The ART of Living Incognito. BEING A Thousand LETTERS On as Many Uncommon Subjects. Written by JOHN DUNTON, During his Retreat from the World. And sent to that HONOURABLE LADY To whom he Addressed His Conversation in Ireland: With her Answer to each Letter. PART I. To be continued till the whole Correspondent, is finished. Then if One Mortal Two such Grants might have, From Private Life, I'd steal into my Grave.— Cowley. London, Printed (for the Author) and are to be Sold by A. Baldwin ' near the Oxford Arms in Warwick-Lane. 1700. Price Stitched 1 s. The Dedication. To that Honourable Lady to whom the following Letters were directed. MADAM, T●O I know you take no great Pleasure in Addresses of this Nature, yet, by an happy Experience I can say it, Pardoning of Faults is not uneasy to you; especially those that can't be avoided: This is of that Nature: for what Man could forbear writing a Thousand Letters, after you had engaged yourself to answer ' 'em? And where could I think to find so Illustrious a Patron, to give 'em Credit and Esteem, in such an Age as this, so overcharged with Wit and Sense? What if the World's a Stranger to your Rank and Person? It knows in your Thoughts what sufficiently declares your strict Alliance to Virtue; and nothing can take your Title to support it, but must have some Pretensions to instructing in the Laws of Virtue. I confess you are a Lady of a particular Genius: for those that see you, know little of your Mind; and the World you communicate your Thoughts to, neither see nor know your Person: Nay, some believe you have no real Being but in my Brain. I am obliged to 'em for thinking me such a Man of Art, that can divide my Principles; for 'tis apparent those I act by, are very different from those I make use of to correct and reprove my Actions; Yet all this while (say these Men) the Title of Honourable Lady is but a Fiction I amuse the World with. I know your Ladyship is unconcerned what is thought of it; I am not: but would be thought a Man of Truth; and, if I knew how, would fain convince 'em of their Mistake; but if only Seeing is Believing with 'em, I can never do it; that sort of Conviction I shall never have in my power; and if they will not believe upon the Credit of an Honest Man, I can go no farther. Thus you see, Madam, how much I value Truth; what else could make me decline the Glory of owning your Thoughts, which I have ever had in Admiration, since I had the Honour to know ' 'em. 'Twas in your Thoughts I discerned the Charms of Solitude, which soon inspired me with the Resolution of Living Incognito, proposing to myself the most intimate pleasure this World can give; but now, by an unhappy Fate, must make it my Retreat, and both live and die so. 'Tis to you, Madam, I must be indebted for all the Pleasures I shall find in Retirement, and shall never be weary of presenting you with Uariety of Thoughts: Your Reflections will give 'em such Beau'ty and Lustre, none will be able to resist the Wi●e Instructions they carry in 'em, how mean so ever the thoughts are that gave 'em their first Rise I shall only add, This Whole Correspondence will be contained in about 200 Parts (at 12 d. each) In which I solemnly declare, I'll have no Assistance (by Writing, whatever I have from Books) from any one of my former Authors; For seeing I have a Thousand Maggots swarming in my Brain (for this Art of Incognito will consist just of that Number of Subjects) I'm willing now that the World may see the Maggots of my own begetting: for, as Randolph says,— If I a Poem leave, that Poem is my Son— which I don't speak out of Ostentation, but that the World may see, after Printing so many Maggots of others writing, I'm now (by Imitation) become one myself. And as these Thousand Maggots (or the Art of Living Incognito, for they are Synonimous Terms) will be published in 200 Parts, (and at so easy a Price, that the Poorest may purchase 'em): So Ten of 'em will be finished by Lady-day, and the rest with what speed I can; which I hint as a Piece of ●ews to my Honest Printers, and my other Friends that I use to employ. But, Madam, though in this Undertaking I fall upon Subjects, that (by reason of their Uncommonness) may be thought Magotty, yet if I insert any thing not agreeable to Sound Doctrine, 'tis your Province to find it out; and though your Good Nature is as ready to forgive Faults, as your Wit is able to find 'em, yet pray (Madam) tell me my Errors, Mistakes and Omissions, not with the Tongue of a Courtier, but with the Severity of a True Friend: And since the Art of Living Incognito is your own, by so many Titles to it, refuse it not the Honour of your Protection, but suffer this Oblation from, MADAM, Your Ladyship's most Humble, and most Obedient Servant, john Dunton. The Art of Living Incognito. LETTER 1. Of Living Incognito. Madam, I Acquainted you a p. 433. in the account I sent of my Conversation, in Ireland, that I was contriving a Correspondence with your Ladyship which I'd call the The Art of Living Incognito; for, as others Squander away their Time in Public Hurries, and in rambling from one Vanity to another; I choose rather to retire to a Solitary Village (Blest with a Neighbouring Grove, a Purling-Stream, two Cuckoos, and one Nightingale) and here under the Covert of a spreading Tree, I intent to devote the remaining part of my Time, To study myself; (for as Cowley says, The Voyage Life is longest made at home) but more especially the works of Creation and Providence, etc. And this on purpose to Correct, and Confess the Errors of my past Life; which if I do, 'twill evidently appear, Bene qui latuit bene vixit, he hath lived well, who hath lain well (or so) hidden; and therefore I call this Retreat the Art of living Incognito, so few Persons devoting the latter part of their Time to write and publish the Errors of the former. But let others Act as they please, I ever thought it dangerous for a Man to Die in a hurry; Men involved in Trade cannot so soon prepare for a better State, as Men retired from the World may▪ I have ever pitied those Men, whose necess●ous Employment, and Fortune hath put them under an obligation of making even See the Guardians Instruction. P. 5. at one time, the Accounts of this World and the next; I therefore resolve to narrow my thoughts, and take the advantage which Experience gives, of thinking strictly, and reviewing my Life, and being freed from fancy (which cheated me in my Younger Years) to consider how far the Rules I have gone by, how specious soever to others, and pleasant to myself, may be consistent with a severe expectation of an Account above, where Pleasure, Interest, and Passion must disappear. For this reason I'm now retired to a private Cell, for 'tis only here, I can shape a true measure of myself; learn the contempt of what hitherto I have admired; humble my Soul for my many failings, and warm my Devotions by the expectation of a wiser and better State. Madam, This is a large Province I'm entering upon, yet I shall tie myself to no method, any further than making every Letter a distinct Subject; but shall be very glad if now and then you'll propose a Subject yourself: For the Character you writ of yourself, your Essay on Friendship, and on the Miseries of Human Life, etc. are so very instructive, that I desire they may come into our first Part (for the Project will be 200 in all) and I'll Answer 'em as so many Letters; and if Variety has a Charm in it, I hope we shall please some Body. I know an Undertaking of this Nature, is liable to Cavils, and there are a sort of Men in the World, who love to show their wit in making Exception against every thing but the Product of their own Brain, and therefore their Objections are not to be regarded; however I'll endeavour to Treat of Subjects that are most Surprising; and what I Writ, shall be still submitted to your Censure, and Published with this Title, viz. The Art of Living Incognito: Being a thousand Letters (on as many uncommon Subjects) Written by John Dunton during his Retreat from the World, and sent to that Honourable Lady to whom he addressed his Conversation in Ireland, with her Answer to each Letter. Madam, I have here given ye a clear Idea of my Art of Living Incognito, and what I design by it, and if the Subjects I intent to choose, have Magic enough in 'em to procure your Remarks, I shall think myself highly Honoured, not only as I shall thereby think I am continued in your, Friendship, but as you're able to rectifye all my Errors, which doubtless (in so large an Undertaking) will be very many; however I'll venture to tell ye my Naked Thoughts on every Subject I Treat of. And my first shall be, Of Living Incognito. The Art of Living Incognito is of great Antiquity; 'twas first Practised in Paradise; Adam and Eve even there hid themselves amongst the Trees a Gen. 3. 8. of the Garden: And if we look further into Scripture, we see Moses in the Mount, and with the People, with a different face; open to God, veiled to them. God would not always have us show our brightness to the world, in some Cases he loves our Talon in a Napkin, leapt up, and hid; and therefore, tho' john Dunton (in Anagram) is Hid unto none, yet I'll attempt to live hid unto all; and my comfort is, tho' I live ne'er so Private, he knows me, that will (if I serve him) bring me Heaven; others, if they commend me, there's all; and it may be to my cost: So I'll fly all Company, for, why should I lose Heaven for good words? So much for the Old Testament; (as to living Incognito.) And if we●●ok into the New, we shall find the End of all our Saviour's Miracles, for the most part was, See you tell no Man: It is one Lesson, even in Religion itself, not to be seen; and yet not precisely, not to be seen, but not therefore to do well, to be seen; our commendations must be to do, and not say; or if we say any thing, say we are unprofitable Servants; so that living Incognito, is not only a Duty (in some Cases) but has many Blessings attend it. And further to recommend it to our Practice, Dr. Fuller tells us 'twas an ART learned, in the first Century; Retirement was in the Primitive Church, to save themselves from the heat of Persecution; they were now, (says Dr. Fuller) always alone, yet always in the Company of good Thoughts. King Agis one Day requested the Oracle of Apollo, to tell him who was the happiest Man in the World, who answered, One Aglaion, beknown of the Gods, and unknown of Men; and making search for him throughout all Greece, found at length that it was a poor Man in Arcadia, who 60 Years Old never went from home, keeping himself, with his only Labour in his Garden. a Livy. Had King Agis asked me the same Question, I had answered to the same purpose; and therefore 'tis part of my Character, b See the Account of my Conversation in Ireland P. 433. To love to be guessed at, not known; and to see the World, unseen. Then Come, c For so I'll presume to call you throughout our whole Correspondence. Sabina, come away, Don't your joy and mine delay; But to make 'em both complete, Come and taste of my Retreat. To Invite ye to it consider, nothing can carry ye so near to God and Heaven, as a voluntary Retreat from the World: The mind of Man, when disintangled from Riches, etc. can walk beyond the sight of the Eye, and tho' in a Cloud can lift us into Heaven while we live (tho' we lived in in a Dungeon) I know the hurry of Farewell to Dublin, p 119. Business is apt to engross our thoughts: And therefore 'tis I'm come from behind the Counter. Instead of losing Time in a Shop, I do now in a Quiet Retreat, learn to despise the World. I think 'tis a Great Madness to be laying new foundations of Life, when I'm half way through it. And they, methinks, deserve my Pity, Who for it can endure the Stings, The Crowd and Buz, and Murmur, Of this Great Hive the City— Cowley— By living private, we eat a world of unfortunate Engagements.