of the Noble Order of the Garter, and Lord Chamberlain to the Queen's Majesty, etc. RIGHT HONOURABLE, Truly; though I am under tender years: yet my ambition sore's so high, as to call your Excellence the Patron of this my Treatise. My low degree, than mine age, to censure strictly, alas, suit not properly, to offer up aught in this nature unto your Honour: Deign though in your benignity, to connive at this my boldness: for which I cannot produce express defence: unless this may agree with your propitiousness, that it may not seem unto you amiss, to be honoured by each one, even from shrub to Cedar. Right honourable, I take my most submissive leave Your honour's devoted Servant, FRANCIS HAWKINS. THE PREFACE. GENTLE READER, The first Treatise I presented the with, was of good behaviour. I had thy candour, favour, and honour, as a benign receiver, of that my labour: which encouraged me to wait on the again, with another of an higher strain, and of a rarer nature, also of a more useful matter. It was a Formulair of Compliments to be expressed by voice, and Missive Letters, the one, and th' other reduced under their proper Titles. In my Preface there annexed, I said; that I would present thee with another Piece, and make my Posy one, compiled of three. Behold here my just tender. Though this each where agree not with thine ear: yet may'st thou herein discover these times vice even in perspicuous cipher. Farewell. AN ALARM FOR LADIES. The first Days Worke. AWAKE ye, Ladies, awake ye, at the dreadful sound or this Trumpet. It's the summon of your appearance in the name of God, to that inevitable judgement, such is it, to which all human Nature must obey, must bow: It's a judgement that astonisheth the most innocent, and causeth the most just to sigh, yea rather through fear to tremble. Awake ye, forsake your, though nice coutches speedily, come ye out of them, as if they were no other, than your graves, where the worm of your consciences doth devour ye; Hear attentively the last time, the final decree of your safety or loss, your lives, or deaths. Open your eyes to this doleful light of the Sun, which this day sendeth his beams so bright into your chambers, which I may well enstile doleful; for who well knoweth, whether each stream of this Planet, be not a funeral torch, which surroundeth your beds, as your first coffins: since that our lives have not in proper one sole moment: Surely, it were to much purpose to number your years, the bells call on ye to the burial of one of your company, much younger alas! then are ye. How is it possible! that in the proper posture wherein ye lie, ye once reflect not on your deaths, on your last end? Behold ye stretched forth at length, to your uttermost extents, in that self same linens, which likely will serve ye in lieu of your winding sheets. It's well indeed, that ye can breathe as yet, this witness of your lives is the sign of your deaths: since that each respiration doth denote a minute of the clock of your lungs, until the last breath, the last sigh, make ye know, the last hour of your retreits. And as all your other actions necessarily return thither; can ye be sensible of life, without feeling yourselves to dye, and dying void of thinking, that the self same day which by grace hath been lent ye, may by justice be your very last: where you must render a strict account of each moment, which have forerun even from your births? At the length; behold ye risen: but wherewith do you entertain your precious time; ye make your address unto your lookinglass, and give yourselves the first, therein, by ye the day is given over to the good morrow, to all th' enchantments of your fair face, alas! It were requisite, that some one, or other, should whisper in your ears, as it was formerly to the wife of Mithridates, Sooner, or later death will attend on you, it will come inevitably: Is it credible, that your bloods even frozen with fear, and horror, become not changed into very ice, where ruins may be plainly discovered by the enticements whereby ye appear idolatresses? This mighty, as unhappy graced by beauty, made caresses, and homage, as do too many others of ye to her face, in her lookinglass, alas! even when she was told: that she must dye, there was news indeed! How is it now Ladies? doth not one daily sing the self same song unto ye? were ye happy of the least memory, it would certainly cause ye to reflect seriously, that there are very many of your companions dead; and I can assure ye, that ye trace them apace. Are ye confident to gaze on your faces with self delights in your lookinglasses ever: since that beauty doth flit daily, daily fade, and giveth its adieu? Ye admire with eyes idolatress, not weighing seriously, that your selves are the sacrifices laid upon the Altar. This world at the mercy of the Divine justice, the officer of which is Time, doth though by slow paces, usher ye to death, where ye must endure eternal pains for your offences. What curiosity see ye? what rare gems contemplate ye on in the looking-glass, that there ye stay so long? Maketh it show unto ye, that your foreheads are as smooth as glass? alas! The one, and other hath deceived ye far: Your foreheads couch their wrinkles under the veil of your own arts, for ye daily paint them; And beside, your lookinglass, which flattereth ye, by a new devise of the cunning artificer, who to oblige ye doth decipher ye such as ye would be, not the same ye are: what novelty admire ye now? your eyes? It would ever grieve me, if they overflow not in tears, to deplore their miseries. Is it your mouths? It sufficeth me to know: that they can not utter words of more validity: then are these which declare, and divulg the truth of your calamities. And for your tinctures, delicateness, they impose on me charitable silence fearing to wrong them by the sole air of my breath. Can I not impose silence with patience, on myself as yet, that ye may rest in peace, since that ye are seriously entertained so; Where there are found more dreams: then grounds, than reasons, which I must needs believe? Were ye awakened: then would resound the direful Trumpet, which calls ye to the day of Doom: where each one must appear in proper person, and answer for himself in particular. Set before ye now the confusion, and disorder ye shall be brought unto. Is it not likely, that ye will blush for shame: as often as ye have laid white on your faces? will they not become pale with fear, as often as ye have laid on them, red? therein, ye will betray yourselves, publicly discovering the secrets of your guilty slights. I excuse Narcissus in the fable, where as it's found that there he became his own enamoured, the adorer of himself. How was he deceived? Alas poor Narcissus! thou never didst discover thyself in that guise, and manner: But how can one pardon ye? or in any wise connive at the errors found in ye, of the like nature? Can ye make the least question of your defects: since that ye are fully fraught with them? And for your forgettfulness of your miseries: it's strange! What ye fe'ele a thousand times a day, can not butt make ye confess: that ye are not pasted of aught else, nor form of any other matter. Awake ye then speedily, redeem yourselves out of this earthly sloth, wherewith your souls are burdened, are indeed heavily oppressed, and lending an attentive ear unto the dreadful sound of this Trumpet, which summoneth the Vnivers to judgement, ponder seriously▪ that it giveth not a vain warning: since that each moment, an infinity of souls, come thither in troops. See in what case ye would be found: if death should surprise ye even then: when your faces are painted, your fantasies charged with vanities, and your souls soiled with a thousand kinds of crimes: Oh God of justice, who will not fear thee, at the day of thy vengeance? Believe me Ladies; since that your death's are inevitable: since that ye must expressly dye indeed: solicitously note your daily demeanours. It seemth to any one, who observeth the care which ye employ on your faces: that you live for them only. The fairest of your company, who yesterday died suddenly to day affrighted her vassals, and though ye be tender to maintain her former beauty: yet I assure me: that ye defy to come nigh her without stopping your noses. Enstyle ye those horrors graces which appear on her face? those her eyes sunk? those her won lips? I tell ye truly; that hue of death, that its tincture, would as it where even make me hate your sex: were I not a fruit of the same tree; The roots, and body of the tree, are of the self same stamp; The leaves and flowers, are of the self same nature, there is not a pin to choose. To apply myself more nigh unto ye, I will state it thus; that there is amongst ye one, who is the flower, the mirror, the wonder of this age, what honour, what lucre, what return of profit will hence accrue unto her? were it that one sing her praises in each tongue: there will not be found aught; but air in diverse fashions. Should one erect, and consecreate unto her Altars: she must be the sacrifice, for having been the Idol. Were it that she could impose laws to all mortals: she can not exempt herself from being subject to all their miseries. Were that courtly Fortune led her by the hand, to the height of thrones: the self same may occasion her to fall, into the precipice of a lamentable prison, there to dye through grief; as it was to Darius his wife. I'll go further; namely; that herrenowned beauty, had the vant in the judgement of many ages; what then? where may be found her advantag therein? A thousand honours will be ascribed unto her. What will the world render