THE CHARACTER OF A TRULY VIRTUOUS AND PIOUS WOMAN, AS IT HATH BEEN ACTED BY MISTRESS MARGARET DUNGAN, (WIFE TO DOCTOR ARNOLD BOATE,) In the constant course of her Whole life, Which she finished at Paris 17. Aprilis 1651.  
PARISH, Printed by STE. MAUCROY for the Author, 1651.   

TO THE RIGHT REVEREND FATHER IN GOD THOMAS SINSERF, Lord Bishop Galloway.  
MAy it please your Lordship,  
Having perpetually before my eyes the aymable and commendable qualities of my most lovely and most beloved consort, of whom it pleased God lately to deprive me in the prime of her age (to my unspeakable grief, and irreparable discomfort) and having found some consolation in reducing in writing part of what my memory did suggest unto me of her, for to serve me instead of a portrait, upon which I might often pass my vieuw, thereby in some sort to mitigate the excess of my tormenting sadness, much better than others in the like case use to do with less lively and more corporeal representations: I thought good, what I had so set down at first with no other intention, than to remain with myself, and to serve only for mine own use and consolation, to publish the same unto the world; partly for to acquit what is due to her virtues, deserving a fare statelier monument; and principally for the advantage and edification of others; hoping that her example may serve as a powerful motif, whereby many will be stirred up to the practice of true virtue and piety, in the same manner as these lines (free from all amplifications and rhetorical ornaments, and consisting of a bare and plain narration without all artifice) will hold forth to have been done by her. And as all those, who have known her, can bear me witness, that I have said nothing her, but the naKed truth; so in particular your Lordship, who having lodged with us under the same roof, and come to the same board with us, for the space of well near three years, have seen in her conversation all those qualities verified, which here I relate of her: which hath encouraged me, to dedicate these lines unto your Lordship, thereby to put them past all contradiction with such, as have not at all been acquainted with her, and who upon my bare record might conceive, that my pen had not been so much guided by  truth, as by an over-favourable and preoccupated affection.  
And forasmuch as some passages of this treatise will receive some light by the knowledge of the accident that hath taken her away, and of the manner that it made an end of her; it will be good to give a compendious relation of the same, before I come to the main matter. Having been married to me at Dublin on christmas day in the year of our Lord 1642. and brought me three children (the youngest where-of, being a girl, borne here in Paris on the 13. of September 1646. is only alive) she miscarried last year on the 27. of April, without any evident cause▪ and having conceived again about the 12. ● 14. of August, she wenton happily till the first of March, without any other acommoditie, than that she was excessive big, more than with any former child she had been, very un-able to walk or stir, and subject to frequent faintings; for which last accident having been let blood in the arm on the 19 of November, she was some weeks the better for it. For the rest, she had her health wonderful well and a fare better appetite, than she had had with any of her former children; the which did so fill her veins, as it caused the aforesaid excessive bigness▪ and nature being overburdened with blood, discharged itself on the first of March in the evening, of a sudden, and without any the least preceding commotion of mind or body, of part of it, in that impetuous manner, as in the space of less than half an hour she lost more than two ●ound▪ and having continued to lose some more blood for the space of an hour longer, and begun to bleed afresh the next morning, she had nine ounces of blood drawee from her out of her right arm; which presently stayed her bleeding. But she had another fit the 13. of March, though nothing so copious as the first; and ● third on the 22. of the same month, much more moderate yet, and such was also the fourth, which came on the first of April. The tenth of April she had a fifth shed much what of the same quantity as the second: and the 12. of April at night of sixth, a very great one, the blood for a great while running from her just like a spigot. The 15. of the same month, being saturday, she had a seaventh fit, fare more furious than any of the former, so as in less than half an hour's time she lost 10. or 12. pound of blood; continuing also to bleed some what for two or three hours after; by the end whereof the bleeding was staunched, she having been let blood in the arm, and many good remedies given her inwardly, and applied outwardly, by me and the midwife, with the joint advice of Doctor Sarrasin, an ancient and famous practioner. Yet she had another little shed the same day about ten of the clock at night, a second about the same hour the next morning, being sunday; and a third at one the clock in the afternoon▪ and from that time the blood having stayed on her till the next day, monday the 17. of April, at seven a clock at night, then again, notwhitstanding a great many of most excellent remedies, both outward and inward, that had been administered to her eversince saturday at noon, (during which time also she had not stirred out of her bed, and been plied with such exquisite nourishments, as are fitting and usual in the like cases) the blood burst down in as great an abundance as ever: whereby her veins, so much emptied already, having been utterly exhausted, it so abated her strength, as casting her from one fainting fit into another, without any thorough throws, for to bring-on labour, but only some weak beginnings of it (to the contrary of what the midwife with us had hoped and expected) she never came to herself again but gave up her ghost some three hours after the beginning of this last fit, and about ten of the clock at night having kept her senses till within a quarter of an hour afore she died, and her speech till within less than half an hour. And this last half hour she was wonderful calm and quiet, whereas for the space of somewhat more than half an hour before she had grievously tossed; her heart being loath to yield to the approaches of death, because not at all abated by any sickness. For after every one of those sheds, that she had had from the beginning, even after that late and grievous one on saturday, and after the subsequent ones on sunday; she did still recover herself again within a few hours, and would be very hearty, eating her meat with as good an appetite and digestion, as if she had ailed nothing. And having got a great deal of good sleep the last night of her life, that betwixt sunday and monday, she was so cheerful and light some, not only in the morning, but all the day aster, as if she had had no harm at all▪ and whereas she had company most part of the afternoon, she talked and was merry with them in the same manner, as any well body might have done. Insomuch as Doctor Sarrasin, who went not from her till a little before seven of the clock at night (having been upwards of an hour with her) went away full of most comfortable hopes, and assured me at parting, that there was nothing at all to be feared for her. For although she had not felt the child stir at all since saturday at noon, we made the less matter of that, because that it having lain still aster several of the former fits in the same manner for the space of 24. hours, and longer, it was still come to itself again: so as there was cause to hope for as much at the time. As for what she said and did in those last hours of her life, and how she concluded it in relation to God and her soul, that will find a place in some part of the following Discourse; the which let us begin now.   