— We have nothing to resist in a Cell, but a few wand'ring thoughts; nor nothing to seek after, but to be happy. There we are free from public ●ders and private Makebates, unenvied in every thing but happiness: And 'tis impossible to steal that from us, when we have nothing else to do, but to keep it. So that methinks in my Cell, I'm learning to live for myself as well as for other People. A learned Divine could say to a Lady that asked him what Life was, That to live, is still to live with her, so I may say, That to live is ever to live Incognito. Methinks I had scarce a being till my Raven went to Roost; I mean, till it left the Hurries of Stock-market, for the solitude of ●ewen street; and this was but the first step to Happiness neither; for tho' 'twas private, yet 'twas still in the City of London, which I've now left, that by living still more Incognito, I might live indeed; and having in this last Retreat met with a good Land Lady, we live like Adam and Eve in Paradise; She employing herself in her Garden, and I in admiring where l've been wand'ring all my Days; for I was never Great, nor Happy till now: Most Princes are of this opinion, or they'd never study to conceal themselves,— We see, even Ambassadors that represent the Persons of Kings, d'spatch their affairs Incognito. Nay, Emperors themselves think it makes 'em greater sometimes to appear unknown— The Great Czar of Muscovy first appeared in England in that manner: scarce a Gazet but tells of s●e Prince arrived Incognito: The Savoy Ambassador arrived so ●sterday. King Henry the Second, after his return fr● Conquering Ireland, both out of fondness, and for securing 〈◊〉 Succession, he caused his Eldest Son Henry and his Wife Margaret, Daughter of the French King, to be solemnly Crowned in his presence, at two several times; in the last of which, he for that Day lived Incognito; I mean for that Day he concealed his being King of England, by waiting as a Servant upon his Son, while he sat at the Table; which young Henry did little regard, boasting, That his Father did not hereby dishonour himself, since he was only the Son of an Empress, whereas himself was Son both of a King and Queen: which Proud Speech mightily displeased his Father, who thought he had done his Son no small Honour by waiting on him, as a King Incognito. The Story of King james the First, Riding to his Nobles behind a Miller, (who took him for a poor Farmer) is sufficiently known— Neither was Charles the 2d. less frequent in these Adventures: How often, dressed in a mean habit, would he straggle to a poor Cottage, to inquire, if the owner ever saw the King, and what he thought of his Government? (Madam) I suppose you have heard how his winding up the jack, in a dirty Frock, saved his Life; and those that consider his preservation in an Oaken Tree, will own there is (if in any thing) An Art in living Incognito— And therefore I am so far from envying even Kings and Princes in their Pomp and Grandeur, that I pity 'em as Royal Slaves, or as Men that are never easy, but when now and then they retreat from the World, and conceal themselves for a Glimpse of Happiness. So that I'm much happier in my present obscurity, than he that sits on a Throne, or that's galloping after the World, for these have scarce an hour they can call their own, (and that hour is filled with cares.) But, Nothing looks in my Retreat, Discontented, or Unsweet; True 'tis Private, and you know, Love and Friendship should be so; Solitude dissolves the Mind, Makes it pleasant, free, and kind. But the Pleasures you have known, I mean those in London Town, These, Sabina, you'll Confess, Fears and Dangers, make 'em less; Crowds, Diseases, Feuds, and Noise, Render 'em imperfect Joys. But in Shades and Silence given, Every Extacy is Heaven. Whoever (in this Retreat) sees my Rural Pipe, my Shady Grove, Hedge of Honeysuckles. Fruitful Garden, Hive of Bees, and little-Cell, with my Contempt of Honours, Riches, Pleasures, etc. will own 'tis impossible I should be Happier, except in Heaven, or in the Company of a kind Wife; and that my Retreat might want no Perfection, Nature makes Arbours here, and every Tree, Disposes all its Boughs to favour me— Here warbling Birds in Airy Raptures Sing Their glad Pindaricks to the welcome Spring, The Valleys too, here Echoes do repeat, Here gentle Winds, do moderate Summer's Heat; Clear is the Air, and Verdant is the Grass, My Couch of Flowers, the Streams my Looking-Glass. If you ask me how I spend my time, in a Place where I'm seldom seen, and scarce known to a Dog or a Cat? I answer,— I begin the rising Day with Prayer, and spend the rest of the time either in writing tee ye, or reading the Port Royal (the Book you so 〈◊〉 commend,) when I'm weary with this Exercise (for a little Change) I walk to St. Vincent's Rocks; here I sit for an Hour or so, blessing myself, that I'm clear of London; having left Honour to Madmen, and Riches to Knaves and Fools, I fall to laughing at both. But if I happen to be grieved at any thing, (for Iris and Daphne can ne'er be forgot) I tune my Distresses to the Widowed Turtle, and she Records my Woes with her own; or if this fails to give me relief, I call to some Kind Echo to help me to grieve the faster; or if I find no comfort in Tears, I need but think of you, and then be my sorrows what they will, I sit like Patience smiling at Grief, and fancy I am still Happy— So that if I live Incognito (and have but the use of my thoughts) I can ne'er be wretched. I'm sure I reap more pleasure in my Retreat from the World, than the French Ladies do in the Streets of Paris. Or if it happens that I am weary of being alone (if he can be so, that enjoys himself) 'tis but Riding a Mile or two or at furthest to Southborrow-Grove, and I'm straight in the Meadows, amongst wholesome Girls making of Hay, and that's enjoyment enough for one that's afraid of Petticoats. When I'm tired with these sights, Itye my Horse to a Tree, and take a Nap under the Shade of it, and when the Cuckcoo awakes me (if I'm thirsty,) For wholesome Drink, I don't go far to look, Each Spring's my Tap, my Barrel is each Brook, Where I do quaff and too't again by fits, And yet (Dear Madam) never hurt my Wits; For why 'tis Beer of Grandam Nature's Brewing, And very seldom sets her guests a Spewing; To which sweet Bubb I'm kindly welcome still; Good Entertainment, tho' the Cheer were iii. In this manner do I spend my Solitude; and If I bened wanting to myself, thus living Incognito might soon sit me for Heaven; for those Stars, which have least Circuit, are nearest the Pole; and Men who are least perplexed with Business, are commonly nearest to God; which sufficiently recommends a Life of retirement. Besides this, to live Incognito, is to follow the Example both of learned and Great Men. Lotharius the Emperor resigned his Crown, and spent the remainder of his Life in a Solitary place. This way of living is so much esteemed by the Wits, that we find the Gardens of Adonis, Alcinous Hesperides, were Subjects for the finest Poets. The Pleasure Lucanus had in this World, was nothing else but a little Garden, and when he died he commanded his Grave to be made in it; and Dioclesian left his Empire to turn Gardener, Even the Poet Cowley a As I hinted in my Conversation in Ireland p. 365 that had known what Cities, Universities and Courts could afford, broke through all the Entanglements of it, and which was harder, a vast Praise, and retired to a Solitary Cottage near Barn▪ Elms; where his Garden was his Pleasure, and he his own Gardener— Timon of Athens was so given to solitariness, that he hated the company of all Men, and therefore was called Misanthropos; he used and employed all his skill to persuade his Countrymen to shorten their Lives having set up Gibbets in a Field, which he bought for them that were disposed to Hang themselves. b Plutarch. Fabius the Consul was so little for being known, that in 70 Years which he lived, departed not once from his Village of Regio to go to Messana, which was but two Miles off, by Water; and Apollonius Travelled o'er three parts of the World to conser with ingenious Men, and being returned, he gave his Riches to his poor Kindred, and lived ever after a Solitary Life— Democritus plucked out his Eyes because the pleasures of this World should not draw him from Contemplation.— St. Bernard got all his knowledge in the Woods and Fields.— jerom forsook all the World to live Incognito;— Croesus after the Death of his Son, did the same, and so did Hiero a Tyrant of Syracuse. Among Even the Mahometans there are many Vetaries they call D●rveeses, who relinquish the World, and spend all their Days following in solitude and retiredness, expecting a Recompense (as they say, and are very well content to suffer and wait for it) in that better Life. Those very sharp and very strict Penances, which many of this People for the present voluntarily undergo, far exceed all those the Romanists boast of; for instance, there are some who live alone upon the tops of Hills (which are clothed or covered with Trees, and stand remote from any Company) and there spend the whole time of their following lives in Contemplation, stirring not at all from the places they first six on, but ad requisita naturae, crying out continually in these or the like Expressions, Alla Achabar, etc. that is, God Almighty look upon me, I love thee, I love not the World, but I love thee, and I do all this for thy sake, look upon me, God Almighty. These, after they thus retire, never suffer the Razor or Scissors to come again upon their Heads, and they let their Nails grow like unto Birds Claws, as it was written of Nabuchadnezzar. Dan. 4. When he was driven out from the society of men. This People after their retirement, will choose rather to famish, than to stir from their Cells: and therefore they are relieved by the Charity of others, who take care to send them some very mean Covering for their Bodies (for it must be such, otherwise they will not accept of it) when they stand in need thereof; and something for their bodily sustenance, which must be of their courser Food, otherwise they will not take it; and no more of that at one time, than what is sufficient for the present support of nature. Neither is the Incognito Life of the famous Nostedamus less remarkable, than the affected solitude of the Derveeses, of which take the following account. Some Leagues from Aix (says the Author of the Historical Voyages) stands a Burrow, called Sallon where Nostredamus so Famous for his Predictions, was Born, and interred in the Church of the Franciscan Grey-Fryers, his Tomb being half withithe Church, and half without. The Monk that shown it us (says, this Author) told us that Nostredamus himself had ordered it to be Erected after that manner: for that finding the World to be so corrupt as it is, he was desirous to leave it in singular manner. For that having raised his Tomb to Man's height, he caused himself to be enclosed therein while he was living, after he had made Provision of Oil for his Lamp, Pens, Ink and Paper, and pronounced a Curse upon him, that should open it before such a time, which by the Calculation of the Friar, was to expire at the beginning of the Eighteenth Age. I cannot tell (says this Voyager) whether Nostredamus repent or no; but I am sure he was in an Ill condition, if he let his Lamp go out before he had finished what he had to write. We also read that Hyginus, after he was made Bishop; took such a Fancy to Live Incognito, that he retired to a Cave, where he hide himself; 'twas here he writ an Epistle, touching God, and the Inearation of the Son of God. But the Men are not Singular in their Love to a Private life, for we find some Ladies too, as well as the Men, have delighted to live Incognito— Elizabeth (commonly called joan-cromwel) the Wife of Oliver Cromwell, chose rather to be a great Person Incognito (if you'll believe the Author of her Life) then to live in that State and Degree, which her Husband's Grandeur allowed of. 'Tis true (says this Author) she kept one Coach, but to avoid Pomp, her Coachman served her for Caterer, Butler, Cup Bearer and Gentleman Ʋsher— Her Daughter and She often went alone into the Country, and there See a further Account of her private Life in the Book called Elizabeth the Wife of the late Usurper. would spend whole Days in riding in a Sequestered Caroche, so that she seemed to affect the Seythian Fashion, who dwelled in Carts and Wagons, and have no other Habitations.— She was also the same Recluse in her Habit, rather Harnessing her self in the Defence of her clothes, than allowing herself the lose and open Bravery thereof; and her Hood, till her Face was seen in her Highness' Glass, was ●apt on like a Head Piece, without the Arr of ensconcing and entrenching it double and single in Redoubts, and Horn works— In sine, she was Cap-a-pe like a Baggage Lady, and was out of her Element in her Vieinity to the Court and City: She never ca●'d to be seen, and was never easy but when she lived Inoogni'o And even of Animals, Some live a Solilitary Life, as the Hare the Pelican, and the Swan; the last of which is Merry at her Death.— So 〈◊〉 the wisest both of Men and Bruits have still preferred a Private Life to a Public; and the reason c See my Irish Conversation. P. 365. why, a Private Life is preferable to all others, is, because the first Minister of State hath not so much Business in Public, as a Wise Man hath in Private; the one hath but part of the affairs of one Nation, the other all the Works of God and Nature, under his consideration. And therefore 'twas, Scipio was never less alone, than when he had no Company. Tully when he was thought to be Idle, Studied most— And Mison the Philosopher (that he might Study himself) lived altogether a Solitary Life; when one by chance met him laughing to himself, and demanding the cause why he laughed having no Company? Answered. Even therefore do I laugh, because I have no Company with me. I might heap up Instances of this Nature, but here's enough to show I bened singular in desiring to live unknown; certainly, Madam, the pleasantest and most profitable condiition of Life is to live Incognito. This we find further verified in Charles V Emperor of Germany; for after conquering Four Kingdoms, he resigned up all his Pomp to other Hands, and betook himself to his Retirement; leaving this Testimony behind him, concerning the Life he spent in the little time of his retreat from the World, That the sincere study of the Christian Religion, had in it such joys and Sweetness as Courts were Strangers to. And to show to the World that his resigning his Crown, was the result of Mature Thoughts, upon transferring his Kingdoms to his Son, he made this following Speech: Other Princes (says he) leave their Crowns to their Children only at the instant See a Book called Curia Politiae, p. 1. when they Dye; that is, when they are not fit to wear the Diadem any longer; but as for me, I was never willing that Death shoaed make this Present to my Son, but rather that he should receive and hold this Blessing from me; and as I was a means to make him live, so (before I Died) I would be a means to make him reign, and thereby oblige him to me, more entirely. This Speech was no sooner ended, but he Retreated to a Private House at Bruxelles, and thence he descended to an