unto her, where she is no more, nor ever shall be? and likely she shall then burn in Hell, there so remain eternally. Her body I say, shall be food for worms. Her soul, for the flames, and sometimes her name, and fame shall be celebrated here below. Where lieth the honour now? My spirits do suffer, in these contemplations, through their conceived fear, and astonishment. Ladies; in what a miserable condition are they; who solely have beauty, for their share, for their part? What rate set ye on beauty alone? I say it's no other: then to have a gay posy of flowers, wherewith one may deck, and dress one's self trimmely in the morning, during the space that they are fresh: butt about noon, indeed so soon one leaveth the regard as well of the flowers: as stem: even so, at the approach of night, this admired object, (the self same ment) is misprised of the Vnivers. Truly what soever is said; I find nothing good but Virtue: the rest passeth by, and vanisheth. One of tall, and comely stature stoopeth. A clear voice changeth. And a polite wit sometimes looseth itself through Vanity. Virtue is it, which is solely stable, solely permanent on its one ground, never giving us over to our ruin. Be ye then Ladies, since so ye will needs have it, as fair as was Cypris said to be in the fable: yet ye will gain but an apple for your recompense. Admit ye be as beautiful, as was Lucretia famed to be in the History, yet died she through grief. All the beauties, who have appeared on the earth, since the instant of its having being, make but à hillock of its gross dust. It's virtue solely which leads us beyond our tombs. But whither go ye now so well accoutred, so neatly dressed? If it be to Confession, to make that design your good morrows; since that it's the first Sunday of the month: then reflect how ye have prepared your selves. In lieu of examining your consciences before a Crucifix; ye have been curious to inquire the state, and being of your faces before a lookinglass. Ye go to crave pardon for your offences, and a new transgress ye, in the same which calls for justice. Ye part I say from the Confession chair to the Altar, there to receive your Saviour with souls more disposed to offend here after: then resolved to repent of what is passed in your former lives. Is not this to cry for vengeance against yourselves. Me think'st I see the rare saint Francis to appear with that perfect charity, which inflamed him on earth, and by the self same fire wherewith the Seraphins are surrounded, and entertained happily in Heaven, and yet he thought himself unworthy to take upon him the order of Preisthood: Yet will ye be so audacious, so shameless, as to receive your own Creator with impure mouths, and profane hearts; the sole thought of this crime, doth put my spirits out of frame, caused through confusion, and astonishment. AN ALARM FOR LADIES. The second Days Worke. I Warn ye Ladies, in the name of God, for its himself who giveth ye notice: that ye neither know the day, nor hour, when this Trumpet, which calleth ye to his judgement will give the last summon. How is it with ye? Think ye it not amiss, to pass the moiety of your ages in dreams, and follies? Ye sleep with souls as black, as Hell; what repose can ye enjoy at the eve of your everlasting restlessness? The Heaven; though insensible, quaketh for horror, at the clamour, the great noise of this Trumpet. The earth; though immooveable, doth thence tremble for fear; The Angels themselves in their purity, and all the Saints jointly in their innocence, are touched with astonishment; although they are not capable of fear: and yet ye sleep, during the time of this public alarum's being: which fright's all Nature. Awake ye speedily, and prepare yourselves to render an account, even of the least idle word which ye have let fall. Ah! how out of frame ye are; when ye wake, it seemeth to me: that ye have set by to dye in show, ye will dye now in earnest. Let me see how it is with ye? Ye are at a bay for fear, and dread. Oh! how profitable would these agonyes be found unto ye: if ye would oftentimes undergo the pains to apprehend lively God's judgements: but your spirits aversed from so serious thoughts, are the cause of your missprise thereof, without reflecting on your loss thereby, that's a pity, alas! I perceive, that ye are risen to dress yourselves, and ye are never unready to deck your bodies replete with infections: but forbear a while I pray: then look out of the window; there's a spectacle for ye to meditate on, that stinking carcase, which is carried to be buried, the same with whom two days since, ye contested with for beauty, it's now as ye see, borne to the tomb; and ye will follow it thither: it's but a pace before ye; it's not known as yet wether ye arrive all three together thither: This dreadful Trumpet soundeth daily, and ye trace the ground incessantly, and run the self same race. Observe a right how it doth agree to judgement: that ye be seen buried in the way, one while; to frisle your hairs for to hide your nitts; another time; to make white your teeth, those little bones: whose lest infected, ruineth your graces, and thus much is in favour of your bodies: which apparently do putrify; and hence the worms expect their prey in this world, and the infernal spirits in the other. What is the benefit which your souls do reap by the graces of your faces? Think ye; that at the hour of your deaths, your Confessor will demand of ye, how many ye have enthralled, enchained, and made your slaves? No no, but at large, namely; how long it hath been, that ye have employed your time in so unhappy a being at such rate, in so commiserable a state: There is no further talk of your excellent persons your rares faces; their graces shall possess no places, no more shall they domineer: your souls only shall plead their causes, God grant that they want not plea to obtain their suits. O how fair is the employment of this second day's entertainment! it's passed off in admiring, and tricking yourselves, meaning thereby to tempt and attrap weak persons to idolatrise! But, alas! I find ye far, more simple yet. It doth appear, that ye labour only to advance and advantadg the fiends of Hell: since at the day's end, they carry with them away all your spoils. Further; hereunto adjoine their conquests of yourselves. It's confessed, that ye are ritchely clothed, that there can not be added aught to the stately curiosity which serve, as a new lustre to your enticements: But whither bend ye your way so nicely decked? if it be to a Comedy. Ah! how Cleopatra, that young Princess, representeth a doleful personage, on the stage the Theather of her marriage, in the Tragedy of King Philip her dear husband's death, for she died, by the same stroke of misfortune, which carried that great Monarch to his tomb. She was as fair as are ye. How comes it to pass: that ye are happier? She was as young as ye. What reason have ye not to apprehend her misery, her missfortune sensibly? The Trumpet which cited ye to death, and judgement, soundeth incessantly, thither doth each one make their recours in troops, and croudes. Who can assure ye, that ye shall not appear there this very day: since that ye make your way as fast as the rest? Is that a reposed life, is it to possess tranquillity, to perceive your selves dye without your being prepared for death? will ye expose those things to so great a peril: Which ye can not lose but once? Ye live not but for Eternity: for the life of this world is not properly a life: and yet ye let pass your time without reflecting, once thinking of Eternity, which will last as long as God Almighty. What? will it not turn to your reproach: that on Earth ye shall be found to have done nothing else, but dress, and deck your bodies of earth? Oh! what a rare exercise would it be: if so your souls were of the same matter! Oh! the sweet entertainment: if it were not expressly necessary to dye! if so one were to live for ever: but; daily to live the eve of an eternal loss, and passing all the time, to the dressing, and decking of your carcases; by consequence it must follow: that Hell will be your recompense. Notwithstanding what herein is fore delivered; behold ye pass your time, in seeing a Comedy at the Burgugnion house: but know ye not, that ye there act your parts, and are at the end, of each interclude, giving occasion of laughter and scorn to all the sage Democrites, for the vain employments of your times? yet it is expedient, that I extract your gains, out of your losses. Atleast think ye, during this your entertainments of time; that the world is a Theatre, where even new ye represent those persons whom God hath endowed for Eternity: Do ye well or ill; ye shall not appear but this time solely on the Theatre, ye play your parts for ever, the Angels, and the Devils are your lookers on, expecting the end of the last act, whence ye are to receive praises, or reproaches, I mean recompense, or chastisement. Ye have a fair petition to deliver, descended from the Theather into your sepulchre. Oh! give us leave to rise again, we will live better than in former times we have. The intercludes are passed. The play is ended. The candles are extinguished, each one shall receive his guiderdon, according to his merit, and for an Eternity. O fearful judgement! But what'is more dreadful yet, is that the Trumpet doth summon ye thither amongst the disorder wherein ye live: I leave ye to consider here on seriously. AN ALARM FOR LADIES. The third Days Worke. HAPPY are they, who rest in our Lord Ladies then 〈…〉 ye: for 〈…〉 to the 〈…〉 I find ye, your 〈…〉 are as black as poss●●● 〈…〉 though your