I.  
SHe feared God most truly, and with a most upright heart, endeavouring in all her actions, throughout the whole course of her life, to observe his holy commandments, and to abstain from all evil: insomuch as she would not have committed any thing willingly, that she was convinced to be contrary to his holy will, expressed in sacred Writ, for an earthly advantage what soever; the preserving of a good conscience in a things, being the chief of her cares. And 〈◊〉 she was wonderful religious, so she was very devout, never missing of performing her morning and evening prayers, of reading every day some portion of the holy Scripture, of duly observing the Lord's day, of assisting at God's public worship on the same, (without ever absenting herself from it for any small hindrances) and of receiving frequently the holy communion; before which she ever prepared herself the evening before very reverently with fitting prayers and meditations, and with the like closed up that sacred action, at her coming home from the same▪ and in that exercise, as in other parts of her devotion, she helped herself much with the forms set down in the Practice of Piety whereof she was a great lover▪ and she did likewise greatly affect a● other books of devotion of meditations, and 〈◊〉 moral instructions, provided that they were written feelingly, s●lidlie, and gravely, for those that were either dull, flat, and liveless or stuffed with word rather than with matt●● and puffed up with empty rhetoric, she did not at all care for, as on all other subjects, so principally on this.  
Having been bred a Protestant by her father, and by her mother (a mere saint of a woman) she was very firm in that profession, and very averse from all the errors of the contrary: for the confuting whereof, and for the asserting of the truth, she would uphold a dispute so handsomely, and produce such solid and pertinent arguments, as was not a little to be admired in her sex and age and having been several times tampered withal since her coming to Paris, by Priests and Friars, especially of the Irish nation (who, because of her belongins to that country by her father, pretended to be particularly obliged, to have a care of converting her to their belief) she ever sent them away hopeless of effecting any thing upon her; so closing their mouths, upon what point so ever they attaqued her, as she left them destitute of all solid replies▪ and this she did with so much calmness, as she never entered into the least heat in any of those disputes.  
She was altogether addicted to the constitution of the church of England, both for the government, and for the forms practised in the same; being very much in love with the common prayer, and greatly admiring many particulars of it, as of the rest of the Liturgy, especially the manner of administering the Lords supper, and of burying the dead▪ yet she was very fare from being of their opinion, who looK o● the French Protestants as being of a different Religion; not thinking a few differences, in circumstantial matters of government and ceremonies, a sufficient ground of making so great a distance betwixt two churches so unanimous in all essentials▪ and this made her very willing to go to Charenton, and to find much comfort and satisfaction, not only in assisting at their sermons and prayers, but in receiving the Lords supper with them; as she hath done very often.  
She could in no wise endure any expressions, that had any thing of profaneness in them, though otherwise a great lover of witty and merry say: but 〈◊〉 the contrary she singularly relished all discourses of goodness and piety, and would often fa● on them herself, when that good occasions were offered, and when she thought the company would be delighted or edified by it: being very fare from affectation in this, as in all other matters, and from desiring to appear religious, rather than to be so. She greatly hated all singularities in Religion, either in matters of opinion, or of practice; being a great lover of conformity. She had perfectly those two qualities of David, of loving the godly, and of hating the wicked: and as she greatly abhorred all lewd and profane persons, so she did no sooner perceive true goodness and piety in any body, but she presently conceived a great friendship and affection towards them.  
And the fear of God bore so absolute a sway in her soul, as it was the chief ground of a● her other virtues and good qualities, for su● of them, as she was naturally inclined unto, other by the frame of her mind, or the temperature of her body, or both (which were many, and of the chiefest) in then she was greatly consumed and strengthened by this consideration, that they were pleasing to God Almighty, and commanded by him; oftentimes making that reflection▪ and as for the others, where-unto her nature was not so much disposed of itself, or from which it had some aversion, (as humility, long-suffering, contemt of the splendour and advantages of this world) she did in them so strive with herself, out of a mere desire or making herself acceptable 〈◊〉 God, and of performing his blessed command●ments; as she did not only now and then by way of a temporary violence upon herself perform some actions 〈◊〉 those virtues, contrary to her own inclination only because she knew them to be required 〈◊〉 God; but by her con●nuall study and practic laboured to maKe the habitual to her, and 〈◊〉 a great measure attained there-unto.   

II.  
She was most exactly just, so as she would not have done any body the least wrong in the world, though it had been to benefit herself never so much by it; and would rather have exposed herself to any incommodity, than be wanting in giving every body their due to the full. which also make her very punctual paying all kind of del● as soon as ever they w● owing, and called for never using nor en●ring to make any bo● call twice for what v● to be paid to them; a● so fare from taking pleasure in keeping 〈◊〉 her hands moneys that were due, as she v● rather displeased w● them, who were s● in coming to dem● them. And as she was severe an observer of this virtue towards others, so she was very remiss in exacting it from others to herself; being of a wonderful yielding nature, and rather choosing at any time to go from her right, than by standing too precisely upon it, draw-on any obloquy or strife upon herself. It was from the dictates of justice, that she greatly condemned all insurrections whatsoever, as being persuaded, that absolute obedience is due to the legitimate supreme Powers and all forcible resistance against them forbidden, though they acq● themselves never so ill● the trust committed 〈◊〉 them by God and me● and commit never 〈◊〉 many and so great errors against equity and reason, and against the fundamental laws 〈◊〉 their countries. In which persuasion, mainly grounded on conscience, she did also greatly strengthen herself by a prudential consideration (frequently insisted upon by her in her discourses) of the great evils, that many times come to pass by reason of the like stirs; whereby the people, gulled by the cunning of a few factious and ambitious leaders (zealously pretending the public interest, but really making that altogether subservient to the accomplishing of their ov● unwarrantable desi● and desseins) do commonly, instead of m●ding their condition fight themselves into much more grievous every, than that whi● before they suffered 〈◊〉 apprehended. It w● from justice also, th● she was wonderful r●pective to all decay persons, being very ●refull to defer as mu● unto them, and to 〈◊〉 them with all the sa● civilities, in their present low condition, that were given or due unto them in the days of their best fortune▪ and this she observed not only towards others of that kind, with whom she had not any particular commerce, but even unto them, who in some sort depended on her, and who often tasted of the fruits of her bounty: she thinKing it very hard and unreasonable, that what was truly due to a body for some in 〈◊〉 rend quality, should 〈◊〉 denied them because 〈◊〉 their misfortune; grievous enough to 〈◊〉 borne, without a● such aggravation.   

III.  
As she detested all i● justice to all kind of person's, so especially th● which was exercise against infirm ones wanting means an friends for to help an right themselves; of whose condition she was wonderful sensible, and wonderful prone to comfort and relieve them to the best of her power; as likewise all other persons distressed with any calamities, unto whom she was exceedingly tenderhearted and compassionate. This made her very charitable and openhanded to all such, as fare as her own abilities would any ways give her leave: the enlarging whereof sl● desired for nothing el● so much, as that there● she might be enabled 〈◊〉 do the more good unt● the needy; whereas els● setting that consideration apart, she h● brought herself to an absolute contentedness wi● that mediocrity of fortune, which the Lo● was pleased to affo● us. And as her com●passionate nature ma● her to have a very de● fellowfeeling of oth● folks want and poverty, and to be very free in imparting her own unto them, wherewithal to relieve their necessities; so she had a very lively sense of all their other sufferings, and consequently did exceedingly detest all kind of cruelty. For her heart was so wonderful tender, as her compassion extended itself not only unto all christians, and unto all mankind, even unto such who by their own misdoings h●● brought upon themselves the evil they suffer (except only thos● who being guilty some very heinous ●mes, were unto her ● objects of mere horror she obdurating her h● against them out of me● strength of iudgeme●● but it reached also to 〈◊〉 very dumb and unr●sonable creatures: u● whom she could 〈◊〉 only not find in 〈◊〉 heart to do any 〈◊〉 lest harm, or endure others to do it; but if casually any hurt was befallen them, it would very much trouble her, and she would not omit any endeavours for to help them out of their pains. and I have several times observed with wonderment, how her mind would be disquieted, if but a bird, or any other domestic creature, had any harm come to them, and how tenderly diligent she would be in seeking to ease 〈◊〉 to relieve them.   

iv  
As her charity 〈◊〉 very great in the af● said particulars, so it 〈◊〉 no less in maKing 〈◊〉 best of other fol● actions▪ and instead 〈◊〉 being the first in de●ting them, or putting an evil construction upon them; she wo●●d ever taKe their part, v●●o were so dealt with 〈◊〉 being so fare from taking any delight in backbiting, and in detracting from others (a vice so common now adays amongst all kind of persons, as in most companies, especially of women, it is the principal subject of people's discourses) as she would ever resist them that did so: and that not only in the behalf of persons, to whom she had any relation, or obligation, but even to mere strangers, yea and to persons who had dealt unkindly with her, or any way● offended her; and to suc● also many times, wh● by their own depor●ments had given th● world just cause of suspecting the worst 〈◊〉 them. It is true, that a● such deportments we● condemned by her wi● much severity; her charity being no way● blind, nor at all ove● clouding her iudgeme●● and her inbred hatred vice and all vicious actions. But she could not give her assent to those consequences, which usually are drawn from them, except the matter were wonderful evident▪ neither did a common report, or general rumour, sway her belief much in this particular: she persuading herself, and that not without good ground, that many have suffered injustlie in their reputation, without being really guilty of the crimes or follies, whe● with common fame h●● branded them. And 〈◊〉 this her charity w● common to all sorts 〈◊〉 persons, so she did i● peculiar manner app● it to them of the supr● me degrees: in wh● nevertheless, as in 〈◊〉 others, she did very mu●● condemn not only ● such carriage, as had a●● thing of indiscretion 〈◊〉 of looseness in it, a●● thereby gave some probable grounds of suspecting and speaking the worst of them; but even those actions, which being in themselves innocent, and of an indifferent nature, were known to themselves to be looked-on with scandal, and to the continuance whereof no necessity at all obliged them: which to have been the case, some years since, of som● persons of greatest eminency, in this and other neighbouring countri●● is obvious to every ma● knowledge, who is n● a mere stranger to 〈◊〉 passages of the times.   