humble Hermitage, where he lived about 3 Years, and died. Certainly 'tis as brave a thing to quit Crowns and Sceptres as to gain and conquer'em; Tho' of the Two, I should think 'tis easier to resign a Crown than to wear it; and therefore Queen Elizabeth was used to say, If any Man knew the weight of a Crown, he'd not take it up, if it lay in his way. Certainly a Private Life is the most happy, as 'tis freed from all Noise and Nonsense, from all envying, or being envied. Besides, my Senses, in my Private Retreat, are feasted with the clear and genuine taste of their Objects, which are all Sophisticated in Courts and Cities. I now live where I can safely think my Hours away, and I am hearty sorry I did not Retreat sooner, for I'm weary of this Villainous World, and the Foolish Impertinences of my own Sex; a wretched Circle they move in of Vanity and Hurry. But now I am freed from all, and nothing but the Smiles of Valeria m my present Wife. (whose Sense as well as Sex, affords a more reasonable and Calmer Joy,) could ever Reconcile me again to London. But why should I despair of seeing her here? Fo● she is only for a Spiritual Friendship: And I do assure her, the Grove where I daily walk, is profaned by no unholy Love; and so very private, that 'tis hardly seen in a Year. Then 'twere Sweet, 'twere wondrous Sweet, Could I and Dear Valeria meet, In this Lonesome Shady Grove, Full of Friendship, full of Love. Oh! what Tender things we'd say, Whilst the Minutes flew away. But I talk of Impossibilities! However; I'll Carve her Name on every Tree, and Dream of her every Night; yes, I will, Sabina; for Conjugal Love may be very Passionatè: Besides I don't retire from the World that my Thoughts might be idle, (for the Mind of Man is ever thinking) and if I must think of something, can it be better employed, then in thinking of her who should Study to make me Good, and keep me Innocent? Besides (Madam) a Private Retreat from the World is the only place, where to Practise your Good Advice, and to live to learn well how to Die; so that I am better pleased with living Incognito, (if it does not abate your Friendship) than they that glitter in the Courts of Kings.— Thus (Sabina) have I bid the World good night, before my time to go to Bed; as 'twere on purpose to make a Trial, of your Friendship; for all Men adore the Rising Sun, but few, or scarce any, have any Love for his Setting; however, this is my present Case, and I'm so well pleased with it, That if one Mortal. Two such Grants might have, From Private Life, I'd Steal into my Grave; I'd Live unthought of, and unheard of, Dye; And grudge Mankind my very Memory,— Cowley. But after all I can Write of a Private Life, perhaps you'll say, That Solitariness is a Trespass against the Nature of Man; and God, when he made all things, saw it was not good for Man to be alone. Then he who Lives, and makes no Man partaker, Usurps himself, and closely Robs his Maker. To this I Answer,—— could Man have lived still in Innocence, and Women would cease tempting, surely nothing had been so good as a Female Companion, (for as to the Men, I have nothing to say to 'em,) but since Women have proved the Devil too, or rather worse, I think 'tis better to fly 'em all (all save the Dear Veria) as joseph did his tempting Mistess: Had our Grandmother Eve done so at first, She had not been the Mother of so much Sin and Misery as she hath been to her Posterity.— I could say more for Living Incognito (which is the Art I am now learning) but have tired you and myself too; so shall only add, Your Answer to this Letter is impatiently desired by, Your Ladyships most Humble and most Obedient Servant, JOHN DUNTON. The LADY's Answer to my first LETTER. SIR, IF Living Incognito is an Art, 'tis of Nature's teaching; for 'tis very natural for those that are neither pleased with the World, nor the World with them, to retire from it; which was the case with the Primitive Christians: They lived amongst the Heathen, that had a very different sense of things from them; they could not speak their Thoughts, they were so generally disapproved and condemned; and being sensible their Habits of Virtue were yet but weak, not throughly confirmed by Time and Experience, their Love and Zeal was only strong, which made 'em fly from the contagion of ill Example and Temptation, as well as from the fury of Persecution; which was made the easier, by that contempt they had for Riches, Honour and Pleasure: For I believe at first, neither Pride, Ambition, or Vainglory, had the least share in so singular and remarkable a way of Living, as in Caves and Deserts, whatever it may have had since: But to prevent the imputing our safety to any care and contrivance of our own, we have seen that which was so innocently designed at first, in tract of time became the source of all the Superstition, with which the World hath since that time so much abounded. Can they have secured to themselves good Thoughts, as Dr. Fuller presumed they always had, their Retreat must needs have been happy: But St. Jerome found it not so well; for in the midst of his macerating Mortifications, his Imagination brought him a Troop of beautiful Maids in a Dance, as he himself relates. Then what can stop the current of evil Thoughts, that follows us in solitude, notwithstanding all our care to get out of their reach? That Man the Oracle pronounced happy, had that advantage of having always been a poor Gardiner, honestly employed in getting his Living; so that he had no temptation to contest with, from without or within; and all the World is agreed upon the innocent pleasure a Garden gives; he was therefore certainly happy: But whether the happiest in the World, is a great question; since 'twas impossible for him to taste and understand his happiness so perfectly, as one that had experienced another way of Living, and whose Repentance for his passed Follies might equal his Innocence, and so exceed his Happiness. I am no stranger to the Pleasures of the retired Life you invite to; I know and taste it to the full, 'tis what I have always courted ever since I was at my own dispose, and which I now am perfectly possessed of, and find in it all those advantages you mention of subliming one's Thoughts, and setting them above the World; sure all thinking Persons will study to disentangle themselves from those ensnaring Delights, as well as from the Cares and Troubles that attend 'em; to which Design, no Age ever gave so fair Advantage: For to love Pleasure and Conversation, at this time, and in this Town, is to dote upon Crimes and Folly and if a retreat from it, is Life, according to your estimation; 'tis Death to stay in it, according to mine. I wonder whether that Learned Divine you speak of, has the Art of answering all hard Questions, with the same Ease he answered that Lady; I wish I knew how she understood him; he seemed to me to question what is Life, to make answer a young Lady, by which I understand he meant his own Chief Good; he ought to have added, what was Life to the Lady. I take the love of Liberty to be taught by Nature, and is that which occasions the Sallies Kings and Men of Quality make sometimes, for a little ease of the burden their Place and Quality condemns to, whilst Incognito they taste the pleasure of Liberty, and may perceive all the Power, Honour and Riches, and all the Pleasures, the World studies for 'em, and heaps upon 'em; makes up a very imperfect Happiness; whilst all their Words and Actions are under such restraint; nay, their very Thoughts and Affections are tied to Rules and Reasons of State, not merely for the discharge of their Place and Dignity, but to please others, that others may be pleased with their Greatness; all which is a violence to Nature, and could never be supported by any that had leisure to think; unles● by some great Mind, like our present King, that willingly sacrifice themselves and all that is dear to 'em, for the Blessing and Happiness of more Kingdoms than their own. But 'tis enough for such ordinary Minds as yours and mine, to put ourselves into a safe retreat, and after the Example of the finest Poets, the wisest Philosophers, the greatest Saints and Holy Fathers, learn to live with, and endure one's self; and to show ourselves as wise as those, that willingly undergo any thing for the purchase of Riches; we for the purchase of Time, as precious to the full, choose to live Incognito, where Time is our own, and none either borrows or robs us of it; and the only place where we can redeem that Time we have lost or misspent. This were enough, bating the pleasure, to justify the choice of Solitude; but the Testimony of a great and wise Emperor must not be slighted;; his Mind looked great, that could think nothing less than an Imperial Crown, a fit Present for his Son; yet could support itself without it: And what could look more nice, than in his Retirement, to set himself to the study of the Christian Religion, and so truly and experimentally declare the pleasure he found in it, to be that which Courts, and the great Pretenders to Pleasure, were strangers to; and if there needs any thing more to recommend it, 'tis that the Body may share in the Pleasures of this Retirement; while the Fancy and Imagination, and all other Senses, are entertained in Fields and Gardens, with more Innocent Objects, than in Courts and Cities. I know not how your Living in a Private Retreat, to learn well how to Die, should lessen my Friendship; it rather qualifies you better to be my Friend: I have no other business in the World but to die, and 'tis only for that end I value Friendship, that one may mutually assist each other in this great ●ork: Your Retirement from the World, does not lessen you in my esteem, therefore in no trial of my Friendship, but makes you more worthy of it. Nor can I object against Solitude, because Man was at first made for Society: Since Man is now so fallen from his first Perfection, he is scarce a reasonable Creature, or sit Company for Brutes; and for Women, tho' aspiring to the excellency of Angels, are arrived no higher than to the state of Evil Spirits, to prove Tempter's, the cause and occasion of all the wickedness the World abounds with, all which may well acquit us from the Laws of Society, and give us leave to make the best of so sad a Condition, and learn the Art of Living Incognito. I am, Your &c. LETTER II. In Praise of Poverty. Madam, MY Art of Living Incognito, having been honoured with your Approbation, I am encouraged to pursue my Project of writing on a Thousand Subjects; for this is to Live Incognito to good purpose, and to show to the World how Solitude may be Improved. In this Undertaking (as I hinted in my first Letter) I shall tie myself to no Method, so think it needless to make an Apology that my Second Letter is a brief Essay In Praise of Poverty. Sir Walter Ranleigh, in a Letter to his Wife, after his Condemnation, hath these words, If you can Live free from Want, care for no more, for the rest is but a Vanity. A little Meat sufficeth to nourish us, a poor Bed (without Rich Curtains) will serve to repose us, and a little Cottage may well defend us, both from the extremity of Heat, and bitterness of Cold. I could wish with all my heart, that every man would set before the Eyes of his Understanding, the Two Principal Extremities of this Life, and that he would likewise consider, in what Poverty we are born, and departed again out of this World. Naked we first entered into this vain world, and naked must we again leave it: Is it not then a Stupendius Folly, knowing for certain that we are born very poor, and must also die without carrying any thing with us; to torment ourselves so much for the Loss of our Goods? It is observed that there is this noble and magnanimous Spirit in the Eagle, that when she is in want, and greatly suffers hunger, that she scorns to pout, and make a noise, and a clamour, as other Birds will do, but rests herself satisfied, If I have it not now, I shall have it hereafter— And none can be unhappy, who, Amongst all his ●lls, a Time does know, Tho ne'er so ill, when he shall not be so.— The greatest Misfortunes become tolerable in Time: the Sentiment we have of them is lost, and vanishes away. Poverty, Shame, Diseases, the Moral Essays Vol. 1. p. 27. loss of our being abandoned by Friends, Parents, Children, gives us Blows whose smart lasts not long; the Agitation they give us, by degrees grows less, till it quite ●ases: Nay, Zeno was wont to say, That the goods of the World did more hurt then good; which was the cause that made Crates the Theban, passing one day from his country of Athens, to follow the study of Philosophy, to throw all the Gold and Silver he had about him into the Sea, imagining, that Virtue and Riches could never consist together: Men of the Greatest Sense have generally died Poor: Valerius, Agrippa, etc. as also the good Aris●ides, died so poor, that they were fain by Alms to be buried. Great Butler's Muse the same ill Treatment had, Whose Verse shall Live for ever to upbraid Th' ungrateful World that left such Worth unpaid. The Bard at summing up his misspending days, Found nothing left but Poverty and Praise; Of all his Gain by Verse, he could not save Enough to purchase Flannel and a Grave. Reduced to want, he in due time fell sick, Was fain to die, and be interred on Tick. I might also instance in Epaminondas, King of The●es, in whose Rich House and Palace was found but one poor Straw-bed, or base Mattress to put in his Inventory. What, (says St. Chrysostom,) doth distinguish Angels from Men, but that they are not needy, as we are? And 'tis ever observed, that men's Desires increase with their Riches; and consequently, they that have most, are the most needy; and therefore the Poor, who have the least in the World, come nearest to Angels, and those are the furthest off, who need the most.