faces 〈…〉 white. Behold ye are bridled under the chin, as are little infants with a mask lined with waxed linen to fright them. Oh! how would ye be amazed, if ye must necessarily appear before God Almighty within a moment, to undergo the sentence of his judgement? Which of either, aught to be more dear unto ye the beauty of your bodies, or your soul's healths? Your bodies, conceived of corruption, and borne under the imperfection in which they live, can they elevate themselves, to make comparison with 〈…〉, created by the hand 〈…〉 almighty, through his 〈…〉 charity, and for his 〈…〉 Yet and again, Oh! prodigals of misery, of infirmity, of mere weakness indeed; who misprise nothing else but your soul's safety; and are not passionately tender for aught else, but for your bodies. Them you adorn oftentimes, with new clothes, with nice robes; without weighing: that they consume all which they touch; and ruin all which deck them. Ye do well to bestow on them hair to adorn their bald heads, with a perrewig. The wrinkles on their foreheads, make appear atlenght, the borrowed galley pot of roses, to show us clearly, the thorns wherewith their age is stated in. Conserve your beauties with the art of limbeck, renew your teeth each year, hidet your limber, and flaggy breasts under a handkerchief, also shroud somewhat, which may make them seem round, and hard: the default of such uprisings would be valiewed as a most apparent deformity; It would destroy all, Then; and Time, who traileth along all things, who spareth none, maketh an other breach, such a ruin; which can never be repaired: I refer it to your quickened, to your more lively spirits hitherto drowned with sleep, to the recovery of your better reason long since strayed; Wither this condition of life, which ye lead on Earth, can conduct ye to Heaven? The third hour is even at hand, at its period, in all which time, ye have been mervaillously serious, but in what? to put on your new clothes, and your bands according to the fashion: May I be bold to inquire of ye what therein ye mean? If it be to show yourselves at the Revels, and there to dance, make not haste. It was told me: that she, who moved for that meeting, is surprised by a continual fever, and the small pox. Alas! what a change of Medaile: Yet fail not to visit her. Her affrighting malady, will teach ye to despise the baits, enticements, and beauties which ye valiew so highly. Yesterday morning she contended for the golden apple, with the fairest found amongst ye; this evening the curtain of her bed is drawn to hide her, for fear, lest that she hurt her adorers: Oh rare Beauty! It's to flatter thee too much, to compare thee to the wind, and to the smoke: for thou art (as it seemeth unto me) much less in valiew. The Revels yet go on, I mean the dancing to which Nature even from your cradles invited ye, and to which, Time is the violin: for by its continual motion, it traileth us all together, to our sepulchre. I much doubt, lest the air of this dance be dissonant to your ears: but how soever; ye must dance to it, there is no gainsay. Further; it's time must be kept strictly, it's all in cadence, it's musically composed indeed. Oh! observe well its burden, there hath been much care employed on it: Each thing flitteth, and glideth without ceasing, beauty leadeth in chief, as the most frail most brittle. Ye may plainly see your shares, your lots: yet must ye of necessity pass the residue of the day in somewhat, which may seem to please ye: but I pray ye what is it? Ye are even now very busy; Ye court yourselves in the lookinglass, as did the wife of Nero: Oh! said this Princess, that I might dye first: rather than have the least diffigure on my face; she considered not what then she did, how she lived, nor what she said: when she daily made this prayer: that each moment, of each hour insensibly deprived her, and robbed her, of parcel, of her rare beauty. Ladies, it's not expedient, that ye crave earnestly on Heaven, for that design: since that, all the instants of your lives, are so many secret thiefs, who subtly rob ye of the principal, and most curious enticing draughts of your faces, I say subtly beginning in the bud, dawning, or rather call it Sunrising of your age: yet thereof, ye take no heed. By serious attention on their actions, is raised suspicion; and hence are they partly detected to be thiefs: but in the evening they are expressly found no less, then public Pirates, who carry with them all away, together with yourselves. Oh! is it not even so, what I now relate? that these truths ought to be sensible unto ye; in such sort, and manner: as that ye should not ever meditate on aught else: since of such like serious, and tender speculations depend your safeties? for if ye present unto yourselves this variability, this incessant circumvolution, wherewith all things here below are chained, and to be buried one after an other within this whirlpool of Time, which devoureth all, and that ye turning the other side of this medaile, would ponder: that souls only are eternal, would it be even possible, that ye shall not be fully taken up with the love of Eternity? It's more than six thousand years, since the Creation of this World, and it scarcely seemeth to be one day. It's very true; that what's passed, is suddenly forgot: But Ladies; this Eternity, where God is the limit, and measure, is it which solely ought to entertain all your affections, all your desires, and apportion all your hopes. Be ye pleased that even now I show ye the means. It's always to lend the ears of your fantasies most attentively, to this dreadful Doom's Trumpet; where the share of your happy Eternity, or unhappy, is to be seen determinately. Hope not a jot for favour there. justice's will bear the Sceptre: Trust not to your consanguinityes or affinityes, your virtues will be your fastest friends; Ye have a great catch of them indeed, ye have a rare plea, to say: that ye are the daughters of a Prince, the wifes of Kings, and the mothers of Emperors: all these circumstances serve you to your sepulchres. Your works solely accomplish all your honours: or your infamyes, all your felicities: or your miseries. Oh! Ladies, how it's to be great persons, and happy on earth: yet there to pretend not aught. Those who are borne, who are destined for Heaven, naturally have such a disgust of Earth: that thereon they spin out their time: as if they had no being there at all, still lifting up their spirits, and their thoughts to this Eternity: as to the only good, the sole Sanctuary. The fruition of it, is able to satisfy their desires completely. O Eternity! thou art singularly gracious unto me: that thou receivest favourably my good intentions, my well meanings. I will never cease to meditate on thee. Oh Eternity! how benign hast thou been to me in particular, well may I say; in making me apply, all the abilities, all the faculties of my soul, on the meditation, of thy longanimity; in so much: that I shall never have other object then Thee, no other sight then speculating on Thee. Doth it not follow necessairily, that I love thee entirely: If I abhor all that flieth thee, that forsaketh thee? If I seriously misprise each transitory: am not I constrained to esteem thee perfectly? Let no man speak to me but of Eternity: each crime, not returning to the same, displeaseth me, nay rather; doth me notable injury. In a word; if therebee any taken sensibly with aught, by how much the greater it is: the more doth its excess menace us of its privation. Presuppose Ladies, that in this world ye be both fair, and rich; It's much. But I pray tell me, what is their permanence? Had I to dispose of an age: I would allow ye to enjoy the full term of it: But at the last moment; what would remain unto ye? What would accrue unto ye? your beauties would not subsist: but in your own transitory times, and your treasures though now possessed, shall be far from ye, as constrained to abandon them for ever. Your cases are thus; all the goods of Fortune which ye enjoyed, changing their names, properties, and natures will afflict ye, to think of. It's truly even so: that it's solely Eternity, which can quench our hearts continual thirst. AN ALARM FOR LADIES. The fourth Days Worke. WHAT said the wife of Rosidates to herself, with a voluble tongue, and very nimble, as passionate indeed when she heard the doleful Trumpet sound at her door, signifying unto her the decree of her death, by the command of her brother King Hertodorus. Oh! Ladies, how much more dreadful is that Trumpet which doth summon ye to God Allmightyes judgement. This Rosidates lived, and died a Heathen: but ye, who are destined for Heaven, will ye pass your times on Earth, solely for Hell? It will soon be noon by the watch of your lives, as well as by the town clock itself: Where is your days work? If in such sort ye pass the rest thereof carelessly, either sleeping, or besotting yourselves, it will be found at length: that ye lived here in this world no otherwise, then dreaming, and that in the other there, ye shall live perpetually awakened, amidst the heats of eternal flames, everlasting fire. Perceived ye not clearly, that the Sun the other day, blamed ye notably, and such like slothful people as are ye? but ye never the less, will make it as your happiness to sleep and drouse. This star, which measureth the moments of your lives, leaveth not a whitt to run his wont race, his course to trail ye to your graves. Rouse yourselves up. Remember ye not, that ye are invited to a solemn feast of marriage? I must needs wait on ye; be it but only to observe your carriage. I'll take notice of your