V  
Her charity was likewise singular in forgiving all manner 〈◊〉 wrongs and offence though never so gross● or so malicious; and th●● not only upon endeavours of reconciliation but before any satisfaction given. And so fare she was from harbouring any spleen, or any thoughts of revenge, towards them that had done her any injury; as she did not only pardon them from all her soul, and heartily prayed God to do the same; but was very willing and ready, to do them any good offices, not only in that nature, of which we have spoKen in the foregoing article, but on all other occasions, tha● presented themselves unto her. And her charit● was so complete in th● particular, and accompanied with so much gen●rositie, as nothing cou●● have rejoiced her mor● than to have it in h● power, to do so●● great courtesy un● them, who had des●ved the the quite contrary 〈◊〉 her; and she would 〈◊〉 sure to do it, if the opportunity offered itself   

VI  
She was wonderful liberal of her nature, which quality as it well helped-on her charity, in being communicative of relief to the poor, so it made her come-off very handsomely, according to her own condition, with all other matters of expense; loving much rather not to do at all such things, as might conveniently be omitted, than not to do them compleatlie. yet was she very fare from being a prodigal: and as her own inclination did altogether exempt her from niggardlynes, and from all things that might in any wise savour that way, so her judgement gave a sweet mixture of frugality to her liberality, making her exactly wary of spending any thing on vanity, or pleasures: as on the other side she would always much ●ther have chosen to in●●mmodeate herself, than ●ot to fulfil the utmost, ●f what decency, yea ●nd generosity too, did ●●quire. And as in the ●atter of apparel, furniture, and attendance, ●●e could have been con●ent to go to the most expensive magnificence, ●hat any ways might ●ute with her quality; 〈◊〉 grace and wisdom ●ade her overrule whatever there was too much of this in her natural inclination, and acquiesce with a full contentment of mind in a comely mediocrity; yea and to rest satisfied with less too, when that either the public calamities, or some of our own private emergencies, did so require it. And in this, as in other particulars, her mind was of that sweet and happy temper, as she ever kept her desires within those limits, that reason and goodness did prescribe ●nto her; and when she ●ad attained to what with their approbation ●he had propounded unto herself, she rested there, with an absolute contentedness; no ways like ●nto most persons, who 〈◊〉 ●lilating their lon● 〈◊〉 to what is remote, 〈◊〉 little or no taste in what they do enjoy for the present, though formerly the utmost of their wishes, aspiring still after new inlargements.   

VII.  
She loved all kind of summerfruit exceedingly, as most young folks, especially of that sex, use to do: and she could never frame herself to an absolute and constant forbearance of it, although her he●rs did seem so to requi●e it, and that the plentiful use of the same did from time to time subject her to several little accidents and infirmities. But for all other things, never man or woman less loved their bellies, than she did; she taKing-up most contentedly at any time with most ordinary food, so it were but good and wholesome; and neither longing for more exquisite dishes, when she had them not; nor taking any singular delight in them, when that at any time for my saKe, or for the reception of some friend, she had provided any; or that abroad, either at a friends house, or in the country upon a journey of pleasure, she met with any▪ and she would let the whole year pass, without so much as once cooking any thing for herself, or having any particular dish prepared for her. And yet she was not so indifferent, nor her mouth so out of taste, but that she did perfectly well relish the finer and delicater meats ●bove the more common ones, and in her own inclinations like several kinds of food before many others▪ but to buy that little pleasure, which she took in them, at the expense of any great cost or trouble, that she could never find in her heart to do. As for wine, or any strong drinks whatso ever, she never known what it was to love them: and when she took any (as she did wonderful seldom, and in very small quantities) it was merely in the nature of a medicine. And as to confitures, and all kind of sweetmeats, she cared not at all for them, nor could endure any more than to taste of them, and scarce that neither, even when they cost her nothing.   

VIII.  
Her chastity was altogether extraordinary; and as with a singular care she ever kept her reputation most absolutely unspotted, never having committed any action, that might have afforded any the least ground or colour of obloquy to the most malicious slanderers: so she never known, what it was to have any the least inclination or temptation of sinning that way. And indeed, besides the prevalency of grace and goodness in her, the very temper of her body made het so absolute a stranger to all sinful lusts, as she never known what it was to take any the least pleasure in our very conjugal embraces, or in all that time, that we were married together (being upwards of eight years) so much as once to yield unto the performance of the same, without some reluctancy, nor otherwise than in maKing some effort upon herself for the paying of a bounden duty. And this her natural coldness as it made her very apt to judge the best of other women, whose public misbehaviour did not openly speak them guilty, and to misbeleeve all or most part of what was said of their contrary disposition (as not able to conceive that easily in others, so much the contrary whereof she found in herself) so it gave her cause oftentimes to say, when in our private discourses we would freely speak our minds one to another, that chastity was no virtue at all in her, and that she did not deserve any commendations for possessing it; no more than a man, who naturally careth not for wine, doth merit ani● praises for being no drunkard. And as she was chaste in this high degree, so she was no less modest and shame fast; which quality, a● well as the dictates of grace, made her that she ●ould not endure any wanton and lascivious expressions, not only not foul and broad ones, but even such as but darkly or glauncinglie tended that way: at the which, if it were her fortune to be in company where any such thing was spoken, she would blush as much, and be as much displeased, as could be expected of a little maiden of the best nature and education. And indeed at the very first aspect one might readily read this quality in her face, her ordinary countenance holding forth a most sweet and a most perfect modesty.   

IX.  
But the aforesaid coldness of her temper did no ways hinder her of being most fervent in her affection towards me nor of bearing me so sincere and so entire a love, as I believe to be equalled but by few wives: and sure I am, it can be exceeded by none. This made her to desire to have very much of my company, never being better pleased, than when she had me near her; to be wonderful solicitous in procuring me all manner of contentment, and preventing all causes of displeasure; to comply with my inclinations, and applaud my resolutions, except she see or apprehended some great cause to the contrary (which then very sweetly and prudently she would lay open to me) and endeavour to the utmost of her power to further and effect them; and to be so wonderful tender of me, that if any the least thing ailed me, and if but my finger ached, she was all out of order, and could not quiet herself, till she known 〈◊〉 was better with me. And not only at other times it was so with her, but even when she was nothing well herself, and when she was troubled with any pain or accident whatever; the feeling whereof could not in the least wise hinder that her tenderness over me: which made me very wary at all times how I did complain before her of any slight matter; for fear of disquieting her more than the matter was worth. And in that sickness, wherewith it pleased God to visit me in the beginning of the year 1646. (the only that I had, since we were married together) and which, by reason of a relapse, Kept m● betwixt two ana thro● week's in my bed, sh● was so assiduous abou● me, took so much pains with me, (although she was then som● months gone with chil● and needed not to have done any thing herself, we having more servants than one about us) and did so lay my case to heart, as none but a most excellent wife would have done the same. And withal she used so much discretion and circumspection, that as oft as her grief, out of the apprehension of my danger, came to that height, that she could no longer keep it in, but that she must needs vent it in tears and sobs (which befell her very often) she would be sure to retire to a corner, where I should neither see nor hear her, for fear of aggravating my indisposition by her grieving.   