— He who needs (says this Father in another place) many things, is a Slave to many things, is himself the Servant of his Servants, and depends more on them, than they on him— So that the increase of worldly Goods and Honours, being but the Increase of our slavery and dependence, reduces us to a more real and effective misery.— What hath the Bravest of Mortals to glory in? Is it Greatness? Who can be Great on so small a Round as this Earth, and bounded with so short a course of Time? How like is that to Castles built in the Air, or to Giants, Modelled (for a Sport of Snow) which at the better Looks of the Sun, do melt away? But for all this (says the ambitious man) were I to choose my Station, I'd be a King at least. How full of Charms is it to imitate the Divine Original of Being's, to see whole Kingdoms Croutching to me, to be encompassed with bare Heads, where e'er I go; to have the power of Exalting one, and Debasing another, of disposing of Life and Death; and, in short, to be an Earthly God? To this I answer, There appears to me a greater happiness in an unenvyed Cottage, than in the Noisy Crowds of Flatterers. Little does the Plebcian know how heavy a Crown weighs, how great the Trust is, and how hard to be managed; 'Tis the Court that's full of Ambition. Bribes, Treachery, etc. The Watch must be kept so strictly, that there's no time to act Virtuously. But in the retired Solitudes of Poverty, one Fourth of our Temptations are lost; the uneasiness of the Flesh, causes a search after the Quiet of the Mind. I mentioned in my last, Charles V Dioclesian, and several others, who laid by their Sceptres for Spades; and I might here tell you how happy the change was— But 'twill be again objected, That the Rich have many Friends, but few (if any) caress the Poor. I shall therefore be thought to be half mad, to write thus in Praise of Poverty, which is Universally despised, but without any good Reason; for abundance of this World is a Clog to the Christian Pilgrim: With what difficulty do those that have Riches enter into the Kingdom of Heaven?— I hear Israel praying in Egypt, quarrelling in the Wilderness; when they were at their Brick-Kilns, they would be at their Devotion; and no sooner are they at ease, but they are wrangling for their Flesh Pots. I dare say, many a man had not been so wicked, if he had but been Poor. It is the saying of a Great Divine, That Solomon's Riches did him more hurt than his Wisdom did him good. Affliction and Want do that many times, which fair means cannot; Wealth, like Knowledge, puffs up, when Poverty makes men flock to Christ. 'Tis the Poor receive the Gospel; then how much better is Poverty than Riches, if it carries me to Heaven? Who would not be a Lazarus for a Day, that he might sit in Abraham's Bosom for ever? Poverty is despised, but 'tis the best Physic: I know not whether Prosperity have lost, or Adversity recovered more: None prays so hearty for his daily Bread as he that wants it: Misery, like Ionah's Fish, sends them to their Prayers, that never thought of God under their Gourd. It is pity fair Wether should do any harm: Yet it is often seen Riches makes many forget those Friends which Want would make cro●h to.— But Man cannot be so much above Man, as that the difference should Legitimate his Scorn (Diogenes Tub was a poor House, and yet Alexander would come thither to talk with him.) Then how welcome should that State be which keeps us humble, and brings us acquainted with God? Who would pursue the World, when Poverty makes us happy? Alas! Madam, This World is a Liar, and he will find it so, that (like you and Philaret) does not retreat from it. But though Men would come to Heaven, yet they do not like this way; they like well of Lazarus in Abraham's Bosom, but not at Dives Door. But alas! Riches, like the Rose, are sweet, but prickly; the Honey doth not counter veil the Sting, they end in Vexation; and, like judas, while they Kiss, they Petray. Riches, like their Master, are full of Deceit, promise what they have not. How many have I seen in London, that by much Toil have gotten a vast Estate, that at last have envied the Quiet Rest and Merry Meals of their Labourers? Diogenes laying his money at his head, a Thief was very busy to steal it from him, which troubled him so much, that he could take no rest; so at last, rather than he would deprive himself of his sweet sleep, he threw it to him, saying, Take it to thee, thou Wretch, that I may take my Rest. And I think he was much in the right: My Companion in my present Solitude is much of Diogenes Temper, for he has parted with all he has, and is now (being Poor) happy in no bodies Opinion but his own. There is no True Rich Man but the Contented, nor truly Poor but the Covetous. If we can but make the best of our own, and think ourselves well, even when others think not so, we are happy persons. Socrates passing through the Market, cries out, How much is here I do not need? Nature is content with little, Grace with less. Poverty lies in Opinion. The Characterizer of Mr. Pym, p. 4. tells us of a Noble Man, who once acted the Beggar's part in a Comedy, and ever after persuaded himself to be in his whole Life what he had Personated on the Stage for one hour.— So that 'tis clear, Opinion is the Rate of things. What is needful, is soon provided; and Enough is as good as a Feast. I am worth what I do not want. My Occasions being supplied with but 500 l. what could I do with more? I will not look at what I have, but what I deserve; and I shall never think my own 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 fewer too much. It is a greater Misery to desire Much, than to have No ●ing. The Rich are ever envied, but (tho 'tis hard) 'tis safe to be contented with a little. Nay, were we so contented, we are happy with Nothing, or with a small Pitrance. Content is all we aim at, with our Store; And having that, with Little, what needs more?— The Poor of B— r Village (where I now live) are as well pleased with their Hempen S●cks (for the Parish allows no better) as your fine Ladies, whose delicate Skins are covered with Lawn.— Contentation is a Blessing, not Wealth. True Riches consist not in having much, but in not desiring more. Some think they have not enough, if they have not all. Thus have I seen some Beasts, not knowing when they were well, burst with feeding. Did not Diogenes well perceive this, being not illuminated with any other knowledge, than only that which Nature taught him: When he chose such a kind of life, which (I think) is unknown to no man, whereby he made himself equal, and fellow (as it were) with Fortune? Surely, his Estate was most happy, and yet had he neither Money, Possessions, Meadows, Gardens, or Houses; neither would he that Alexander should bestow any on him. For, as the History noteth, Alexander came one day to behold him as a wonder, and said unto him, Diogenes, behold, I am ready to supply thy need, because I see thee Poor. Diogenes thus boldly answered him: I pray thee which of us two seemeth to be most indigent or needy? I, who have nothing but my Mantle and my Wallet, neither do desire any more; or thou, who not contented with thy Father's Kingdom, dost offer thyself to so many dangers, only through desire thou hast to rule; and that desire is so great, as it seemeth the whole World will scarce content it? Certainly, whosoever judgeth the state of Diogenes unhappy; by like reason may repute himself most unhappy: perceiving the poor man to be pleased, and himself never satisfied: The things of this World, are in a manner but Apparitions; not so indeed: why then do we so labour to abound, and not rather to be content? But some Men are in such haste to be Rich, that they do not climb, but vault into Preferment at a Leap: I know not their sleight, I mistrust their quickness; few Men were ever Great and Good in an Instant; all the harm I wish these is, that their early rising; do them no harm; but what does their Wealth signify, seeing Earth is but our Road to Heaven, and Riches such mean things, that like High way Fruit, they are common to all— Besides, what will it profit a man to gain the whole world, and lose his Soul? I will grudge no Man Riches, if he has 'em (as most have) upon those Terms. It shall suffice me there is another World to come, and that mine (if I follow Sabina's Advice) shall begin when this is ended.— I will be content to want this for a while, that I may enjoy that other for ever. What is Dives the better to out shine Lazarus, and at last die and be damned? The good Man takes his God as he doth his Wife, for Richer for Poorer, in sickness and in health: We may not always judge of God's Favour by his Bounty; I am but a Novice in Religion, if I think I can be God's Son, and miserable. A Rich Court is a goodly sight, but he that looks up to Heaven, will not care for the World. All the Afflictions of this World cannot answer the Joys of that other. Then where is the Damage in being poor? For as Fortune is not my Landlady, so I fear not her displeasure; and, which still adds to the Happiness of a Poor Condition, if I possess nothing, my Account is the less. But to the Disgrace of Riches, 'tis hard in Prosperity for Men to remember themselves, and what they have received of God; we are apt to forget what we have been, when we are changed for the better. Pharoah's Butler hath forgot he was a Prisoner. It is too true that too many love God for their own sakes, either they are poor, and would be raised, or they are sick and would be healed; and like Beggars, no sooner are they served, but they are gone— I could tell ye (Madam) of a Miser worth Hundreds, that never did a Generous Act, but promised mighty things if he arrived to such an Estate. If I had his Wealth (as I am Heir to it) and do no more good, I shall add to my Condemnation, together with my Store: I will therefore study rather to use my little well, than to increase it— God is therefore bountiful to us, that we might be so to others: He alone hath the true use of Wealth, that receives it only to disburse it. Dionysius the Elder, entering into his Son's Lodging, and beholding there great store of Rich Jewels and Gold, said unto him, My Son, I did not give thee these Riches to use in this sort, but to impart them to thy Friends. But so few spend their Riches as they ought, that I think Poverty preferable to Wealth; and the rather, as Poverty comes not from the East, nor from the West, but from God himself. He hath said to every Man, Rule thou hare, or work thou there, be this, or thus: Then why do Men grudge at their Wants, when it is not Chance, but Providence? It is less praise to be Rich, than to be able to despise the world; the less I have here, the more I have to come. No Lazarus would change states with that Dives, who if he might but live again, would be Lazarus to choose: Then who'd make haste to be Rich? I hear Israel child, not for eating, but for laying up their Manna.— If Prosperity make me fond of Life, or afraid of dying, it had been better for me, if it had not been so well. 'Tis true, when Fortune smiles upon a Man, his Relations that shunned his Company when it frowned upon him, flock to him again, as if he were come from a strange Country, to welcome him home; they now offer their Services, with a thousand Protestations of the sincerest Friendship to him, whom a little before they denied to have a drop of their Blood in his Veins. But though the only thing Men are valued for, is their Money, yet a Moderate Fortune is the only thing to be wished and prayed for in this World, lest we be either tempted to Wantonness, thro' a too great Plenty; or pressed into Despair by the Sting of a pinching Necessity. I will pray therefore with Agur, Lord, give me neither Wealth nor Poverty, but a Mean; or if Wealth, Grace to employ it; If Poverty, Patience to endure it: If I'm Poor and Honest, I can ne●e be unhappy; for then God is my Father, the Angels are my fellows, Heaven is my Inheritance, and what can I ask more, save to be in that blessed place, where Riches have no Wings, and every Lazarut wears a Crown.— And as in Heaven the Poorest Man is a King, so on Earth they are so dear to God, that Solomon tells us, He that mocketh the Poor, reproacheth his Maker; and, which would make one in love with Poverty, they that have least, are freest from Cares. The Poor are in no danger from Plots, or robbing— The moneyless Traveller can sing before a Thief; Neither is he that's as poor as job, in any danger of starying; for in most Churches they have that Respect for the Needy, that 'tis writ in Capital Letters, (as in Cripplegate Church)— Pray remember the Poor— And Heaven itself has taken that care of 'em, that in Cases of Wrong, Restitution must be made to the Poor, where the right Owner is dead; and to encourage the Rich to be Kind, nothing makes their Names shine so much as Charity. Salvian saith, that Christ himself is Mendicorum maximus, the greatest Beggar in the world, as one that shareth in all his Saints necessities, and will never forget the charitable person. Cicero could say, That to be rich, is not to possess much, but to use much. And Seneca could rebuke them that so studied, to increase their wealth; that they forgot to use it. I have read of one Evagrius a rich man, that lying upon his Deathbed, being importuned by Synesius a pious Bishop; to give something to charitable uses, he yielded at last to give three hundred Pounds; but first took Bond of the Bishop that it should be repaid him in another world before he had been one day dead. He is said to have appeared to the Bishop, delivering in the Bond canceled, as thereby acknowledging what was promised was made good, according to that promise. What we give to the Poor, we secure from the Thief; but what we with hold from his Necessity, a Thief possesses. God's Exchequer is the Poor Man's Box; when we strike a Tally, he becomes our Debtor. Faelix the Fifth, being demanded, whether he kept any Hounds? he brought them that asked him to a place where a great company of poor people sat down together at Dinner, saying, Behold, these are my Hounds, which I feed daily, with the which I hope to hunt for the Kingdom of Heaven. St. Chrysostom was a rare Spokesman for the Almighty's Box (such are the Poor) when he said, That God commanded Alms, not so much for the Poors sake, as the good of the Rich:— Another calls Charity to the Poor, An Art the most thriving of all Arts. Nay, the Almighty often maketh present payment (knowing how hardly he can get Credit from our infidelity) and even in Temporals. Thy bread cast upon the Waters, maketh better than Fast India Voyages.