vanities, and give account unto the world how fantastical ye are. Take ye your time to dress yourselves; in the mean while, I'll contemplate somewhat, and also exercise my patience. Let me approach unto ye nigher. To what use are those galley pots of pomada, those boxes of powder, those viols of distilled waters, and those papers of vermilion, which I see upon your cabinets by your night dothes? Is it a part of art, which ye put in practice, to make ye seem more fair than ye are, in despite of Heaven, and Nature? Oh! what bitter. Oh! what salt tears will these vanities extract from ye Ladies. Be it, that your Ladyships have the least leisure lent ye to repent ye. It's to be granted: that your bodies do daily require the charity of pomada, of rare odour, to cover the defects of your teints. Your tresses can not hide their greasiness without powder. Your tawny-dusky faces after they have been made happy by the Alimbeck, expect the vermilion; lest that their dead colour appear not at all: but ye observe not that ye labour to fill pots, which are pierced; as did the Danaides. Where shall one find Pomada, which may agree with ye, and contend with your stenches? What is that powder, that can dry the clammy great of your heads? What water can serve the fullness of your desires? And what vermilion can make appear on your cheeks, which Nature hath not planted there? Thence ye discover plainly: that your actions contain in them solely vanities, for their objects. They rest unto ye for your recompense. Oh what brave conquests! ye look not after aught but airery toys; your heads are full of crotchetts. Ye like nothing, but what is smoke, witness the tears discovered on your eyes. See what'is the fruit of the course of your lives, behold the guiderdon which doth attend ye at the end of your race. Oh! how precious was the Pomada of Saint Elizabeth, who made use of it to perfume the feet, of whom? of the indigent! the poor! Oh! how odoriferous was the powder, and the ashes where Saint Marie the Egyptienne covered her head, the day of her penitence! Oh! how the tears of her repentance where rapt, and possessed with Divine virtue; in so much as, her body, and her soul in an instant were embellished! Oh! how strange it is; the blush of her shame for her sin, was fare more lively: than what ye daily use. Grant me this boon for my pains hither to seen, no less I beseech ye; to break your lookinglass, which daily flatter ye; nor ever take to ye other, than such as I deliver unto ye here. Yet; thus much said, ye will keep on your wont ways. Now ye are dressed. Now at the feast, and suddenly will all varieties of sweetmeates be served in: there is the end. What I would put into your minds, is; that all solemnities have but their times. On Earth, a feast is not to be had: but of the fruits of its own garden; and as these fruits, have nothing proper, but their corruption: even so that aliment from day to day, doth naught else, but increase your infections; they can never satisfy your appetits. The succeeding day, ye will sensibly find the vanities of your pleasures had at table: since that they vanish with the table cloth itself. Likewise; seriously ponder, when ye are amidst your jollityes: that the self same hours which ye have employed in the pampering of your carcases, are registered in the scroll of their ruin, since that whither ye eat, or laugh, Time leadeth ye to your tomb. These are the banquetts of Cleopatra, which are solemnly celebrated: though in ships even floating: hence learn we, that each where we change fortune, through the perpetual decline of our lives, all our actions tend thither, what destroyeth us, is ours in proper. But to go on; in conclusion; behold your return unto your houses, the dance is ended, likewise the feast. Oh Ladies! meditate a little space, but attentively I beseech ye humbly on this passage, this fantasies, All these pastimes, these worldly pretty toys symbolise, are of the like nature with these dances, and feasts, each of them flit incessantly, it's sure that death approatcheth nigh hourly. Were all your days spent in the solemnities, which frequently are found, when so that marriages are pompously celebrated. Oh! how direful would your last day appear unto ye! since then must ye render account of your time passed in laughter, and dance! Reflect a while how many are the dances, and feasts wherein you have entertained your times; hence take counsel secretly of your memories, then use your judgements, and see, what is left unto ye: ye shall never have other for your pleasures! And what? will it not be reproach unto ye: that ye sold your portions for nothing, which ye pretended for Heaven? I have heard say, that Lysimachus did exchange his Crown for a glass of water: but when? Ladies, observe then; it was so with him at that time, when he was even as it were reduced to ashes, by the same heat of thirst, which burned his entrails, in so much as being in such plight, in rendering his dying spirit he changed naught else but wind, but breath for water. But to see how remissely ye give over your pretensions of eternal consolations, of everlasting joys for toys, such I may truly term them, which bear no other titles; then of mere depravations, of your fantasies, of your imaginations. Where is that self affection whence ye seem to become so passionate? Is it not to hate yourselves: that you affect not aught else: but what doth flit? it's not it? when ye die, what will be left ye of your passed time, but a present grief, and too late; such; whose anguishes will never cease? Ye never dream of other thing: then to inquire after new pastimes, to the ruin of your times. Alas! Nor consider ye aright: that Time doth ruin ye? for in seeking to pass it, ye must find death. How so? is it possible: that ye strive to pass over it, which so swiftly glideth by ye, as do your fantasies, light though they be, they can not over take it. And what more seriously, ye ought to ponder, is, that all the time of your lives, hath for its term, its limit a sole moment, on which, though such, doth depend for ever, and a day your calamities, or your felicities; that's a misery in torment: which hath no end, this a bliss in glory: which will be permanent, beyond all ages, illimited indeed. Oh! how precious are the contemplations, of the last period of our lives! How! is it so? that thou art not as inseparable to our souls: as is the shadow to the body? Oh! how sweet is the memory of our death! Why is it so? that our memory is not for the most part, in such sort all taken up with thee: as that it never forget thee? Oh Divine is the meditation on Eternity! Art thou not as sensible of our souls, as our respiration is of the preservation of our hearts? How David liketh me well, when he cried out aloud, that he had often meditated, and that seriously indeed on the days for ever: where God Almighty is solely the light! Oh fair days! I wonder not: that ye have no night: the Sun which showeth itself on ye is bright, and borroweth not its light: no. Oh days most happy! say no more; or thus: I am not one whit astonished, if so be it that ye remain for ever: the Planet which gave ye a being, possesseth Eternity in chief, in proper. Truly, my soul is extasyed, rapt as it were, in this sweet contemplation, with such singular content, it's in such guise as that really it hath no desire to be otherwise. Ladies, in a word, it's so; that ye must arrive to the day's end, and return thither from whence ye came in the morning: for it's but one days journey. Ye have a fine time of it to be lazing. The Sun, who sendeth forth his beams for ye, will that ye go as fast as doth he. Dance, laugh, sleep until noon day; the ship of your lives leaveth not its course, it saileth evermore, incessantly on the sea of its proper miseries, only by the wind of your respirations; it cannot stay itself: until it arrive, at the haven of the sepulchre: Ladies, it's the haven to which Doom's Trumpet doth summon ye. Take ye heed, lest it be not found a rock unto ye: where ye may encounter too dreadful a shock, the calamity thereby is for Eternity, and repentance unprofitable. In good earnest, at what time soever I think of Eternity: nothing that's worldly, doth please me. I am not bold to say so much: that each parcel of the Vnivers made such by a Sovereign power and absolute from it, having its soul, it's being, it's life, is not in itself admirable, and adorable in its Creator: but; as there are so many objects of change, or of corruption; my heart not well appeased, sigheth after the fountain of the lesser springs as after it which is only capable to quench the thirst of my desires. Ladies, would ye but distaste the word's pleasures, ye have a ready way to fill your best thoughts, on the delights of Eternity: for such is the inequality: that common sense will lead ye will suffice, to make ye misprise them, and earnestly desire these. AN ALARM FOR LADIES. The fift Days Worke. COME to my aid, my Lord, cried out Saint Jerome a thousand times a day: I die for fear at the resound of that Trumpet, which doth summon me to thy judgement. Ah, Ladies; if this glorious Saint, amidst the deserts, and amidst the austerityes of a life, all devoted to penance, found himself reduced at a bay, at a stand for fear, and dread: can ye frame with the vanities of the world: when ye do but once meditate on the necessity of your deaths, from which there's not one exempt? This innocent doth tremble at it! and are ye not aught sensible of it? This harmless quakes! persist ye senseless? This just man, I say again cried out incessantly for help, and secure: though he where so