X.  
And as to me, so t● her children, her affection was wonderful great● and tender, which mad● her take her principals delight in them, while● she enjoyed them, and heavily to mourn after them, when the Lord took them from us; as he did the second, being a boy, on the 15. of May 1649. being then seven months old: and the eldest, which was a girl, on the second of October 1647. she then being come to the age of three years compleatlie▪ and the loss of this child did not only afflict her extremely for the present, (as that of the boy did too) but for a great while, and many months after: during all which time she shed abundance of tears for her. Indeed the girl was a most lovely one, being of most exquisite features, and of a most pure complexion: and therebesides (which was much more to be valued, and accordingly valued by the mother) there appeared in her, as much as could appear in that tender age, not only a wonderful good wit, but all the signs of a sweet disposition of mind, and of a good and virtuous nature; whereby she had got the love of all that known her: so as it was no wonder, if the Mother's heart was extremely set upon her. And the Lord having given a good share of the same advantages, both of body and of mind, to our last girl too; the mother's affection, ever guided as much by judgement as by instinct, was not only as excessive to her, as it had been to the other, but she took yet greater joy and contentment in her, than she had done in the former: Because that the endowments of the mind, the chief object of the Mother's affection, shown forth themselves more manifestly and fully in her than they had done i● our eldest girl, forasmuch as she was com● to some greater ripened of age, than the other had lived unto; being four years and a half old, when the Mother died. And my Love finding every day more and more, that besides the sweetness of her nature, free from all vicious and perverse inclinations (some or other whereof do appear in most children) a great flexibility towards all good instructions, and an extraordinary awfulnes of all corrections, so as a word and a threat would do● more with her, tha● blows with others; sh● was also very capable and withal not only willing, but greatly desirous of learning, an● consequently most susceptible of all good education: she took so grea● a felicity in her, that s● she had but the chil● near her, she nev●● found the miss of ani● other company; whic● otherwise, her nature being very sociable she loved wonderful well. And as before, so much more during the time that she altogether Kept her chamber (as she did for the space of seven weeks, ever since that first accident on the first of March) she spent the greatest part of her time with her; partly in teaching her to pray, and making her repeat often the Lords prayer, and several other good prayers, as likewise the Creed, and the Commandments; partly 〈◊〉 catechising her about th● principal points of christian Religion, making her every day repea● what she had learned b●fore, with some ne● additions still from tim● time; partly in teaching her the beginnings 〈◊〉 reading, which she di● with so much success, 〈◊〉 in a few week's the chi●● had perfectly learned 〈◊〉 her letters, and the sp●●ling of all single syllables with good progress towards the spelling of the more compounded ones, and of some whole words; and lastlie in answering the child's questions (most of which were wonderful pretty and witty) and in taKing all occasions, both by them, and otherwise too, of begetting and confirming in her the knowledge and love of virtue, piety, and civility. And finding all the pains, which she took with the child, wonderful effectually that did so inflame h●● affection towards h●● more and more, an● add so much to th● great pleasure and happiness, which she shape● unto herself in having her near her, as s●● would needs dress th● child every morning herself, and spend an hou● or two about it, instep of letting one of h● maids do it, as they us● to do, when the chi●● was younger yet: a●● she would never have lost her out of her sight, if she would have looked only to her own contentment. But her judgement overruling her inclination in this, as in other particulars, she would every day for a great while deprive herself of her, not only when she had company, but even at other times too; for fear of making the child mopish, and to give her time to recreate herself with play, the moderate use whereof she known to be absolutely necessary for children. But although her love and her indulgence towards her children was thus excessive, yet it was no ways 〈◊〉 fond one, but tempered with so much severity as she would never win● at any of their faults nor let them go uncorrected, whenever the● had done some thin● amiss; as no children's though of never so goo● a nature, are always exempt from committing some childish fault, or other.   

XI.  
Her love and affection, which was thus fervent to her husband and children, was nothing remiss to her other relations, especially to her parents and two btothers, but as entire and as great, as could be expected of a person of so much grace and goodness. This made he● lay very much to hear● the death of her eldest brother, William Dungan, who having had the command, for th● space of a year and 〈◊〉 half, of a company 〈◊〉 two hundred firelock in the king's service, i● the late wars of England, and shown mu● gallantry and coura●● on all occasions, w●● one of the princip●● actors in the taking 〈◊〉 Leicester, a few days before the battle of Nazeby; where having led on the soldiers the third time to the assault, after that they had been twice beaten-off, he was at his very entering into the town shot through the body with a musket-bullet, of which he died within a few hours after; being very much lamented by all them that known him, especially by his General, Prince Rupert, who in a particular manne● affected him for his valour, diligence, and sobriety. This loss, of ● brother in the flower o● his youth (for he wa● not above 23. years old when he died) whom she had ever loved mos● tenderly, and whom s●● esteemed highly for h●● brave qualities; having been redoubled wit● the loss of her mothe● one of the best mothe● that ever was; wh● had taken her son's dea● so much to heart, as it put her into a consomtion, whereof she died within a few months after: she was ready to be overwhelmed with grief, if the comfort, which she took in me and her child, had not sustained her, till other and sublimer considerations, of submitting to Gods will, and taking all patienlie at his hands, could take place in her distressed mind. But as it had afflicted her very much, that the desolate estate of Ireland, and the exigence of my affairs, had necessitated me to bring her away from Dublin in the beginning of the year 1644. and thereby to separate her at a great distance, as from the rest of her friends and kindred (who all were exceeding sorry to part with her) so from her dear Parents, where-unto nevertheless she submitted willingly, and without repining, as knowing that my resolution to be ●●ounded on unanswere●●le reasons: so she did ●●cessivelie long, after ●●e death of her brother ●●d mother, more yet ●●an ever before, to re●rne into Ireland, for 〈◊〉 be a comfort to her ●ood father in that sad loneliness, where-unto ●hat grievous double ●osse had reduced him. ●or she loved him as much, as ever child loved a father, not only ●ut of a natural instinct, as he was her father, but upon the consideration, that he had ever been a most loving and most indulgent father to her; and that as he had put her into the world, so he had had a singular care, together with the mother (a woman of a most sanctified mind and conversation) to bring her up in the fear of God, and in the true Religion: and withal had never spared any pains or costs on her, for to ●●ve her the very best ●eeding, that the coun●●e could afford, and to ●ave her thoroughly instructed in all those qualities, that are any ways ●●quisite for the making-up of a most complete gentlewoman, viz perfect skill in all kind of needlework, the french language, dancing, music; the lute, and other instruments. And her desire, of returning to her father on the said grounds, being so full of piety and reason, I would long since have accomplished it, if the public condition of Ireland, and the conveniency of mine own affairs, would in any wise have given way to it. Which she perfectly well knowing, and that it was not want of good will, that hindered me from giving her satisfaction in this particular; she strove to content herself the best she could, and to console her ●nging with these ho●es, that the same lets, which hindered us for ●he present from returning to Dublin, would ●ot last always; but that ●he times mending, she would yet go back to ●reland, and there be a stay and comfort to her good father all the remainder of his days. But it hath pleased God to dispose otherwise of it, and in her to deprive him, as well as me, of the chiefest joy that we had in this world.   