— But if the Rich should be hard hearted, the Poor have Law on their side, and can force the Parish (where they were born) to keep ' 'em.— And if they happen to be Kin to Estates, and han't Moneys to claim their Right, yet they can sue in Forma-Pauperis; and if the Lawyers were honest, I don't see but the Poor are the most likely to carry the Day, as their Necessities plead, as well as the Lawyer, and the Justice of their Cause— Or if they are balked in a Just Suit, the worst that can be said, is,— There goes a Poor (injured) Honest Man, which is more Honourable than to have it said,— There goes a Rich Knave. But suppose they had no Advocate, yet at worst they can beg for their daily Bread, and then when they sleep, Heaven is their Canopy, and Mother Earth their Pillow. Beggars, more than others, seem to be the peculiar Care of Providence. Then who'd be a King, when a Beggar Lives so well? or if all support for their bodies fail, to stand their ground, and look to Heaven for a handful of supply, speaks their Faith: At a Lion's Den, or a fiery Furnace, not to turn our back, is a Commendation worthy a Prophet.— When our Saviour would put to silence the distrusters of his Time, he points them to the Lilies of the Field, (not of the Garden; which are digged and dunged) but of the Field, which have no Gardener but the Sun, no watering Pots but the Clouds; and your Heavenly Father (says he) cloaths these.— Then who'd be afraid of Poverty, that has such a merciful Father to go to?— 'Tis true, the Poor are Slaves to the Rich, and their words little regarded. We read of a Poor Wise Man, that by his Wisdom delivered a City; yet no Man remembered that Poor Man. Yet this Text adds to the Honour of Poverty, as it makes it the Touchstone to try a Friend.— A Friend in need is a Friend indeed.— And there be some (though very few) that have Souls brave enough to own a Friend in a Prison. A Friend loveth at all times, and Prov. 17. 17. a Brother is born for Adversity.—— For my own share, (for I'll speak the Truth, though to my own praise) I never loved a Friend the worse for being either poor, miserable, or * See more to this effect in my Irish Conversation, p. despised.— Thus have I made it out, (to the praise of Poverty) that Earth is a place of Penance, and that Brown Bread and the Gospel is a 'Twas a saying of Pious Dod. good Fare. Earth is a place of Toil and Labour, and men go not to work in their best clothes. Men should do well to furnish their Insides a little better, and let the Body shift. I never heard any man blamed for his Rags, but I hear it upbraided to one, that he went in Purple.— I might further add, to the Honour of Poverty, That the Saviour of the World was born in a Stable; and though the Foxes had Holes, and the Birds of the Air had Nests, yet the Son of Man had not where to lay his Head. In the Poor we b Moral Essays, Vol. 1, p. 145. Honour the Poverty of jesus Christ, his Humilimility in those that are Humble, and his sufferances in the Afflicted. Thus (Madam) have I sent ye my Thoughts of Poverty which though writ in a solitary Grove, yet have something in 'em that I hope will please ye; and if they do (though my Notions are some of 'em New) no man will ever censure 'em; or if any presume to dislike what you approve of, I shall not value it, whilst you permit me the Honour of subscribing myself, Your most Devoted Friend and Servant JOHN DUNTON. The LADY's Answer to my Second LETTER. SIR, I Confess I have, as well as you, observed, that Poverty is much despised: I have known some Persons, though Pretenders to Religion, speak with more Contempt of those they knew to be Poor, than of those that were by all detested for their Vices; yet I can't but think it worth ones w●le to be poor, were it only for the advantage of knowing one's self and others. A Friend is not known in Prosperity, nor can an Enemy be hid in Adversity. I never fail to set a mark upon those despisers of Poverty, as very blind and ignorant of the Blessings of the Gospel; Even many of them that are Teachers of it, have seemed to overlook that great Lesson our Saviour teaches of dependence upon God, and the danger of Riches, upon the sole account of trusting to ' 'em. I own 'tis the best thing this World can pretend to, yet like itself as full of Cares, Troubles, and Vexations, and is given to the Children of this World as their Proper Portion; for they are capable of no better; and because God will be Debtor to none, those Corrupt and Imperfect Services they render him, shall be rewarded with such Corruptable and Imperfect Blessings as Riches can procure ' 'em. There's hardly any instance can be given of their ever making any person more Religious and Devout, more indifferent, and weaned from the World, more humble and resigned to God, both in obeying and suffering his Will. These are the Virtues attending Poverty, which are carefully entertained by all such as aspire to those Perfections. All the Virtue Riches pretends to, is the making choice of some Persons, to bless, as they believe, with their Riches, when they die, and perhaps impart some of their Superfluity, while they Live, to some miserable people, whom they esteem so for being Poor, with intent to make 'em their slaves. But whatever Usage the World gives one for being Poor, it matters not, nor lessens the Blessing at all: We set a greater value upon the World than it deserves, to rate one's happiness by their Esteem. But whether they will allow it or no, to bear Poverty as one ought, deserves Honour, and 'tis better to deserve it than to have it. Not to be dejected with Poverty, and the Contempt it lies under, shows a Right judgement of the World, and the things of it, and speaks a Great Mind, supported with Nobler Objects; not so weak or Childish, to be uneasy in the want of Toys and Trifles; for so one may call all those Superfluities that are thought necessary to purchase Esteem and Respect in this vain world. God knows our True and Real Necessities, and never fails to furnish such as rely upon him; his Liberal hand makes all Rich whom he blesses: Even in Poverty, when he gives us Grace to seek the Kingdom of Heaven, that one Blessing adds all the rest; and what can give us better Means and Opportunity for that, than Poverty? For by cutting off all Excess, it makes us Wise, Moderate, and Sober; it brings us to Thinking and Consideration, etc. And then concludes in Humiliation and Thankfulness, which God will do us the Honour to accept, and that Crowns all. But such Advantages are rarely found in Riches, 'tis possible with God sometimes to make 'em Blessings; but with Men 'tis impossible, especially to those that seeks and desires ' 'em. But compare 'em both together in their worst Capacity, Riches does more mischief than Poverty; and 'tis only for the Love of Riches when Poverty does any mischief at all. So that I perfectly agree with you in your thoughts of Poverty, which I prefer much before Riches, both in their best and worst use And after Death, pray tell me what has the Rich to boast of more than the Poor? For Alexander seeing Diogenes tumbling among dead Bones, asked him what he sought? To whom the other answered, that which I cannot find, the difference between the Rich and the Poor. I am, Your, etc. LETTER III. Of the (Athenian) Itch. Madam, I Might inform you how studious I have been from my Youth, and how curious to know more than's Revealed: But when I read what mighty things some men promise themselves, and what braggings and boastings when they have discovered any thing; it makes me conclude, that God will never give a Blessing to such a violent pursuit after Knowledge, that will not keep within its bounds: Even Cutting for the Stone in the Kidneys, was once practised with good success, but is now, and ever since Gallen Time, lost and forgotten; and the same thing we may say of other Curious Discoveries. But as fruitless as our Curiosity is, 'tis now become a general Distemper. For Dr. wild a See his Poem on the New Parliament. says, We all are seized with the Athenian Itch. And in the Book called, The Visions of the Soul, b P. 118. you have these words, Mr. Dunton, and Mr. Smith, the Coffee-man, desire to know, whether there be any Cure for the Athenian Itch. I quote this Passage and Book, to show there is such a Distemper (though 'twas never mentioned by any Physician.) c Athenian Mercury, Vol. 1. Numb. 1. All Ages (as if Athens had been the Original) have been Curieus in their Inquiries; Curiosity itself is so much a part of Nature, that 'tis seldom laid aside till the whole Frame is dissolved: Yet some few recover; (of which I'm one Instance); for my Living Incognito has quite cured my Athenian Itch. I mean that vain desire of knowing more than's revealed, which Saint Paul blames in the Athenians of old.)— Thou bringest a Acts. 16. V 20, 21, 22. certain strange things to our Ears, (said these Athenians to Paul,). We would know therefore what these things mean.— These Athenians spent their Time in nothing else but in vain Disquisitions.— Paul seeing this, stood up in the midst of Mars-hill, and said, Ye Men of Athens, I perceive that in all things ye are too Superstitious, etc. I need say little to prove I'm cured of this Itch; my forsaking London, and all Company, plainly shows it.— Or if I was ne'er so curious, where could I be Resolved? If now I'd be ask Questions, it must be of Solitary Groves, of speechless Birds, and a Poor Landlady, that scarce knows her Right Hand from her Left.— But it matters not; for when Athens had done answering Questions, there was a stop put to my Curiosity, and my Cell has so finished my Cure, that I now Itch after Nothing: I am well contented with knowing no more (relating either to this World, or the next) but what I can learn from— The Holy Bible,— The Port Royal,— and your Ingenious Letters. And seeing these limit my Curiosity, I may boldly write— Of the Athenian Itch.— The Athenian Itch is a catching Distemper; it is not only in one or two Houses, but it spreads every where. And 'tis observed, that as the bodily. Itch chief lies in the hands, (and therefore we usually say, our finger's itch to do such a thing) so the Athenian Itch chief affects the Ear; and 'tis no small Misfortune that this Mental Itch should lie more in the Ears than in any other part of the Body.— For the Ears are the Doors of the Soul; without these we were but Artificial Creatures, Men only in show: Hence we know, we discourse, we believe, we learn to speak to God, and hear God speak to us; without these we could not speak, nor know, nor understand. In a word, by these (under God) we are what we are— Then e'nt it pity such useful Organs should be defiled with the Athenian Distemper? But so, it is, and I scarce know a Man but has itching Ears: I was pestered with this Itch for 5 years myself, (witness the Athenian Mercury, which continued for that time); but being cured, I would do my best to cure others, more especially those Nice Querists that my Athenian Mercury has any ways infected. But I undertake the Cure of these Men with small hopes of Success; for though with common things Men are little affected, (while Moses doth only what the Magicians can, he is slighted), yet Men are taken with something that is not ordinary. All Samaria will run out to see a Man can tell them all that ever they did; and I doubt whether the Apostles drew not more after their Miracles, than their Doctrine; when they begin to heal, and cast out Devils once, Simon Magus will be one too: But this Athenian Itch is Destructive to Soul and Body; when Adam would better his knowledge, he lost his dwelling in Paradise; and when those Builders of Babel would mend their Dwelling they lost their knowledge. The Itch of finding the Philosopher's Stone, or of being great, or pointed at, how many hath it undone? For my share, I will never more care to be, or to know that which I know shall repent me: What Honour is it to james the Second that he was once King? or to me (in my Private Cell) that I ha' once been Somebody? 'Tis clear that in some Cases, and some things, a Man may know too much. It is not good to be prying into the Privy Counsels of God, St. Austin being asked what God did before he made the World, Answered, He was making a Hell for such Curious Inquirers.