pure! yet will ye not be awakened: though infirm, by the example of his astonishment? Can ye take rest in the ships of your bodies, and on the world's tempestuous sea's: without fore discerning that Time, who is the Pilot, puts ye one the shore of your sepulchre? Awake yourselves then suddenly, and as your lives are but dreams, at your waking dream again what trade's ye intent to use, whilst ye are in this long Eternity, to which ye make your hourly approatch. God hath given ye, and each one of ye, since the time, wherein ye have been of reason a pencil in your hands, as to Zeuxis, that renowned Painter, who painted according to his belief, n'aught else but Eternity; this is a pattern for ye, such; as it showeth ye: that all your works should have for object, and aim, no other thing. In sum; all which ye meditate on, say, and do, is painted in oil colours of Eternity. I would ye understood me aright, all approacheth nay endeth correspondent, to the good, or ill, either to the glory of your happy Eternity, or to your unhappy Eternity. If ye die, as ye live, namely in bed until midday, what can I say? but that if so you play your time away, your laziness will depaint ye, and lively express ye for Eternity: where endlessly ye shall suffer pains. Although each one swill as he will; it's but for his time, his day's course, and at his own expense. But one judgeth not of price of the good, or ill, or default in business, merchandise, else where, then in the other world. Prepare yourselves to undergo the judgement. Ye will even suddenly appear dressed, and tricked according to the fashion of the time, and court: and how is't? Your feathers falling on your ears, vermilion on your cheeks, and flies on your chins. These are not in vain undoubtedly, their dessignes are to entrap some one, or other: but at the day's course run, it will then appear unto ye clearly: that ye have made yourselves whoops, taking not the least notice of aught else, but vanity; as if ye had not thereof too much. I wait on ye at your sally from dinner, to your coach, it's to assist you tenderly, and with humble respect indeed, it's my duty, and to attend you seriously with my thoughts, in your walks, with intention to observe, whither your times entertainments prove more useful: then delightful. It's necessary that I exercise my patience a while, until the horses be harnessed, and put to the caroche: also, ye must havey our time to look on yourselves again, while ye attire yourselves with hoods, and masks. But oh! what simple imaginations entertain your spirits therein? There you instruct your eyes the art to tyrannize, and with strange craft, to hurt many hearts, not reflecting aught; that your souls receive a stain, through the vain lightness, which thence remain in them: It's there I say, where you invent new lessons to allurements; so fare as to teach men, to make yourselves beloved, and ferred at once, and the self same time; and covertly pretend: that ye attend no end, while therein none, alas! none. Observe these rare dessignes; what do ye meditate on oftener? Let it be that your black eyes with their vies do much hurt to day; to morrow, one drop of rheum indeed, will make them red, which will serve to cure the smarts, of those your former darts. How happily do your courteous sweetness, with your graces, acquire love, and fear jointly. Whosoever they be, that seem to dye for ye, they love ye not: it's; for what? for their interess, not to be spoken of here further. Thus much yet will I say: that they who court ye as sincere lovers, ground themselves on the express ruins, the utter destructions of your reputations; and ye take it well, to make them fear ye. They care for nothing more: then to pass their times, in that enterprise, their delights, their sports. But it seemeth no less unto me: then that ye take your way to the race, to the place in use now a days. Oh! how vainly hunt you after toys in this your walk, as to a public fair where merchandise is set forth for each to buy? Would ye not say, that this young simple fondling, clothed in green, who is like unto tapestry, which ye have seen frequently, hung before a door, hath employed about her face all her whitening? She thinketh, that in beauty she doth surpass, the Vnivers. Alas! for pity. I speak plainly to her now, not taking any notice, that her self-love daily putteth on a hood to see at random her defects. She, who would be the beloved'st of many, in each doth move pity for such her folly. My opinion of her, is no other: then that she is a glow-worm, who giveth light to many from a dunghill, the surface of which is all covered with snow. What character shall this proud piece bear? What may one's censure be here of this giddy one, who being possessed of n'aught else but of a bosom, maketh a shameless bravado, as if the rest of her carcase, were to be let or sold out right? Oh peace a while! what will prove her confusion: when the day hath run its race? when she must needs shut up her shop, having not met with any customer whonsoever, not one admirer of her treasure? Modesty is it, which hath enticements not found else where; there-in only. I pray ye stay not a jot, come hither speedily, be the spectators of this fond toy, this Fop. Whose best draughts through age, are become void of moss, and hence borrow for the stage, the artifice of so many flies, as if they could nip some one or other, though such be her age; a strange passage: but commiserable: for it's even ten years since that beauty bid her the last adieu: and if she daily employ all her study for its recovery: what folly would it appear, to wear time present, for to call time passed, again: yet might she be happy in her disasters; were it so; that though she suffer shipwreck: yet that at length she take hold of virtue, to redeem herself from danger, nay rather, from utter loss. Have ye but a little patience to view the Lady who cometh in a coach all guilt; by her countenance, and demeanour, I guess: that she doth esteem herself, to be the I dole of each one, who behold her with attention, not reflecting aught on Time, her new coachman, who waiteth on her, it's he, who beareth her in the same car of triumph, to the altar of her sepulchre, there to be offered up with shame together, with all her adorers. But she that's there, how missbee-seemingly doth she lend her ear, and attentively, to the prattlings of a giddy humorist, who courts her, and yet; what is much more undiscreet; she believeth all the lies the brainsick delivereth unto her. Me thinkest I plainly hear him swear: that she hath the rarest aspect, and most admiredst eyes, that ever did appear in this hemisphere, and solely on the confidence, she hath given to her lookinglass, she doth believe him. In the meanwhile; here are found brave assurances, rare cautions indeed. Ah how is it now? doth she not know, that the first oath of an amorous, is to observe not one during the time of his passion? And further it's the common fashion of lover's speeches, it's their air, to say to their Mistresses: that they are mervailously fair, even to perfection, these are their customary ways, now a days: and yet most unhappily; it's to be deplored truly, ye ordinarily believe them, nor reflect ye aught: that your first betrayer, is your lookinglass, it alas, for pity! Yet will I grant, that she is rarely endowed, and singularly graced with beauty: there is the seat of her vanity. Can there be added sense, and life unto her counterfeit, her picture; she would thereby by many a degree surpass the Prototype, the Original: for that lustre may be conserved as her proper: this hath nothing in peculiar, but the necessity of decay. In so much; that when one persuadeth her, that she is mervailously fair, she should take these as ordinary discourses: since her beauty passeth by, is of like nature to the praises, which are given her, mere air. Will you have more of her? It's true; that she hath the fairest eyes, that ever the world beheld: but when? when they are clear, after dinner, and why not before? I'll give ye an answer; The morning's entertainment is to take care of her gummy eyes, or eyebrows. There can not be seen a nose better shaped, then is hir's: I confess it: but she must have supplied unto her, a clean handkerchief, and that every day. I must likewise ingenuously aver; that her mouth is very little, and pretty: but it's too straight a passage for her stinking breath. Her complexion is delicate, even to perfection, it's evidently seen: but thus much is said, to the end, that she might apprehend all things. The Sun, the Fire, the Air itself, are her enemies, which make a perpetual war against her, until Time hath done his work, whereby she may be hidden under earth. She hath an excellent wit, doubt ye not thereof a whit: for she uttereth rare, and curious passages; it were much better: that she would apply herself to piety, to goodness. One doth inquire of works: rather than of words. What is it to purpose, if she have a fair manner, and demeanour in speech, the true measure of her deeds shall judge her. She sings admirably well. Had she n'aught else but her voice; she could not enthralle otherwise: then by the ear: they who have not affairs wherewith to entertain their times, in passing by for their pleasure, would give ear unto her: but when she maketh an end of her songs, they begin to meditate on something. I'll say no more. If so it happen, that there be praises of her, given unto her, they will return the air which she hath lent them. judge ye whither she will be well content. In sum; let her be rich as was Semiramis, and more fair than Hellen. The