XII.  
As she esteemed it her greatest happiness, that God had done her the grace to call her to the knowledge of his saving truth, and to the assured hopes of everlasting bliss, by making her a christian, of the Reformed Religion, and that really and sincerely, not in outward profession only; for which she gave daily most hearty thanks unto his Divine Majesty: so she accounted it one of her greatest temporal blessings, to be of a good extraction. And that indeed was as good, as any could be under the degree of nobility: the Dungans (of which house her father, Thomas Dungan, justice of the Court of Common Pleas at Dublin, is a younger brother) being of the ancientest and best gentry of Ireland, and allied not only with most of the prime gentry of the Pale, as the Talbots, the Rocheforts, the Ashpooles, the Wogans, etc. but even with several Noble houses. And as for her maternal line, that was no ways inferior to the other: the Palmers of Nottinghamshire (of which her mother, Grace Palmer, was borne) although but a younger branch of the Palmer's ●f Lemingthon, in the mountie of Gloucester, having always subsisted very honourably, and been reckoned among the best houses of that country. And she set so high a value upon this quality, that if it had been possible for her to forgo what nature and her birth had given her, she would not have accepted of the wealth and splendour of a Princess, on condition of not being borne a gentlewoman. Yet for all this no body did or could more, than she, despise a gentleman or gentlewoman, whose qualities and actions were not correspondent to their extraction▪ and not only vice and wickedness made her lose all esteem in their behalf (as to the contrary she greatly valued even the meanest persons, in whom she perceived true goodness and virtue) but also ill-bred carriage, and all incivility and ●udenes: using to say oftentimes, that in vain they stood upon their gentry, though descended of never so good houses, whose behaviour and manners were gross and plebejan; and being herself not only very civil, after the exactest and compleatest manner, but wonderful gentle in all her actions, by nature as well as by education, and so without all affectation▪ and she would come-off wonderful handsomely with all Kind of compliments, having naturally a great vein and copiousness that way, both in writing of letters, and in discoursing; and yet being very judicious in not making use of them but very seasonably, and as was most fitting and requisite according to the diversity of the several occasions.  
Withal she was a great hater of all proud and haughty deportments: ●eing herself so courious and affable, not only to her equals, but also to her inferiors, ●hose of the very meanest ●rt not excepted, that ●ad any occasion to ●ome at her, as she wone ●heir hearts extremely. wherefore also not only her friends, but also all those mechanic and ministerial persons, who either used to come constantly to the house, and to be employed by her, or had at any time had any dealing at all with her, were extremely grieved at her decease; there being very few of that whole number, who did not witness their sorrow for it with abundance of tears. And yet her carriage towards this Kind of people was ever very free from all meanness, she behaving herself with an exact mediocrity betwixt scornful contemt and an over-●opular familiarity.   

XIII.  
Being of a very sociable nature, she loved good company very much, and to spend some hours at convenient times in making or receiving visits. And as she was fit for all kind of discourses, and could not only be content, but took great delight in entering and dwelling on serious matters, whether of state-affairs and the passages of the times, or of things belonging to Morality or Divinity, when that the gravity of the company, or other good occasions made them necessary or seasonable; she acquitting herself very wisely and solidly of them, to the great satisfaction of them that she discoursed withal: so naturally she was very much taken with all kind of witty conversation, having herself a very ready wit, and a very quick apprehension; by reason whereof also she was ever very apt to learn▪ and as she attained very soon, being yet a child, to all those things, that she was instructed in, even to admiration; so since our coming to Paris she perfected herself in the french tongue in much less time, than what is usual unto most others. And for the same reason she bore also a great love to all other productions of wit, especially to good verses and poems, and to elegant well contrived Romants, or feigned histories, such as Sidneys Arcadia, Astrea, Ariana, the Illustrious Bashaw, and above all those two late ones of Monsieur de Calleprenette, so much admired universally, Cassandra and Cleopatra; on the reading of which choice Romants she did with much contentment bestow some part of her time now and then: being wonderfully pleased, as with the beauty of their language and conceptions, so with the characters off all kind of heroical virtues, which therein are held forth most lively in the persons of both sexes. But as great a lover as she was of wit, and of all the productions of it; the least mixture of profaneness, obsceneness, or lasciviousness, did so sour them unto her, as she did not only lose all pleasure in them, when so tainted, but she did perfectly loath and detest them.   

XIV.  
She was also wonderful discreet in her conversation, and ever used a singular care and circumspection in not giving any offence to any body; avoiding not only all kind of taunts reproaches, and bitter jests and scoffs (the which she also very much condemned in others, who used them before her) but all contention and contradiction, even where the argument maintained was no ways to her mind; except the matter was of that importance, as she thought herself bound to express her disliKe or contrary judgement abour it; which so itself she would do with much warynes and mildness. And although that in them, with whom she conversed, she could in no wise away with vanity and bragging, nor with lying or unlikely tales, those two faults being point blank contrary to her own disposition and practice; as not neither with stupidity and dulness, a defect so extremely remote from her nature: yet out of mere strength of judgement (wherewith God had endowed her in a great measure, although for the most part wit and judgement do not use to go together) she had brought herself to so absolute a habit of patiently enduring those and other impertinencies, as she would not in the least manner express her dislike thereoff unto them, that she found guilty of the same, nor in any wise take notice thereoff, by her words or actions. And as in these, so in all other particulars, she studied to render herself altogether complaisant, or complying, unto them, with whom she did converse, though many times greatly against her own liking: never breaking the rule, which herein she had prescribed unto herself, but where by decency, honour, o● conscience, she found herself indispenseabli● obliged to the contrary   

XV.  
She that was thus circumspect in giving no offence by her words and conversation, may easily be conceived to have been very fare from being offensive in her actions. And so she was indeed, having a perpetual watch over herself, not to do any thing, where at any body might justly be offended: but to the contrary omitting no occasions of doing every body all the good offices, that any ways lay in her power, and taKing a singular pleasure in obliging others. And this she did with so much generosity, that whereas she never lost the memory of any good turns, that had been done her by others, but would us● all possible means for t● requite them, and on all occasions express he● sense and thankful acknowledgement of the same; so on the contrary she never thought much of the good she had done to others, and could not endure to speak of it, or to have it spoKe off, any kind of way, much less by way of upbraiding; even not in case of unthankfulness, and where the parties obliged were altogether unmindful of the benefits received, or furthermore so fare forgot themselves, as to requite good with evil.  
Neither could any such provocation at any time prevail with her, for to discover other folks secrets, not only such as had been confided to her by the parties themselves; but even those that otherwise and accidentally were come to her knowledge. And as she was thus exact and conscientious in the concealing of secrets; so never any body gave less● way to that curiosity so ordinary in the world, of enquiring into the condition and affairs of other people: being so fare from seeking to pry into them, as she would not give any the least encouragement unto such, who upon occasion, and of their own accord, did happen at any time to make any such thing known unto her.   

XVI.  
What I have said of her great complying in conversation, even to the enduring patiently of the faults, defects, and impertinencies of others, is the more to be admired, because that naturally, and by the temper of her body, she was much inclined to be choleric, and to be vexed at any thing, great or small, that was not to her mind. But never any body of that constitution did more earnestly and more effectually strive to overcome it: whereby as she had made a great progress towards the acquiring of a contrary habit, insomuch as many times she would put-up not only small matters, but even great and sensible offences, without being much moved at them, and very ordinarily, for to avoid all occasion of putting herself into any heat, dissemble the faults and misdoings of her servants, and of others, if she was not absolutely necessitated to take notice of them: so at the worst, and even when that the suddainnes of some unexpected provocation or indignity wrought on her natural disposition, and stirred her up to anger; the worst effects of it were no other, than some sharp expressions. For she never known what it was to use injuries, or opprobrious language, much less any further effects of choler, no not to her own servants, though never so much moved. And as her anger was thus gentle, so it was wonderful short, passing away in a moment; especially if those, with whom she was offended, did not by their obstinacy and offensive replies minister any new fewell to it. And no sooner was she come to herself, but she would be the first in condemning, herself, if she found that she had at all overshot herself, and spoke any thing more harshly or tartlie, than she thought she ought to have done.   