— Thus dealt Demaratus with a Curious and Importunate Fellow that had oftentimes asked of him, Who was the honestest man in Sparta? He that resembleth thee least, quoth he unto him.— The Answer also of an Egyptian was not unsitly made to one that sked him, What he carried there folded? It is wrapped up (quoth he) because thou shouldest not know what it is? A vain Curiosity is hateful and greatly to be blamed in every one.— The Example of Socrates is very memorable, and to be imitated, who being demanded, What the World was? Answered, That since be had any Judgement, he gave himself to seek out the True Knowledge of Himself, which yet he could never find— But so soon as he had attained thereunto, than he would seek for other things that would do him no Service or Pleasure.— And Aristotle burned with such a desire of Curiosity, in understanding the Causes of Natural Things, that because he could not know and conceive the Cause and Nature of the Flowing and Ebbing of the Sea, fling himself into it. And I liny the Elder, whilst he was overcurious in searching out the Cause of the Burning Aetna, was burned therein— There are others also no less hurtful, who have been such Curious Inquisitors of the Causes of all Natural Things, that through frivolous and unprofitable Questions, they have fallen into that Impiety, as to seek for another beginning of all things than God; whereupon this Proverb arose— Of Three Physicians, one Atheist.— Neither are they less to be blamed, who harken and inquire so curiously after other men's Faults and Imperfections. This Cariosity (says Plutarch) is commonly joined which Envy and Evil-speaking, and is by that Excellent Philosopher compared to Adultery, which may be called a Curious Enquiry after another Body's pleasure. If there be any One Imperfection in a Stock or Kindred; if any Infamy, Fault, Error, or Evil Government in a House, it is the Delight of Curious Folks to learn that throughly, that they may sport themselves, and tell long Stories of them; by that means using their Memory for a Loathsome Register of other men's Vices; and yet neither see or know any Fault of their own. And therefore Diogenes beholding one of his Scholars in a public place, talking very earnestly with a Young Man that was thought to be Le●d, demanded what Talk they had? To whom the Scholar answered, That the other rehearsed unto him a Notable Trick of Youth, which his Brother had played the Night before. Then Diogenes said to them both, My will and pleasure is, that each of you have 40 Stripes with a Whip, within the Amphitheatre; thou (quoth he to his Scholar) for giving Ear unto him, and he for the Folly related; because a Philosopher deserves as much for harkening to Folly recited, as doth the Vagabond that rehearseth it.— And certainly to shun all Curious Enquiry into others Imperfections, is the way more diligently to look into our own; but this is little considered; for as fatal as a Vain Curiosity has proved to Several, (as you'd hear anon). Yet still methinks we fain would be Catching at the Forbidden Tree; We would be like the Deity.— Cowley. There's nothing the Nature of Man is more desirous of, than Knowledge; he pursues it to a Fault, and will fly even to Hell itself to advance it.— I doubt whether some men's over-boldness with the hidden things of God, have not made them an accursed thing to them; and pressing before their Time, or Leave, into the Holy of Holies, have barred themselves from ever coming thither at all. 'Tis true, God Almighty could send one frow the Dead, to reveal to us those things we are so Curious to Know: But from God's Power, to argue 'tis his Will, is no good Logic in the School of Heaven: He does what e'er he pleases both in Heaven above, and in the Earth below; and what he pleases to reveal to us, we know; and what he has not so revealed, are Secrets locked up in his own Eternal Counsel, which 'tis a bold and presumptuous Curiosity for any Creature to Inquire into.— There is no doubt but he can make as many Worlds as there are Stars in Heaven, if it pleases him; but that he has done so, he has not yet revealed, nor is it therefore our Duty to inquire.— Why should we call for Light, where God will have none, and make Windows into Heaven? I will admire God in Himself, and be content to know him no farther than in his Word. Where this Light leaves me, I will leave enquiring, and boast of my Ignorance. To be wise unto Sobriety, is an Excellent Rule, prescribed us by the Apostle; and the Reason (says (a) Mr. Turner) is obvious enough to any Man of competent In his History of Providence. Sense and Brains; For Adam, by an affectation of Knowing more than was necessary, came to know more than was comfortable; and an insatiate Desire of Wisdom (adds this Author) is certainly a Symptom of the hereditary Disease derived to us from him. The First of Men from hence derived his Fall, He sought for Secrets, and found Death withal. Secrets are unfit Objects for our Eyes, They blind, us in beholding; he that tries. To handle water, the more hard he strains, And gripes his Hand, the Less his Hand retains. That Mind that's troubled with the pleasing Itch, Of knowing Secrets, having flown a pitch Beyond itself, the higher it ascends, And strives to know, the Less it apprehends. 〈◊〉 God hath set us bounds to all our Disquisitions, and if we do not keep within compass, we forfeit our Faculties, and expose ourselves to all the Dangers; that are out of ken; whatever we do let us do prudently, and have a Regard to some good end: For whatsoever is more than this, is more than is Needful, Safe, or Honourable.— Surely no Man will doubt this, that observes what Divine judgements have fallen upon some that would ha' known more than they should; I could heap up Instances of this Nature, but shall only Relate the Judgements that befell the Curiosity of an Officer, that came to Mr. Perreauds▪ house.— Dr. dye.— Mr. Kelly.— john Faustus,— and a young man in London.— I begin with the Officer— who was a Papist belonging to a Court of Justice.— This Man came out of Curiosity to Mr. Perreauds House, and hearing that the Devil foretell future things there, and some Secrets, he would needs Question him about many Matters; but Mr. Perreaud desired him to forbear, Representing to him both the Sin and the Danger of it: The Lawyer rejected his Counsel with Scorn, bidding him Teach his own Flock, and let him have the Government of himself; and so proceeded to propound several Questions to the Devil, as about absent Friends, Private Business, News, and State Affairs; unto all which the Devil answered him; and then added, Now, Sir, I have told you all that you have desired of me, I must tell you next what you demanded not, That at this very time, you are propounding these Questions to the Devil, such a Man, (whom he Named) is Debauching your Wife; and then he further disovered many secret and foul Practices of the Lawyer. Neither was this all; for in conclusion, the Devil told him, Now, Sir, let me correct you for being so bold as to Question with the Devil; you should have taken the Ministers safe Counsel.— Then upon a sudden the whole Company saw the Lawyer drawn by the Arm into the midst of the Room, where the Devil whirled him about, and gave him many Turns, with great swiftness, touching the ground only with his Toe, and then threw him down upon the Floor with great violence; and being taken up, and carried to his house, he lay sick and distracted a long a Sesse the Narrative of the Devil of Mascon. time. The Curiosity of Dr. Dee was also severely punished, This man was an Excellent Scholar, and Mathematician, of the University of Oxford; he was desirous of a great deal of Knowledge; (which was commendable enough) but making it his Prayer to God to make him wiser than the rest of Mankind, he was, by the Divine Judgement, given over to strong Delusions, and sadly imposed upon by the Apparition of Evil Spirits, under the disguise of good Angels, who promised to help him to the Philosopher's Stone; but never left him till they had drained him of what Wealth he had; so that he died very poor, and every way miserable. almen (adds my Author) may take warning by this Example, how they put themselves out of the protection of Almighty God, either by unlawful Wishes, or by seeking to Devils, Witches, Conjurers, Astrologers, Fortune-tellers, and * Dr. M. Casaubon's Relat. of Dr. Dee's Actions with Spirits. Pr. the like.— I should next relate the Judgement that fell upon Edward Kelly, for prying too far. Secret things belong to God; and therefore (said one of the Fathers) where the Scripture has not a mouth to speak, we should not have an Ear to hear; but this Curious Wretch forgetting this, Consults with the Devil; he'd rather go to Hell for Knowledge, than be ignorant of any thing.— But see the Event of this Vain-Curiosity; for (Dr. Casaubon tells us, that) clambering over a Wall in his own house, in Prague, (which bears his Name to this day) he fell down from the Battlements, broke his Legs, and so bruised his Body, that he died in a few days.— Then again there was john Faustus must needs study the Black-Art, that he might Know more than others; and that he might ne'er be puzzled with Nice Questions, 'tis said, he led about with him an Evil Spirit, in the likeness of a Dog, to consult with, as occasion offered. But for all his Familiar Devil, Divine Vengeance followed his Curiosity; for coming into an Inn in the Dukedom of Wittenburg, he sat very sad, and when his host demanded the cause thereof, he answered, that he would not have him affrighted, if he heard a Noise, and shaking of the house that Night; which happened according to his own Prediction; for in the Morning he was found dead by his bedside, with his Neck wrung behind him, and the house where he lay beaten down † Wanly, Hist. Man. to the ground. Neither must I forget to mention the Bold Curiosity of that Young Man Mr. Baxter mentions.— There is (saith Mr. Baxter) now in London, a Youth, the Son of a very Godly Conforming Minister, who reading a Book of that Art called Conjuration, coming to the Words and Actions which that Book said would cause the Devil to appear, was presently desirous to see him. He came (saith he) to me in Terror, having before opened his Case to a Parish Minister, and affirmed to me that the Devil had appeared to him, and solicited him with a Knife to cut his Throat; and told him he must do it suddenly, for he would stay no longer. Mr. Baxter told him how safe he was, if he repent (of his Vain Curiosity), but never heard of him more.— 〈◊〉 might enlarge, but here be Instances enough to check our Vain Curiosity, and to show how ill those Men succeed, that to be cured of the Athenian Itch, go to the Devil for Brimstone.— Sure I am, to give way to Vain Curiosities, will disquiet our Minds, but will never amend ' 'em.— Yet we have a wicked Custom in London, of gentlemen's studying the Controversies for Ornament, not taking them to Heart, nor handling them with that Reverence they ought; but Nice Points have never been my study: I ne'er put my Sickle into the Divines Harvest, but leave Disputations to those whom God hath marked for his Ministry: Or, suppose (which was never known) I should Itch but Once to try how pleasing Sin would be, yet at Adam's Price I should buy this Painted Apple, and thereby lose that Paradise of Innocence, and sweet Serenity of Mind which before I enjoyed; and therefore, that I may check this Curious Temper in others, as well as myself, when ever I meet with those that are too inquisitive, I never answer One of their Questions; for I have observed, that your Open Ears are Open Mouthed, and they that are craving to hear, are apt to tell. The Ambassadors of the King of Persia were at Athens invited to a Feast, whereat also Plutarch's Morals, p. 506. were present divers Philosophers, who to improve the Conversation, discoursed of many things both for and against; amongst whom was Zeno, who being observed to to sit Silent all the while, the Ambassadors pleasantly demanded what they should say of him to the King their Master: Nothing (said he) farther than this, That you saw at Athens an Old Man who knew how to hold his Tongue.— And Metellus, the Roman General, being once asked by a Young Centurion, what Design he had now in hand? He told him, That if he thought his own Shirt was privy to any part of his Counsel, he would immediately pluck it off, and burn it.— That I may imitate these Grave Examples, I never desire to know much of another Man's Estate, nor impart much of my own.— Never any Man repent him of (being satisfied with plain Truths, and of) saying nothing.— Then Sabina, weary not yourself with Scruples, and Empty Niceties in Divinity, but leave them to the Learned Dens; for I have shown, (in the Instance of Dr. Dee and others) that these would not be Ignorant of God's Secrets; as if it were a matter of nothing to be saved, unless we also know what God will have unknown.— For my own share, I think that sufficient which God hath thought enough for me to know▪ and do only seek to know what is just necessary to salvation, what that is, is couched in a few words; * Eccl. 12. v. 13. Fear God, and keep his Commandments, is the whole Du y of Man; and therefore King james was much in the right, when he told us, Disputations were the Scab of the Church: 'Tis Practical Divinity that must bring us to Heaven. When Dr. S—h and Dr. S— k have vented, and banded all their subtlety, each against other, many Pious Men will judge it no other than a Witty Scolding.