one confessed on her Epitaph, which she caused to be engraved on her tombstone; that she never possessed aught in proper, when she had her treasure: but corruption, and misery. The other; after she had entrapped insensible hearts by her subtle charms, struck pity unto her greatest enemies only hearing of her misfortunes. Ladies, flatter not yourselves. One sigh of repentance for your vanities, will yield ye more glory, and more benefit: then all the tears ye can make your enthralled slaves poor forth. In the mean while night warneth ye to retreit: behold your day's journey at an end; now render account unto your lookinglass, of the number of your conquests. But in earnest how treat ye with it? It's true, that ye have made many an one sigh; if ye be proud thereof, the air will remain with ye; n'aught else have they returned unto ye. They have said true: that ye are very fair: it's enough for ye to show yourselves, at the window, and there to remain a while, in the evening's air to give ear to the harmonious Salute, the serenade in fashion: which is offered up unto ye; longer ye will not be: lest your cheeks be swollen by defluxion. judge ye then, without flattering yourselves, whether one can love ye long: since that solely your beauties are the causes that ye are esteemed of at all. How many have I seen of these Idolatressess of their own beauties, who after they had made publicly profession to enthrall the hearts of the most insensible, have come atlenght to such distress, to such misery through their deformity: that they were so fare from being beloved: as that they proved rather an affright to the world, rather despised, then pitied. Truly, Ladies, if ye knew to how many accidents your beauties are subject, it would be unto ye perpetually, rather the object of your neglect, and misprise: then of your wonder. I deny not, but that it's one of the maister-pieces of Nature: yet the self same is become a stepdame, giving itself over to a thousand sorts of mischiefs. It's true indeed, there is not aught more Divine on Earth, nor more enchanting: but this Divinity is alike to that, which one doth attribute to Alexander the Great, whose blood trickling out of his veins, shamefully profaned all the Altars which were dedicated unto him: such are these charms, they are mere illusions which deceive, and abuse weak souls. Verily, Ladies, ye must come to this point; that is; to believe, that virtue solely hath allurements, and graces, which are approved by Time, and Death. All the enticements, and all the charms of Nature are by degrees despoiled, together with itself. And though it seemeth to conserve itself: yet by its proper ruin finding its establishment in its decay. Time ceaseth not to abbreviate from hour to hour the term of the others reign, whilst he doth consume himself. In such sort; that for your comfort, all that ye see, doth vanish with your sight. All what ye hear, doth disperse itself with the air, wherewith your ears are filled, and so for the rest, without that there be aught found permanent on Earth. Ladies, it's solely Eternity, which changeth not, it's it which doth remain as long as your souls, and your souls, as long as it. Wheresoever ye take your courses, it's immenisty will fill all, and it will be the bounds of your affairs what soever they be: After one hundred thousand years, it will not be an instant of Time's permanence, after one hundred thousand millions of years, that instant of which I speak unto ye, will not be though expired. How! Lord, shall I persever to offend thee ever? know I not, that thou art just to all Eternity, and hence is it, that thou punishest sinners with torments, which have no limits. To burn eternally! Oh how the fire which brought Saint Laurence to ashes, doth invite me to meditate on eternal flames, on, to be deprived Lord, for ever, of the pleasures had in glory! Oh! how the burden of thy cross is sweet, and light: if it be compared with the pains of our privation, which never will have end: I can say no more, I can go no further. It's necessary, that I meditate on this so serious a subject. AN ALARM FOR LADIES. The sixth Days Worke. IT's read; that the Tyrians were forty days, without shutting their eyes, for rest: the continual alarum's were such under which they lived; where they saw themselves, together with their town become cenders. Oh! Ladies, how can ye close up an eye, within the trenches of perpetual fear, misery, and calamity, where the direful sound of this Trumpet for judgement, doth hold the most stout, the most bold in awe, and dread. This here, doth not menace one sole burning to ashes: but rather; a thousand death's together. Further; the torments are to be for ever. Then, rouse yourselves; and since ye can not gainsay this eternal necessity to dye: die valiantly with arms in your hands. The benefit thereby had, is companion of glory. Amidst all the tortures, which cruelty hath invented ever, it's esteemed that thereiss never any of more rigour: then that it of watching. What an unquietness is it to sleep never? But if so be it, that for having slept too much in this world, ye prove condemned to watch incessantly in the other: what affliction say I, is it, to be kept awake. I mean not on your down beds, your delicate coutches well made, and in curious order: but rather on beds of fire, of flames, which by Divine virtue, will burn without consuming ye? I tremble for fear, yea even to horror, each time wherein, I meditate heeron. I find not any thing of less worth in life: then is sleep; and they who have compared it to death; therein have found as pregnant reason: as proportion. It's true; we daily dye; but when the new death of fleep doth sursurprise us, can not we say: that we die twice, at once? Our souls have somewhat to do, to handle in their follies, the life of dreams, wherewith they are then all taken up, it's a kind of death unto them as prooveth the light of reason, which doth only rule their faculties: in so much as that; they who sleep much, are more sottish than others, and also more subject to a sudden death, as if so that their continual action dying twice, did confer unto this heavy accident. I return unto ye. At length, God be thanked, ye are awakened. How mean ye to pass the rest of the day's journey? I am assured, that ye ought to have leisure to be dressed; atleast consider amidst these vain entertainments, the deplorable manner of life ye live under, day, and night, namely; to cloth, and unclothe your miserable carcases; whilst Time hath prepared each one's sepulchre. I'll tell ye yet again; that the trade under which ye are ever apprentices, is a lamentable state, and being. Live ye not a strange life, to change your clothes very often? there's each day somewhat to say; for the manner of them, differ: in so much as, what is now in fashion, hardly will suit with ye, and serve your turns to morrow, so certain is the world in its inconstancy▪ as are your humours. Ladies; there are not found other clothes which change not fashion: but your winding sheets; they always are the same: but; as each one chooseth the colour they best like of; if your mournful one's, agree not with your present humours, yet accustom yourselves thereunto, taking your measures of them each night in your beds: the ground therein to be found, and the necessity, will render unto ye in the end, an object, which will suit with ye, not distaste ye a jot. Ah, no. I neither inquire whither, nor to what places ye direct your steps, your paces in your carotches; the whither is so fair: that it inviteth ye to go abroad, and take the air. I will attend ye with my thoughts, according to my wont manner; to know the subject, and ground of your time's enternainement, what it may prove to be. Behold ye in a curious garden, there seated nigh a fountain, under the shadow of many trees, whose branches on their tops are joined together, or very nigh. Your intentions in so doing are to lend your gracious ears a while unto the nightingale: but the letter's sense of her warble, I must declare unto ye; she tells ye in her language, in her manner, such as it is: that its good to salute the Sun each morning, likewise in the evening. To tender unto the Moon some curious music or other. These maling Planets desist not by the influences of their course, to give a speedy end unto her Kingdom; in such sort, that her shouts, her turns, her divisions, her quavering, and redoublings are so many griefs on the unhappiness of her state: since that she hath no voice: but to invite the world to her funeral rites, hence is she constrained to dye the sooner, through the necessity of her singing. Likewise the Turtell, who seeketh in vain her companion, lamenteth her misfortune in an other tune: which doth show unto ye: that Time is greedily gaping, after the ruin of each thing. And though that the Echo, be but a sound, a voice; Time being unable to make it cease, by degrees devoureth the rocks, which give it a rebound. No, no Ladies; Time doth not forbear any thing. What though Time were deceved once; as it is mentioned in the fable, when Orpheus required of Him Euridices? Time hath had memorable revenge, as may be seen in the Histories of all the Poets, who to that end gave him their counsels. But how well are ye placed? it seemeth to me; that it's to meditate at your ease, and repose on that all, which God Almighty hath created here below, and that it all doth participate of the same nature that do the flowers, and fountains which ye see, since that all glideth like to the swiftness of their waves, passages, their currants. Yes, Ladies, the World is a garden of