XVII.  
She was a great lover of Peace: and as the desire of preserving it to herself, made her extreme wary of offending others in the least manner, either by word o● deed, which might minister any cause or pretext unto them of falling-out with her; and to dissemble any such offence given to herself by others, if the nature of it, or the manner of committing it, dit not make it altogether incapable of being dissembled: so she was ever very studious, of preserving it also among others. For to tell tales, whereby to make people have an evil opinion one of another, and to set them by the ears together, was a thing utterly unknown to her, as to her own practice, and extremely detested by her in them that were guilty of it. And if it fell out so, as some times it did, that two persons of her acquaintance, being either openly fallen-out among themselves, or bearing some secret grudge on● to another, told he● things to the prejudice of their adversaries: sh● would be so fare from giving the parties interested any full or clear knowledge of the things that had been so whispered unto her, or making any direct relation thereof to them, as she would not so much as give them the least hint of any such matter. And whereas her good mother had ever observed, not to suffer her children to come and tell her her stories of the servants, even when that really they had done something amiss; lest they should get a habit, if countenanced there-in, of tale-telling so my dear Love was resolved, and had begun to observe the same rul● towards our children that weaning them fro● their infancy of that vi● so hateful to her, 〈◊〉 being maKe-bates, an● sowers of discord and d●vision; she might forr● them to the contrary virtue, consonant to l● own constant practi●● of rather excusing ot● folks actions, and ●●king ever the best of the same, whereby to preserve peace and quietness.   

XVIII.  
God having endowed her with a very large share of handsomeness, and given her with a middlemost stature (somewhat inclining to the less, but wonderful neatly timbered, with a most exact shape and proportion of all her limbs) a very lovely face, made-up of singular good features, an excellent eye, most fine skin, and very pure complexion she was very willing a● careful to preserve tho● advantages, that God h● bestowed on her, bo● by some particulars of h● diet, and by all oth● lawful means: but ve● much detested to ma● use of any thing, t● was a fared, or in the l●● manner approached of 〈◊〉  
And as she could 〈◊〉 chufe but be conscious 〈◊〉 herself of those advantages, that she possessed in this, and in other particulars, and was heartily glad of them: so she made no other use thereof, than to thank God for having given her them; being very fare from taking any pride or vanity in them, and from despising others for wanting them. And whereas very few women are handsome in the eyes of those of their own sex; it being a very general infirmity in it, so to be blinde● with envious emulation as either not to see at a● those advantages, whic● others do possess in th● and other particulars, ● to see them with grea● diminution: (as on t● contrary very few 〈◊〉 them are deemed oth● than handsome by themselves, though never s● fare from it) my Lov● was so much of a different a disposition, as 〈◊〉 man could be more favourable in judging of woman's handsomeness, and of their other good qualities; nor more willing and forward to profess as much, and with greatest candour to give unto every one, upon all occasions, the commendations they deserved.   

XIX.  
She was wonderful neat about herself, and about her house, and a great lover of decency and comeliness about both, loving fine and fashionable apparel well and handsome furniture likewise; but neither o● them with excess. Fo● although she would hav● taken a very large sco● in them, if she woul● have merely follows her natural inclination which would have carried her to the utmo● that could have sto● with her purse and quality: yet reason and g● were so prevalent with her, as made her very much abate of those desires, and made her much more moderate in them, than most other persons, even such as are otherwise both good and gracious, would have been in the same case. And every day she grew visibly to a greater perfection in this particular, and to have her heart less and less set upon those outward ornaments; often expressing her dislike of those, who minds being altogether fixed on the adorning and setting out 〈◊〉 these temporary lodging and perishable bodie● which within a lit● while must be relinq●shed, and reduced to d● and corruption, have 〈◊〉 thoughts of adorni● their souls with true virtue and piety, the one● true ornaments of christians, that are to last 〈◊〉 ever, and to be rewar●●● with eternal happiness, and blessed immortality.   

XX.  
She was a great lover of truth, and by reason thereoff did not only detest all Kind of lies, especially such as were any ways malicious, or prejudicial to others, and tended to the detorting and depraving of their say or actions; but was wonderful exact in keeping her word, and in making good her promises, though made ●●ver so cursorilie or sup●●ficiallie, and that even the smallest matters, well as in those of g●●●ter moment. For was fully perswad●● that people are as m● bound, both in hon●● and in conscience, to ●complish a bare and ●luntary promise, as a●● formal contract, con●med with an oath, 〈◊〉 with all other binding solemnities. And as 〈◊〉 ever conformed her o●● practice there-unto, so she laboured to induce all others, in whom she had any interest, to do the same, and rather to suffer any inconvenience, or loss, than to find-out a pretext of going from their word: representing unto them, as unto herself, that one ought to promise nothing inconsiderately, but to thinK well of it, before one engage one's self: but having once passed ones word, that then there remaineth nothing else but performance, if th● matter promised be lawful and possible. An● as in all other parts of h● life, so in this too, s●● had a singular care ● walking by that gold● rule, to deal so wi●● others, as she did des●●● to be dealt withal h●●selfe. Love to tru●●● made her also very i●● partial, not only in 〈◊〉 behalf of strangers, 〈◊〉 even of herself, and ●f all her nearest relations judging of all with the same  equity and equality, both in questions of interest and of concernment, and in those concerning the nature of actions, and of qualifications of the mind and of the body.   