— As Curious as our Wits are, which of 'em can tell me what my Soul is (except in Terms more dark than those by which I know it already) and how it acts in a separate State? Where's the Divine can unriddle the Doctrine o● the Trinity, Resurrection and Incarnation of the Son of God? He that is Just in his Deal, and practices those plain Truths delivered by a Dod or a Preston, lives as if he out-knew our greatest Disputants.— The jews proceeding this way, infinitely taketh me who as often as they fell upon any difficult place in Scripture, would say,— We know that Elias will come, and tell us all things. But Dr. Brown has a better way of Resolving Doubts, and therefore I make his Religio Medici my Pocket-Companion.— The Physic he prescribes for the Athenian Itch, is a certain Cure, and which shows him a good Christian, (though Physician to Charles 2.) he does not make the way to Heaven more difficult than it really is. But when I meet with Doubts, that neither he, nor the Divine, can decide I have recourse to this sure Decider of all Differences,— Dominus Dixit,— and that makes me easy; for my Cell has cured my Vain Curiosity, and I am satisfied with a Plain Trath.— But these Busy Wits that Itch to propound Acute Questions, are fitly compared to the Sun in March, who then exhales Humours, but dissolves them not. Were their Positions only frivolous, they were more tolerable; but they commonly end in horrid Blasphemy.— Laurentius Valla hearing a Cardinal dispute sublimely of God. and his Subordinate Spirits, said to his. Companion, And I could produce too, such Keen Arguments against my Christ; but I spare so Great a Majesty.— And some of late years, whose Curiosity and Wit has not led to such Blasphemy, yet have been so Foolhardy, as to presume to be more of the Cabinet Counsel of God Almighty, than the Angels themselves (by whose Ministry, some say, he created the World). These have pointed at the precise Time of the World's Dissolution; others have been so curious as to find out the Ancient Place of Paradise, (there was lately a Book published on that Subject) and what sort of Fruit that was which Eve gave to her Husband. But these Curious Observations, like our small Watches, not one in an hundred goes true. And how should they? for Man's proper place is the Earth; if he's raised up into the Air, he's disordered; in the Water he drowns, in the Fire he burns; the Spirit's place is the Body, which soaring above the Matter, afflicts and destroys itself.— When a Soul shall proceed in Matters of Religion by Politic Ways, and suffer itself to be pleased with Curiosity, which incessantly moveth it to draw the Curtain of Holy Mysteries, to see what passes in Heaven; such Spirits are Weak and Ignorant, since they fail in the first Rule of Wisdom, which discovereth to us, that it is an absolute Folly to be desirous to measure things Divine by the Rule of Sense and Humane Experience.— The Wit and Mind of Man, if it worketh upon Matter (which is the Contemplation of the Creatures of God) it worketh according to the Stuff, and is limited thereby: but if it worketh upon itself, as the Spider worketh upon his Web, than it is endless, and brings forth indeed Gobwebs of Learning, admirable for the fineness of the Thread, but of no substance nor profit.— Oh, Athenian Itch, to what daring Height does thy Disease carry Men! But, Uain Curiose, (with Sabina's leave) a word in thy Ear: Like Prometheus, filch no Sacred Fire, Lest Eagles gripe thee; let thy proud desire Suit with thy Fortunes. Curious Minds that shall Mount up with Phaeton, shall have Phaeton's Fall. He that knows enough for Practice, and yet spends his time in search after more Knowledge; 'tis a labour and search like unto his, who not contented with a known and safe Ford, will presume to pass over the greatest River, in all parts, where he is ignorant of the depths; for so doth the one lose his Life, and the other his Understanding; even as that man, who not contenting himself with the abundant Light of the Sunbeams, but seeking with his Eyes to pierce through the Brightness thereof, even unto the midst of the Circle of the Body, must questionless become blind; so falleth it out for the most part to those who go about too curiously to inquire after that which is not lawful to be known. We behold the Sun, and enjoy its Light as long as we look towards it but tenderly and circumspectly;— We warm ourselves safely whilst we stand near the Fire, but if we seek to outface the one, or enter into the other, we forthwith become blind or burnt.— —— So odorous Flowèrs, Being held too near the Censor of our Sense, Render not pure, nor so sincere their Powers, As being held a little distance thence.— In a word, 'tis ill dancing for Nimble Wits on the Precipices of Dangerous Doctrines; for though they escape by their Agility, others (encouraged by their Examples) may be brought to destruction.— To leave the Curiosity of our Town Wits and Conjurers, (those junior Devils, that wear the Impostor's Badge) I'll next visit the Philosopher; and his Curiosity is such, that he has no sooner read a Leaf in Seneca. but he'd be a Privy Counsellor to the Stars, a Member of the Athenian Society, a Resolver of all Questions. And now, Physics and Metaphysics, have at ye. Oh, how he loves to search into the Secrets of Nature! But which of 'em all can tell me the Longitude at Sea, or the Reason of the Flux and Reflux of that unquiet Element?— 'Tis true, Cowley tells us, Philosophers are so very curious, that Nature's great Works no distance can obscure, No smallness her near Objects can secure; They've taught the Curious Sight to press Into th● privatest Recess Of her Interceptable Littleness; They've learned to read her smallest Hand, And have begun her deepest sense to understand. Fie! fie! Cowley! Why do you bauter these Philosophers thus? For you're very sensible the more they know, the more Ignorant they know they are.— But now I think on't, Dissimulation is State Policy, and Poets set out themselves as Aristotle did his Books, not to be understood at first sight.— You must own, Mr. Cowley (though you flat ere these Virtuoso's) that even Diogenes, Crates, peered not far into the Secrets of Nature, and that our Modern Philosophers, such as Discartes, Legrand, etc. knew as little as they. Nay, there's the Royal Society (though composed of the best, and most Knowing Men in the World) can't tell us why the Loadstone always turns to the North? Why a Lion trembles at the sight of a Cock? Even the great Basil was puzzled about the Body of a little Pismire. No, Madam, as Curious as the Philosophers are, they have not yet attained a perfect Understanding of the smallest Flower, * See my Essay on knowing our friends in Heaven, p. 34. and why the Grass should rather be Green than Red? They'll affirm, That an Ague is Witchcraft, that Air is but Water rarified, that there's another World of Men and Creatures, with Cities and Towns in the Moon; That the Sun is lost; for it is but a Cleft in the Lower Heavens, through which the Light of the Highest shines.— Oh senseless Curiosity for Men to waste their Time in such jolle Dreams: Or could these Magis prove what they say, yet still they Live in the Dark; For what is all they know (by their most curious Searches) compared with what they know not?— They have, perhaps, Artificial Cunning, but how many Curiosities be framed by the least Creatures in Nature, unto which the Industry of the most Curious Virtuoso's doth not attain? But I'll leave 'em in a fond Pursuit of they know not what. And next, step to the Chemist, to see how modest I shall find him.— Modest! he's more curious than the former, and to as little purpose.— He hath already melted many a fair Manor, in Crucibles, and turned them into Smoak, and all to cure the Itch in his working Brain; he has near ruined himself and Family, yet grows more Curious at every new disappointment; he can't rest with the Wit he has so dearly bought.— No!— he will make Nature ashamed of her long Sleep; when Art, who is but a Step Dame, shall do more th● she, in her best Love to Mankind ever could. Oh brave Chemist! Well, sure Selfconceitedness is the Sin in Fashion: 'tis a hard matter not to think well of ourselves: For He, (yes He!) can extract the Souls of all things by his Art, call all the Virtues and Miracles of the Sun into a Temperate Furnace, teach Dull Nature what her own Forces are.— He's sure there i● the Rich Peru,— the Golden Mines,— Great Solomon's Ophir.— But Solomon was sailing to it Three Years, yet he'll reach it in Three Months, ay, in Three Days; for he'll ne'er sleep till he has this Art of Angels, this Divine Secret (the Philosopher's Stone); for he thinks it Tradition, comes not from Men, but Spirits. What a Mess of Vain Curiosity, (I might add) of utter Impossibility, i● this?. But no more than Every Chymia in London pretends to.— Yet surely to Alchemy this Right is due,— that it may be compared to the Husbandman, whereof Aesop makes the Fable, that when he died, told unto his Sons, that he had left unto them Gold buried under Ground in his Vineyard; and they digged all the Ground, and Gold they found none; but by reason of digging and stirring the Mould about the Ro●ts of their Vines, they had a good Vintage the Year following: So assuredly the search and stir to make Gold, hath brought to light a great number of good and useful Experiments, if Men could be contented with 'em; but they are not; but would still know more, that's their Sin: And it still finds 'em out, as is evident by the Punishment they always have in being disappointed of that Pearl they sold all they had to purchase.— Oh, Egregious Folly! for Men to spend their Moneys in such Idle Disquisitions. But some Men think nothing out of their Reach. I shall instance in those that built, or would have built, the Tower of Babel, whose Top might reach to Heaven: It is not likely they could be so simple, as to think really they should reach to Heaven by it; they might think they should be s●me what nearer perchance; and however, get a name among men in after Ages, that they that built such a Tower, were somewhat above men. But confusion was their reward. And as to the Art of flying, I have no reason to be against it, if discoverable by humane industry; I have reaped the pleasures of it in my dreams more than once; and I thought no pleasure comparable to it, though but in a dream. Yet I doubt it may have somewhat of the Babylonish presumption in the eyes of God; and that such high curiosities are so far from being useful, that they may be dangerous.— Madam, I might go on in quest after Longitude, Diving Engines, the Perpetual Motion, and all Projectors, by what Name or Title soever dignified or distinguished, but their Number's endless; so I'll search no longer, nor spend any more Time in such Vain Speculations, les● unawares I should be guilty of that Vain Curiosity, which my Cell has cured; and that I ha'been all this while reprehending. Not but amongst the vast Numbers of Projectors, some of their Maggots have taken, yet I do say, the only valuable Projection that ever I met with, was that of the Penny-Post, invented by that Worthy and Ingenious Citizen Mr. Dockwra; and this I own, is of that use to the City of London, that he ought to be had in Everlasting Remembrance. Thus have I briefly opened the Nature of the Athenian Itch, (an Itch much worse than that of the Body) and prescribed the best Physic I know to cure it; and by the Blessing of God it may prove effectual. The only Men I despair to cure, are the Poor Chemists, and the London-Projectors; and these will reap no benefit by these Prescriptions; but if they'll forsake their Idle Whimsies for Two Days, and come to my Private Cell; (yes, Gentlemen, a Private Cell; for 'twas my Cure) I'll direct 'em to something (a strong Gibbet, or a place in Bedlam) that may abate their Distemper; but a thorough Cure can't be expected; for their Athenian Itch is different from others; and is so much a part of their Souls, that 'tis odds if it does not follow 'em to the other World. Or if there be a possibility of their Cure on Earth, it must be by never leaving my Cell when they come to it, or by proving to 'em there's nothing New; f●r whilst they think there is, they'll be itching after it.— However, it has been a Blessing to me. But (to end with Cowley): Whilst this hard Truth I teach, methinks I see The Monster London, laugh at me. ' I should at thee too, Foolish City, ' If it were fit to laugh at Misery; ' But thy Estate I pity! ' Let but the wicked Men from out thee go, ' And all the Fools that crowed thee so; ' Even thou who dost thy Millions boast, HE Village less than Islington will grow; HE Solitude almost. Madam— you see, be my Subject what it will, my Letters still, begin and end with my Private Cell; and indeed I'm so charmed with Solitude, that I shall ne'er think myself Private enough till I'm said in my Grave, and covered with that Tombstone I've designed for it, and shall describe hereafter. Besides, I came hither to learn— The Art of Living Incognito; and can I come to Perfection (in this Art) without making a daily progress, and catching at every thing that may forward me in it? By this you see how much I am, Your most Obedient Friend, and very Humble Servant, JOHN DUNTON. The LADY's Answer to my Third LETTER. SIR, 'TIS very welcome News to hear you have got so much good by your Living Incognito, as the Cure of such a Dangerous and Epidemical Disease. 