flowers, various in their graces, their beauties, colours, and their odours: but all these according to Nature, are of the same matter. I'll declare myself more clearly. God Almighty in the space of his Creation, planted all what soever ye admire here below, in the garden of the Vnivers, namely; flowers of diverse colours, also of valiew: but all of the same matter: for; there is not one of them exempt from corruption. These truly are the flowers disclosed in the morning, displayed at midday, faded in the evening, and of which Time, who is the gardener, croppeth what he will, and then, when it best pleaseth him. Certes, Ladies, the world is a fountain, and whatsoever it's composed of are its waves, which properly have nothing in their nature, but swiftness passing by. This is essential, to what soever that's here below. Ye may please yourselves, to cast your eyes, on all the objects, which ye find every where about ye. There is not one only, which doth not return ye the like adieu which ye give them: since that ye run the same race all together, though diversely, and by different ways, and manner, into the gulf of the tomb. For all that hitherto hath been said; make unto ye, a posy of flowers: but in gathering those flowers-deluces, those roses, those pinks, and gillyflowers, think that Time likewise, is daily busy in the gardens of your faces, there cropping sometimes; the flowerdeluce of your paintings; other times; the roses of your cheeks; then; the gillyflowers of your lips: Whereof he composeth a nosegay of your inconstancyes. Ye sensibly apprehend this verity, other proofs are not requisite. How now, Ladies? All these will fade in your sights, like a flower. All these will glide before yourselves as waves, and ye as if insensible, will not stir a jot, no, not a jot, never, nor reflect the least on the necessity of dying: from which, God Almighty after the delivery of the law, would not exempt himself, no, not himself. But if the sole thought of death amaze ye; meditate a little, how our sweet Saviour hath the first quenched, the thirst within the Chalice, which he presented, to the end; that at once he might take from ye both fear, and bitterness, acquitt ye of such like weakness. Death is not terrible: but to the impious. It's true; that it oftentimes astonisheth the most just, through apprehensions of God's judgement: but by degrees, this fear becometh weaker, through the faculty of their reason, having much more hope of mercy: then fear of justice, their consciences, will them so; in such manner, that in their agonyes, Nature is sole Author of the fears, wherewith they are shaken. Truly; I know not where I am herein. But what is that which I hear? it's the great bell of the town, which giveth ye notice: that the gates thereof will speedily be shut. Ladies, why lend ye not likewise the ears of your imaginations to the noise of this Trumpet of judgement, which never ceaseth, and doth advertise ye: that the gates of Paradise are at the point of being shut for all Eternity, and that ye shall never enter there: if ye change not your lives. Ah Eternity: how thou dost rejoice me, and jointly astonish me. See Ladies at length, your day's journey hath its end, and it will be found to be well spent for your turns: if so that ye have made your benefits of these important truths, which I have set before your eyes. Even so will pass all the other journeys of your days, to your loss, and confusion: if at least, you take no notice of this truth: that they run their race they, pass by. Reflect seriously with your souls on that meditation; and it will prove impossible: that speedily ye make not an accrue of good deeds, an amass, in favour of your souls. They have nothing proper to themselves: but them only. They will be all their treasures; all their greatness, and all their felicities, whereof God shall be the object, the end, the measure. If ye knew, Ladies, the true hearts content, which on enjoyeth, who hath lived well; when so one cometh to one's stand, abbey, one's last end, one's death, ye would labour with all care, from this instant forward in your conversions on which ye would be more intent. If ye doubt the least of this truth, and yet, alas! inquire of your selves, how it was with ye, at your last sickness. The anxietyes ye had, for your offences, likely increased your griefs; and further; set before your eyes the joys, and unspeakable comforts, wherewith an innocent life might have consoled hearts. Truly, I can not conceive, that there is aught more pleasant, more delightful, assuredly there's nothing in the Vnivers more delicious. AN ALARM FOR LADIES. The Seaventh, and last Days Worke. LADIES, how is it with ye? I yet awaken ye again, I am the same this very day in God's name: since that he giveth leave that this Alarm come to your hands to look on, so long as your ears will dispose themselves to hear attentively the harmony therein to be found for the benefit of your souls. I speak to day, as a day of repose, wherein ye ought to meditate of happy Eternity, which is proposed unto ye for your reward: but; as it is the last entertainment, which I am to have with ye; it ' is expedient; that I make ye partakers of my solitude; knowing through long experience the profits which hence ye will receive, be it, that ye follow my counsel. Represent yourselves, make your approatch: for God hath provided, from all Eternity; that this little book, should fall into your hands, either for your benefits, or for your utter losses for your profits; to your benefits; if ye observe th' instructions which I give, and which God himself hath inspired me with: To your losses; if ye shall misprise, what is herein delivered: this very book doth convince ye of voluntary blindness, and declare the admirable favours, which the infinite bounty shall hereby have shown unto ye for your safety: it's in ye as yet to choose. I'll tell ye then, for your instructions, how profitably ye are to pass your journey. From the time ye are awakened, let your hearts be as sensible of the new present, which God hath given ye this new day: as your eyes are pleased, in admiration of his light. Then; without merchandizing with your beds, what time ye will further assign to yourselves, for your sluggisness get out of them, and as soon as ye are on your knees before a Crucifix, make that it your lookinglasses; it's there where ye may indeed become in love with yourselves, weighing your valiew by the price of that blood, which hath bought ye: O rare miroir! Oh! lookinglass to admire indeed! Render thanks unto your Saviour, that ye were borne, and for your instructions in the Christian, Apostolic, and Roman Faith, as the only way of safety. Then; offering up unto Him all the cogitations, the words, and actions of the journey ye are now about, beseech Him submissively to illuminate the one, and animate the other, to govern these, and to be the object of them all together: so fare forth, as what ye shall think, and say, may be received by Him gratefully. Let the end of this prayer be, the beginning of your necessary affairs to cloth yourselves: but entertain the least time therein that ye can, without trouble, or curiosity. I forbidden ye not the powder: since ye are no other; But expressly the pomada, and vermilion: For; though these are harmless in themselves: yet they may prove pernicious, indeed not blameless through the ills which they may produce, and; as ye shall have been found complices of crimes: so likewise by consequence of pains. As soon as ye are dressed, prepare yourselves to go to Mass, where ye shall persever to render thanks to God, for an infinity of his gracious favours conferred on ye, nor ever let your spirits be diverted aught from this principal, and Divine object: which ye took yourselves unto, as well by reasons: as by recognizance. Present yourselves in such manner; that though God be in each place, our Saviour, is both in body, and soul on the same Altar, where ye offer up your prayers: It ought to cause ye, to be humbly grave, and wary, even to the not daring once to turn your heads without necessity, nor speak one single word, unless compulsarily. At return from Church, each one hath somewhat to entertain their times with according to their qualities, never to be found idle, expecting dinner time: where gormandizing, will be remarked for an offence so disgraceful in a young Gentlewoman: as enormous before God. Shee, who therein can not command herself, is a slave all her life. Are ye invited to a feast, go thither: but so, that it prove a banquet for ye, as neither eating, nor drinking beyond your ordinary custom: hence ye will find, that your bodies will be the more sound, more healthy, and your souls more innocent. If after it, ye take a walk; divert yourselves from such discourses, where no body is interested: but if one of the company, doth speak ill of another, all though it be in jest, turn the discourse, in a fair manner, and to the end: that ye may never accustom your ears to well-like aspersions, laid on any for defects; it being, that ye yourselves are too much charged with them. If ye pass the afternoon within your doors, each one of ye, will employ yourselves with your needle, or read some devout book, to entertain ye more profitably, during the afternoon. I say your book of devotion: as for the eloquent speeches, the Romances, and for the Comedies; they are toys, mere fables: which discover in the end, the undoubted follies of them, who so have been their advancers, and given them esteem, therein have they employed their times, exceeding ill. Be it a holy day; then let this Alarm wherewith I present