XXI.  
She was extremely fearful of her nature, insomuch as she would figure unto herself and apprehended dangers, where there was none at all; especially upon the water: and not only upo● the sea, where all things at the best appeared very terrible unto her, bu● upon the very rivers: s● as it was death to her 〈◊〉 London, to come into boat, though the wat● was never so calm▪ a● even here at Paris, in tho● boats used upon the Sei● (incomparablie bigg● and surer, than those 〈◊〉 the Thames) she though herself every jot as un●fe▪ and though she wo● now and then be persuaded with much ado, to go by water to Charenton, or to Chaliot, yet her mind was at no ease nor quiet, as long as she was upon the river, even in the fairest and stillest weather. Yet grace and reason did so oversway this her natural timourousnes, as notwhitstanding the great excess of it, there was nothing so terrible, but she could resolve to undergo it, either for the maintaining of a good cause, or any other way called t● it by God; and nothing so hazardous, but s●● could be induced to 〈◊〉 upon good grounds, an● at the appearance of an● necessity, or great conveniency. This was t●● reason, that she, who 〈◊〉 trembled and quaked 〈◊〉 the least apprehension 〈◊〉 death, and at the l● shadow of any dang● though but an imagi●●rie one, through the ●cret and sudden mori●●● of her natural infirm in that particular; could in a settled mind think on death, and that under any shape, with as much quietness of mind, and undauntedness, as more could not be expected of a most valorous warrior, or of a man consummate in courageous wisdom. And that this was not a delusion, hath well appeared by the effect, she having looked death in the face, without being in the least manner appalled at it, during this last period of he● life, and ever since thos● great and frequent losse● of blood, which at length have carried her away gave her just cause t● conceive herself in da●ger of it; as she did to th● full, from the beginnings  
For although that after every fit, except the ver● last of all, she came st● very well to herself again, (as hath been mo● at full declared at t● entrance of this treaty yet ever since the first 〈◊〉 them her mind gave her, that she would not outlive them, but that assuredly they would make an end of her.  
Wherhfore, for to prepare me for her death, which she known would be most grievous to me (according to the excessive love I bore her) she would often talk of it, not only about the time of those fits, and when she was newly come out of them, but even at other times, and fare from them. And although every foot I would fai● have hindered her of sp●king of it, the though of losing her being 〈◊〉 unsupportable to me, 〈◊〉 I could not endure th● lest mention of it; y● she would still go o● notwhitstanding all n● opposition, and freque● interruptions, telling 〈◊〉 that it was good always to think of the wor● and that it would be ●ver the more, for talkin of it. Now the sum● of those her discourses, tending ever to the same purpose, was, That she nothing at all apprehended death, but was most willing to undergo it, if it pleased God so to dispose of her; finding nothing in it to trouble her, but the thought of the sorrow, which that separation would cause unto me: beseeching me, if so it fell out, to use my whole strength for to hinder me from succombing under it, and for to make me bear that aff●●ction patiently▪ and 〈◊〉 make this her counsel sink the deeper into 〈◊〉 mind, she would ma●● use, as of other considerations, so of that of o● girl, whose loss wou● be too great, if with 〈◊〉 mother she should al● come to lose her fath●, and that in a stra●●● country, fare from 〈◊〉 her friends and kindra: wherefore I ought 〈◊〉 do all I could for to preserve me for her▪ and t●●t was all she ever said of her to me on that occasion. For knowing full well, that next to herself I loved her most perfectly, as much as a child can be beloved by a father; she knew it superfluous to talk to me, of being careful and tender of her, and of making much of her.  
And these same things (of her finding nothing in her death to trouble her, but the grief it would cause unto me; with the wont adjurations, that I would strive to moderate it for God's sake, an● for her sake, and to preserve myself for our gi●le) she repeated to me s●verall times in that sho● space, that was betwit her last fit, and her en● the abundance of tear● which her imminent d●●ger, frequent fainting and great pains and t● sings, drawn from 〈◊〉, giving her occasion to 〈◊〉 new that counsel so ●●t unto me, whereof ●●e see I had so much 〈◊〉 already, and would have much more shortly after. And she continued to express this christian resolution, accompanied with so much tenderness of love towards me (of not apprehending death at all in her own regard, but only in mine) to the very last, as long as she was able to express any thing, and when that she was now at the very point of death, and had it even within her, and upon her lips. For a little before she lost her speec● after one of her grievo●sest and last tossing 〈◊〉 when the sight and sen● of what she endured, a● the most evident signs 〈◊〉 the inevitablenes of 〈◊〉 loss, had caused me, i● transport of sorrow, 〈◊〉 throw myself upon 〈◊〉 bed by her side with abundance of tears, she 〈◊〉 in french (the language she had only sp●●●e all that night, because that all the persons in ●●e room understood it, ●●d most of them understood no other) Violà tout le mal, that is, Lo there all the evil: the meaning of which words, very intelligible to me by what so often before she had expressed more at large unto me, was, That she was sensible or apprehensive of no ill to herself in her death, but only of the evil and grief it did and would cause unto me. And she spoke this thus shortly, because that speaking begun now to be somewhat troublesome a●● difficult unto her. Neither do I know, that 〈◊〉 spoke any thing else a●●● it, but that she gave 〈◊〉 blessing to her chi●●, whom she see st●●d most sadly at the ●●●s foot (the poor lamb ●aking the mothers cal●●o heart much beyond v●●at is usual in so younkin age) and gave and as ●●d, with sweetest expre●●●●s, accompanied with ●ost sweet and tender l●●●s, an assurance of of a ●●fect forgiveness of any displeasure, that at any time might have been caused by the one of us to the other. For after that being risen, for to give the midwife and the nurce-keeper way to change her to another place, as she had desired: I found, when that was done, and that I came again to her, that she had lost her speech, though not yet her fences. For a mess of broth, with some medcinall thing in it, which Dr Sarrasin and the Midwife judged proper for her, and desire● her to take, having bee● refused by her; as tire● by the great variety o● cordials and other things that had been given to h●● since the beginning of t●● fit, and finding it no● althogether bootless, 〈◊〉 take any thing whatsoever: assoon as I h●● tendered it unto her, a●● prayed her to take it f●● my sake, she took it ve●● readily, and took-dov●● every drop of it. And having not long after also lost her senses, she continued in that estate the matter of a quarter of an hour longer: and having been very quiet and calm this last half hour of her life (all her pains and pangs having quite left her, and her toss being quite ceased with them) she went-out like a candle, and gave-up her ghost most quietly: going herself to taKe possession of heavenly bliss, but leaving me f●● of most grievous a●● mortal sorrow, to 〈◊〉 as long as my days; th●● being nothing on t●●s earth, that can make 〈◊〉 unto me that joy 〈◊〉 comfort, which I h●●e lost by losing her 〈◊〉 rest company.   