ye, hinder ye from sleep, howsoever at the Sermon, and do not ye imitate such, who are devout in fashion, who are weary on good friday, to hear of the passion, without considering: that this our Divine Saviour, who hath suffered those, for your selves, had more patience in his torments: then have those impious had, to hear only the recital, which hath been made. Oh Lord! for what other crimes dost thou reserve the thunderbolts of thy justice. When the hour, of your rests doth call on ye, before ye be unclothed make your recourse to consult, to advise seriously, and most attentively the last time, the self same lookinglass, it's the Crucifix, fix your eyes on it, and there examine your consciences, humbly beseeching God's mercy pardon for all your trespasses, which ye have done, during this day's journey, and that ye may have grace, to retain yourselves from sin; that ye may not fall therein again. There are ye to resolve so: then with the same action; offer up unto him, all your desires, and hopes concerning the repose, and tranquillity of your lives: so that he justify the one through his benignity, and the other through his infinite power: but rather; humbly resign your wills to his. Observe it well: that he, who knoweth to compose him self well to God's will, is the wisest of the Universe. It's that only science, Ladies, which can seat ye in repose. Build not the height of your designs, on the greatness of your families, nor on the favour of your friends. I have seen, sayeth the Prophet, Lords of the Earth, elevated beyond the height of the Cedars of Libany; but a dreadful story to recite, next day have vanished from mine eyes, and hardly could I find one, who conserved so much as the memory of his having been. The Favourits of the World, are of the same nature, they solely pass it by. Their fortune is a sudden flash of lightning, which fare surpasseth thunder with its inevitable fall, in sort such: that if God lay not the first stone to all your buildings, all will fall; there will not be found aught, but ruin. Desire then never aught: but what is of God; that's to say; that what soever are your affairs, ye fully refer them all to his Souraignity, and without murmur to his Divine Providence: since that the ordering of all, doth properly appertain to him. Wish ye to be Religious, or to be married? take unto ye that restraint of humility, and obedience: my Lord, thy will be done. It's the prayer which he hath taught ye; judge ye whether it ought to be acceptable unto him, and whether profitable to ye: End your examinations by a prayer to the Virgin, as well for her particular merit, from whence the flash through admiration of its light so bright, dazzleth the sight of all the quires of Angell's: as also, for your safety; since she is Advocate, and all puissant Mediatress, who so hath this Virgin in assistance, will never perish. A PARTICULAR ADVISE For direction of a one's life. NEVER be confident in aught but in God: all freindshipps of the World, retain parcel of its variable Nature: such an one to day would dye for ye, who to morrow, were ye disceased, would not so much as honour ye, attired in morning: Interess is ever found in affections, be they never so pure. Become ye ill favoured, poor, or old, all your great friends, and who so were last evening your loyal lovers will even vanish this very morning, and if ye send for them, none of them, will be found at home for ye. Ladies, it's only God, who is a perfect lover, and such like friend indeed. Will ye have proofs of his goodness? He died for ye before ye were borne. Require ye testimonies of his mercy? daily he conferred grace on ye. Love then him only. Ladies, confide in none but in him, and ye shall never be deceived. Offer up yourselves in all places, for God doth replenish the Vnivers. He is every where, in such sort, that he is witness of your actions, to the end, that this consideration, might retain ye in the duty ye own unto so Saintly, and adorable Majesty. The most consonant prayer, which ye can offer up to God, is for your enemies: since he himself hath given ye the pattern, then; when he was nailed on the Cross; where having nothing but His speech free, served himself thereof, to crave pardon for those villains, who brought him to that being; that misery. Oh unheard of charity! our sweet Saviour called out for mercy for them, the selfsame, who gave him gall, and vinager to squench his thirst. Even then, when in the dead of winter, ye are in your beds shelters, free from could weather, and other damages which might endanger life, set before ye, how many poor there be at this very instant, who have but a little dunghill-straw, for their beds sheets, and coverlids, without hope, that to morrow they shall be provided better. Then; consider somewhat further, elevate your spirits to an higher pitch; behold; that God hath given unto ye degrees, exempt from such like miseries, moved by nothing else; but his goodness, and bounty conferred on ye. Truly they are benignityes, which justly exact eternal, and grateful notice; I wonder not aught that unthankful hence be punished for ever. Take heed, that ye prove not of the number. Offer up yourselves again as having been the same from all Eternity, whom ye are now in the judgement of God Almighty. And what ye ought to ponder more sensibly, is; that amidst the infinity of souls, his power Almighty doth create daily, he hath selected yours, to be instructed in that Religion, wherein solely ye may find your safeties. I am confused, nay rather extased, jointly each time, I consider on such venerable truths, and adorable. What a wonder of goodness is it, that God hath loved ye within himself in your nothing, before all ages I say loved ye, even to the conferring on ye a thousand sorts of benignityes, of which many other's of your sex are deprived. Adore ye; adore ye, Ladies, this Divine Providence, which in such manner hath ordained in your favour without your retributes, without your deserts. Be not ye proud of the admirable qualities, which ye possess above your companions: lest that God punish ye, and take vengeance on ye for it. If ye be very fair: be ye likewise very humble, to the end, that the world may honour ye: when ye can not be beloved more. How many have I known, who in one self same day, were highly prized, mervailously esteemed of, and jointly admired for piety by all the world. Humility in Ladies hath more winning grace in itself: then all the gifts of Nature joined together. In all your good deeds; let not Paradise be the sole object, and scope of your works: for as interessed, and mercenary, ye would lose parcel of their merits: but say with Saint Augustine; Lord, were it even so, that thou hadst not a Paradise to bestow, I would not desist to love thee solely: for thou art perfectly amiable; and further, by means of loving thee, I feel to my advance, the delights of the self same Paradise, which thy mercy maketh me to hope for. My Lord, following on, also; I should not cease to fear thee, hadst thou not a Hell to punish me: since that each time I offend thee, I find myself incessantly tormented, and I begin to suffer the pains wherewith thy justice doth menace me. Ladies, good is to be beloved for itself, and, as God Almighty is the fountain thereof, ye must forbid your hearts that they never sigh, but for the love of him if so ye will that the very Angels be passionate in your behalves. Be not ye one of those faint-hearted, who wax pale; and won for fear, when one tells ye of death; nay fare otherwise; like of the discourse well, and the meditations thereon, to the end that ye may accustom your selves betimes, to pass that over fairly; which ye must undergo of necessity, namely; finish the work, which ye have begun, from the first moment of your lives, and wherein ye go on incessantly. Oh how terrible is death to them who never have meditated thereon! Let then each of ye show yourselves oftentimes, unto your selves in some private retire: and inquire where ye shall be hence fifty years to come, more, or less, and elevate your spirits on this serious subject. Ye see what it delivereth: It's true, that then the same bodies; which now have souls, and on which even now set so great a valiew will become no other than hillocks of dung, where the worms will make their seat. But what will become of your souls? wherewith will they entertain their times during this long Eternity? Is it that they must burn in Hell in expiation of their crimes? At these last words break your silence, and if ye be in a retired place, where ye can not be heard, cry, out aloud, and boldly with Saint Augustin, say. Lord, burn, cut in pieces, and reduce into powder, this miserable body of mine, I abandon it before the fury of thy justice; so that thou pardon my soul in the other. Ladies, Oh! what marvels would these words produce recited often, for the assuring of your safeties: but in it, experience will make ye sensible of much more than can I hereon deliver. I end here with this last advice, which I offer up unto ye, as one of the most importants, and of most benefit: that ye take unto ye a particular devotion to the Virgin, daily saluting her with some Hymn in her praise. On whom one of the devout cryeth out; that the Angels bow unto, the Heaven humbleth itself unto, and that all Nature trembleth with honour, and fear before this incomparable Marie; since that her womb served for a cradle to her Creator, her breasts for nouriture, and her arms for a rest. Truly; she who perfectly knoweth to honour her; is not aught wanting, in what she ought to understand, for the good of her safety. FINIS.