XXII.  
Her great resolution against death, and 〈◊〉 courageous contemt●●f all the terrors of it, to the very last moment; as it was altogether contrary to her natural disposition, so it proceeded wholly from divine grounds, and from the gracious assistance of God's blessed spirit, quickening and strengthening her faith in the mercy of God, through the merits of Christ's precious blood, and of his bitter death and passion: her heart being anchored in an unshaken assurance on those infallible promises of our blessed Saviour That who-so-ever beleeve● in him, 
joh. 3.14. & 5.4.24. & 6.51. etc.  shall not perish, 〈◊〉 have everlasting life, and 〈◊〉 come into condemnation, 〈◊〉 pass from death unto life, 〈◊〉 live for ever. Which 〈◊〉 faith she expressed frequently, as in for●●r times, so during these 〈◊〉 last moments; especia●●e after that the continuance of her bleeding, ●●●ger than it had been 〈◊〉 in any former fit, her ●●●quent faintings, the perplexity of the midv●●●e, and of the rest of her friends and people about her, their whispering together, and the sending-for of Mr Drelincourt, one of the french Ministers of Charenton, had made her comprehend clearly, that she was now come to the last period of her life. And having expressed great joy and contentment at the sight of Mr Drelincourt, it being betwixt eight and nine of the clock when he came; she presently composed herself for to hear his exhortation, and to pr● with him. His exhortation was indeed a mo●● heavenly one, the sum●● of it being, that 〈◊〉 should absolutely re●●gne herself into t●e hands of God, either f●r life or for death; that ●●e should cast herself in●o the arms of Christ Ies●●, and in his name, and ●●r his merit's sake, ask ●f God forgiveness of all ●●r faults and transgressions, with a certain assurance of obtaining it▪ that be in reconciled to God by the blood and mediation of our Saviour, death was not all to be feared by her, because it would be no death to her, but a passage from this vale of misery to life and joy everlasting: with many other most excellent expressions, fitted to her present condition, and for to make her quit this life with alacrity▪ and after that followed the prayer, tending to th● same purposes: during both which, though the● were of a great length and that her pain● and unquietness we● growing on her befor● they were begun, she la● very still, giving grea● attention to them, a●● following them all alo●● with up-lifted hands a● eyes, as likewise with h● voice upon all the m●● pregnant, passages of the●●. And after that they w●● done, she assured me, th●t her heart too had fully gone along with them from the beginning to the end, and that she had found a great deal of singular comfort and consolation in them. Wherhfore also when that Mr. Drelincourt, after he had done, withdrew himself into the next room, for to give way to me, to Dr Sarrasin, to the midwife and keeper, and to the rest of the women, to come about her, for to give her something, and to afford her other necessary accommodations she thinking, that he ha● gone away for good an● all, sent after him, for 〈◊〉 pray him not to leave he● but to stay with her 〈◊〉 the end, for to renev● unto her from time 〈◊〉 time that spiritual co●fort, which he had beg● so effectually to minist● unto her. And he ●●ving sent her word, th● he had no other intention came presently back in● the chamber again: a● from that time he never quit her to the last, comforting her from time to time (as the intermissions of her faintings, and of her anguish and toss, ministered opportunity) with short exhortations, and with ejaculatory prayers; the which were still most cordiallie received and followed by her. And in all those pains and anxieties she never spoke an impatient word, but that sometimes she exclaimed, Ce jeune coeur ne se veut rendre, that is, This young heart will not yield. For her heart being in its full strength and vigour, as not at all abated by any sickness, struggled hard with death, caused by meers emptiness, and the loss● of blood; which thin● also she had apprehended she having told you Lordship but the day b●fore, that as she fear not death at all, so th● pains, which she expected to endure before 〈◊〉 did somewhat terrify her. Yet neither the expectation of them, when yet absent, nor the sense of them, when she now suffered them, did in the least manner shake her resolution and willingness to die, nor her affiance in the goodness and mercy of her Saviour, as not neither her tender care of me: but having continued constant in them all, and the Lord having done her the grace, to give ner ease, and to free her from those disquieting pains, before he took her away, she concluded her life with a most blessed end, to the great edification, yea and admiration, of all th● standers by, even such a● were of a contrary Religion.  
Now, My lord, let a● the world judge with yo● Lordship, whether having lost such a wife, so good, gracious, so loving, so lovel● so accomplished every w● and that in the very flow of her age, when she was but five and twenty years old; I can grieve moderately; and whether my sorrow can be justly condemned, though very excessive and lasting. I know the Lord hath done me no wrong, in taking her from me, who was his own, and in using that right over her, which he hath over all his creatures, as Souverain Lord and Master, whereby it is free for him, to dispose of them at any time as he pleaseth: and I know also, that I have given his divine Majesty cause enough, to send me this cross, and any other that I am capable off. But these considerations as they are of force for to make me take thi● cross at his hands without murmuring (the which trust to have done exactly not having had the least temptation of calling his just● into question, for having de● thus with me) so I find th● not sufficient for to hinder 〈◊〉 of being sensible to the full ●f the evil, that he hath in●●cted on me▪ neither do I ●●leeve, that when he senich any grievous calamity to his servants, he is offended with them, for seeing their sorrow proportionable to the bitterness of what he maketh them suffer. For in this very particular, which is now my case, my woeful and deplorable case; I find, that when he thought good, in taking from the Prophet Ezechiel, 
Ezech. 24.15. & seq.  the desire of his eyes (as he hath done mine from me) to forbid him, for some mysterious signification, all outward expressions of mourning, even the very shedding of tears: yet he no ways forbidden him t● grieve really and inwardlie but rather gave him a command, or at the least an express permission, for doing s● by the first words of the 1● verse, if they be taken in the right sense, as hath been do● of S. Hierome, and some other of the best Interpreters. F● as for that high degree of her● call virtue and wisdom, not only not being ve● deeply touched with a● cross or affliction, though ●ver so bitter and cruel, but 〈◊〉 finding even matter of joy 〈◊〉 it, and of giving God thanks for it: as I admire it in them that possess it, so I confess to be very fare from it, and to see little ground of hoping ever to attain to it; especially in this particular, which hath lighted upon the tenderest and least armed part of my soul.  
And my case is the more to be pitied, because that having lost in my dearest Consort that which I most loved, and wherein I most joyed in this world, and thereby my life being become burdensome and hateful to me; yet there lieth upon me a cruel necessity, not only of not abandoning or wilfully neglecting i● (which I would not do however, because absolutely forbidden by him, whos● holy will and commandment must be the rule of all o● actions) but even of desiring and striving with all possib●● care to uphold and to prolong it, for to preserve myself f● that dear pledge of our mutual love, which she hath l● me; both because mine ow● affection, agreeable to the dictates of God and Nature, lead me strongly there-unto; and because that that bless soul hath in her latter days, even to the last moments of her life, made it so often her most serious request to me, and her only request: the which not to seek to fulfil to the utmost, as fare as any ways lieth in my power (though nothing else obliged me to it) I would account a crime of the next nature to sacrilege. So as I must resolve to live many years yet, if God so see it fitting, yea and wish and endeavour to do so, though all the sweetness of my life be taken from me, an● that I see nothing but thic● clouds of dismal draknes befor● me; which make death unt● me, as to myself, infinitely preferable before life. Fo● even the memory of her virtues, as on the one side it ministereth some kind of contentm●● and comfort to me, especially when I consider the bless reward thereoff, which sh● now reapeth in heaven, wherein the presence of God she in joyeth the fullness of joy, all terres being wiped-off from h●● eyes: so on the other side it do● mainly aggravate my sorrow, because that the greater they were, and the rest of her most  and lovely qualities, the greater is my loss, in being deprived of her. But be her dearest Jdea matter of comfort to me, or matter of sorrow, it shall ever and incessantly be present to my soul, and therein to the end of my days takeup that whole room, which a christian, without offence to his Creator and Saviour, and with a due sub-ordination to that love, which is owing to him in the first place, ca● lawfully afford to any thin● created; just in the same manner, as she did possess it duri●● that time, that I was bless● with that great happiness of enjoying her most amia● company. I should nev● have done, My lord, if 〈◊〉 would take that scope 〈◊〉 dwelling on this theam●, which my affection and gr●●f doth prompt unto me. 〈◊〉 fear of importuning y●●r Lordship constraineth m●●● break off: and so with ●y most hearty thanks for ●ll those friendly and pious pains, which ever since this fatal blow you have taken, and do still take daily, in endeavouring to heal this deep and incurable wound, and to minister all spiritual comfort to me, I reamaine  
Your Lordship's most obliged and humble, but desolate and disconsolate servant, ARNOLD BOATE. Paris this 24. of May 1651.   

D. O. M. S. LECTISSIMAE FOE MINAE MARGARITAE DUNGAN: ANIMI PIETATE ET PROBITATE; AMORE AC FIDE IN DEV● PURIORIS RELIGIONIS ZELO, CHARITATE IN PROXIMO● PHILOSTORGIA IN MA●●TVM, LIBEROS, PARENTE● MODESTIA, CASTITAT● BENIGNITATE, LIBER●LITATE, COMITAT● EXIMIE ORNATAE: ETIAM JUSTITIAE 〈◊〉 VERITATIS AMOR● PRUDENTIA; GEN● ROSITATE; RELIQVIS VIRTVTIB●●, SUPRA SEXUM ET ANN●●, PRAEFULGENTI: INDOLIS QVOQVE ET ●GENII FOELICITA●; FORMAE PRAESTANT●A, ET VENVSTATE, ORIS-QVE DECORE ET GRATIA; MORUM SINGULARI SVAVITATE, ET ELEGANTIA; VNICE CONSPICVAE: VXORI TOT NOMINIBUS SIBI CHARISSIMAE: MOESTISSIMUS MARITUS ARNOLDUS BOOTIUS; IN IPSO IWENTAE FLORE, CUM TANTUM 25. AETATIS ANNUM AGERET, SIBI EREPTAM, 17. APRILIS 1651. IN CONSOLABILITER LUGENS; POSVIT HOC MONVMENTVM AMORIS EXIMII, ET INDIVIDVI, ATQVE AD SUPREMAM DIEM EODEM TENORE DURATURI.   

Lectissimam Matronam, & sibi ch●rissimam, Margaritam Dung●nam, D. Arnoldi Bootij, sibi etia● amicissimi, Coniugem, verè fle● deflebat sibi morte ademtam, eff● ex tempore carmine, Th. Sinsersi● Candidae Casae apud Scotos Epis●● pus indignissimus:  
VERE Debemus morti nos nostraque, V●●  
Ignarus causae, dixerat ille nimis.  
Quod saepe expertus, iam sentio, dum mibi cha●  
Dunganam, ab nimiùm mors violenta rapit.  
Mors violenta rapit Dunganam in flore iuveni  
Prae cunctis alijs quae mihi chara fuit.  
Sed mihi solamen, quod Vati non fuit illi, est  
Spes, quod per Christum vita redibit ei.  
Sic est, peccatum morti nos subjicit omnes:  
Christus at ex ipsa morte redemtor erit.  
Sic tibi, sic certò fiet, Dungana, beata  
In Christo moriens, dum tibi vera fides.  
Vera & viva fides; quae vitam expressa per om●  
Morte etiam in media te comitata fuit.  
Hanc quoque tu in mentem revoca, charissime 〈◊〉  
Quae fuit erepta in conjuge viva fides:  
Ereptae quae tanta premit, ne ●eopprimatorbu●  
Moestitia. In viva coniuge, viva fides  
Vitam animae in coelo post mortem praestat: ean●  
Corporeae parti reddet & illa suae.