'Twas a very proper Means you chose to seek your Cure in Retirement. We carry in our Natures the Cause of our Disease, and all we meet with in the World, serves to inflame it; for many things are the Cause of much Evil, but Pride is the cause of all, with which human nature is sufficiently furnished to produce Curiosity in Women, no less than Men; but because Beauty is the Perfection of Women, and gives 'em that Charming, Proud Title of the Fair Sex, their tkoughts are generally employed to maintain that Glory, with perpetual Recourse to Art, where Nature fails ' 'em. This is the ordininary Effect of Pride in Women, but a vain Curiosity very often carries 'em beyond the proper Glories of their own Sex, they can undergo all the Fatigues of a strong robust Body in Military Employments, and any Masculine Exercises, merely for the pleasure of sending Fame to her Trumpet, and making them the Subject of Discourse: But when they apply to Learning, 'tis purely the Pride of Curiosity inspires 'em; ●or of what use is it to 'em, when they have i●? They charge themselves with an unnecessary Burden they ought to be ashamed of, according to the Port Royal. But this shows they can think two thoughts, but not three: They think 'tis good to know what that Learning is Men make such boast of, and value themselves so much upon, and that the way must be by entering into such Studies as may inform 'em, and there they stop; for their thoughts reach not so far as the Consequence: They le● that shi● or itself; whatever it is. It can●'t fail to make 'em talked on, and that's enough But Pride works Curiosity, as Naturally in Men, and with more advantage, because all Human Knowledge leads to it, and is supported by it: for more Studies are undertaken upon account of Curiosity, than or the usefulness of Knowledge, as appears in their deep search for Notions ●nd Speculations, so New and Wbimsical, which are every day brought ●o Light, with design to strike all the World with 〈◊〉 of the●r great abilities; and so it does, for som● admire 'em as Men of great Parts; and others aamire how Pride and Curiosity could find the way to ma●e such Fools of ' 'em. Religion receives no better usage from these Men of deep and curious Learning; they make it all Human Knowledge, and know no other use of it, but to distinguish 'em from the more illiterate and Heathenish part of the World, or to show their Part, in Controversy against a●l Opinions in Religion, but their own. Nay, so●e are so kind as to make us a New Model of Religion, so plain and easy, there needs no Controversy at all about it. But this is to have Religion in the Head, not in the Heart; for there Humility lays the first Foundation: Knowledge puffeth up, but Charity edifieth, and teacheth us Humility: we are never right till then. Religion is not Knowledge, but Experience, the greatest Abaser of high thoughts. They mistake themselves that think by any Discourses, never so Acute, to inspire us with Religion; they may as well pretend to teach us, to hear, taste, or see. No: we shall all be taught of God, if we keep to his Order, and humbly submit to the Laws he has set us; his ways of teaching are Infinite, like himself. 'Tis he that teaches us in the Example of Doctor Dee, There's no reaching to Heaven by a Ladder of Pride, and that the deepest and most refined Human Learning brings us not to the true Knowledge of God, as he seemed to insinuate in his Preface to Euclid: I pity him, and hope God found another way to teach him, than what he chose for himself when Transported with so great a Love to Knowledge. The other Three were great Examples of Apostasy, and also those that seek to such to know their Fortunes, or use Charms, may be esteemed so in a lower degree, because they do it with more ignorance and simplicity; it being a depraved and wicked Custom the World connives at, one can't imagine why. But the Constancy of the Poor Chymist's is much to be pitied, who make themselves Martyrs to their own Conceitedness: We are taught Moderation by their example; for 'tis either excess of Riches, or excess of Glory, they pursue; and are nobly rewarded with excess of Poverty, and Contempt. These are all dreadful Effects of that unhappy Disease, the Curiosity of our first Parents contracted and Transmitted to all their Posterity. If living Incognito, has taken away the Cause or the Effect, you have Reason to rejoice in your own Happiness, and charitably to recommend it to others. But though Curiosity was never my Disease, as is seen in the Picture I make of myself, (and which perhaps I may send you hereafter) I have had many of another sort; I can reckon up Seven: But by Living Incognito, they are much lessened if not quite clad. I am willing to take your charitable Example, discovering the Nature of the Diseases and their Remedies, which I can give you more at large if you know any Persons they may be useful to. I had a quality of repenting of every thing I did that answered not my Expectation; but now I find to be happy, one must repent of nothing but sin. I was troubled with an Importunate desire, of having all the Useless ●nd Impertinent things that are thought necessary for our comfort and support in this Life; but now I know there's nothing can support and comfort us, or is worth desiring but God's Favour. I used to have recourse in all my Disappointments to vain hopes; ●nd when one design fell, I raised another, and still propped 'em up with ●pe; which in the end I found so deceitful, I now renounce 'em all, ●d hope for nothing but Heaven. I have been often Transported with joy at what happened to my ●lf and Friends, supposing it for our good; when the event has proved ●ite contrary: This has showed me how weak our ●ight and Judgements are; and to be sure to be in the right, is to rejoice in nothing but ●ods Glory. I was much carried to the Love of Pleasure, though it never gave me ●ue Satisfaction; I never found the Pleasure I proposed so certain as ●e pains that went to procuring it; so that I found it surest to take pleasure in nothing but the good success of ones Labour. I have had very busy thoughts, and been much taken up, with study●g ways of exalting myself, and making a considerable figure in ●e World, and now find by Experience they only are truly Considerable, that study nothing but the good of others. My want of Courage has Subjected me to many vain fears, which ●ade me uneasy, but prevented no mischiefs; But I perceive a deceitful ●eart the Source of all Evils, that now I fear nothing but my own deceitful heart: Thus you see what is got by Living Incognito, 'tis there one finds both Health and Pleasure. I am, Your, &c LETTER IU. Proving— There is nothing New under the Sun. Madam, SInce you honour me so much to permit me to entertain you weekly, (or oftener) with Accounts of what Progress I make in— The Art of Living Incognito.— I shall be so free as to tell ye, I suppose you expect that part of this Art should be discoveries of something New.— For Nature is so much pleased with diversity (as it seems a kind of Novelty,) that she hath imprinted a desire of it in all things here below. This I proved in my Essay on the Athenian Itch, which will never be quite cured till Men are possessed There is nothing New; for whilst there is, they'll be Itching after it. Then seeing I told your Ladyship that my Art of Living Incognito would consist of a Thousand uncommon (which looks as if my meaning was NEW Subjects); for fear you should apprehend me in that sense, 'tis time now, that I tell ye that by Uncommon, I did not mean NEW, but only Subjects that were Curious, or very rarely handled.— No Madam, it had been a great Presumption in me to have pretended to any thing New, when Solomon tells us.— There is nothing NEW under the Sun. a Eccl. 1. 9 And Dr. Winter adds, Nor in the Moon neither, (a Picture of this Mutable World) of whose increase, though we have every Year NEW Ones a full dozen, Yet all is but the Old One over and over. Even that which we call the New Year, is no more than the old one run out, and turned up again like an hour glass to run out, the same Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter, Months and Days, as before. The Sun returneth every morning to the same place he came from, with like form, and selfsame substance— The Days and Nights pass by course, and ever continue of like Essence.— The Fields are every year deeked with the same Flowers, like pleasant Herbs, and the very same Accidents yearly. Nothing is the Object of our Senses, but what is ordinary and familiar: We see nothing strange and New: what we do to day, that we do to morrow, and every day. What Men call a Discovery is a mere Banter upon our Understanding: For my Lord Bacon in his Book of Aphorisms proves, that which we call New and Upstart, to be the truest Antiquity.— And the Sage Commonwealth of the Lycians heretofore ordained, That all those who should propose any Novelty in matter of Law, should deliver it in public with an Halter about their Necks, to the end, that if their Propositions were not found to be good and profitable, the Authors thereof should be strangled in the place.— The Ancients held it ominous to pretend to any New Form, even of Matters of Indifferency. When Darius had altered the Fashion of his Sword, which used to be Persian, into the form of Macedonian, (in the year immediately before the fought with Alexander) the Chaldees, or Soothsayers, prophesied, That into what Fashion Darius had altered his Sword, so Time would reduce his State; and that the Persian Glory was drawing unto her last Period, by subjecting herself unto the Sovereign of Macedon: Which Prediction was soon confirmed by the next years Conquest.— And as the Ancients held it ominous to pretend to any New Form, so 'tis as clear in the Instance I gave in the Sun, Moon, etc. and other parts of the Creation. That Thnigs here below seem NEW to many; and are so miscalled; which in themselves are Old, and known so, to sounder Judgements. 'Tis true Mr. T—— tells us (in his Treatise of Pre-existence) that Philosophy itself had never been improved, had it not been for NEW Opinions. Nay, the very Mob (since the War with France) are turned Athenians too, and you can scarce meet a Porter in the Street, but he'll question ye,— What NEWS? And some take as much pleasure to spread (what they call) News, as others do to hear it. R. B. in his book of Extraordinary Adventures, tells us of a Barber, who kept Shop at the end of the Suburbs, called, Pyreum in Athens, he had no sooner heard of the great discomfiture of the Athenians in Sicily, from a certain Slave fled from thence out of the Field, but leaving his Shop at six and seven, he ran directly into the City to carry the Tidings fresh and new, For fear some other might the Honour win, And he too late, or second should come in. Now upon reporting these unwellcome Tidings, there was a great stir within the City; the People assembled to the Market Place, search was made for the Author of this Rumour. Hereupon the Barber was haled before the Body of the People, and being examined hereof, he knew not so much as the Name of the Party from whom he had heard the News: Upon which, the whole Assembly were so moved to Anger, that they cried, Away with the Villain, set the Rascal upon the Rack; have him to the Wheel, who had devised this Story of his own fingers ends.— The Wheel of Torture was brought, and the Barber was tormented upon it. In the mean while, there came certain News of that Defeat, and thereupon the Assembly broke up, leaving the Barber racked out at length upon the Wheel, till it was late in the Evening, at which time he was let lose; yet was no sooner at liberty, but he must inquire. News of the Executioner, what he had heard abroad of the General Nicias, and in what manner he was slain.— So that Men have such a hankering after Novelties, that they'd even die to see something New; and this Itch after News, is become as General as 'tis Fallacious.— The Poor Tailor, that works in a Carrot, can scarce forbear leaving his Goose, to run to a Coffee-house, to ask if the Pope be recovered? A constant Companion to this House, going in all haste for a Midwife, or to save the Life of a Friend was dying, must call in, and drink at least two Dishes of Coffee, and smoak his Pipe, that he may know how the World goes abroad, let it go how it will at home.— Oh what precious Time do the London Coffeehouses devour? and therefore, 'tis Dr. wild tells us, News and New Things do the whole World bewitch. But, by your leave Dr. you may be mistaken; for all are not born, or live in Athens, though, (to their shame) most are sick of the Athenian Disease, in a desire to hear and seek News; which they never find: For, Doctor, I shall prove anon, there is no such thing; neither do they reflect upon what they hear; for they seek only News, for News sake, and make it their business to go to the Wits * By Covent-Garden C ffee-house, to Dicks, to Ionathan's to Bridge's, to Ioe's, to Smith's, to pick up News, and then to report it to the next they meet, and to be sure it loses nothing by carrying.— But there are some that were never tainted with this Athenian Itch.— I have heard my Father often say, he never was at a Coffee-house in his whole Life. But he's the only Instance of that kind that I ever knew; yet I cant think him a New Instance; for doubtless there be Men of the same Principle. There be no Humane Actions that we see now a days, but what have been practised in times past: Yet I must own, that before the War, the Coffee-house was a place whither people only came, after Toping all day, to purchase at the expense of their last Penny, the Repute of Sober Companions (for Coffee is a Sober Liquor); but now they are the Congress of Rome, Venice, Spain, Geneva, Amsterdam, and are flocked to by all, as the Mint of Intelligence.— Hither the Idle Vulgar come and go, Carrying a Thousand Rumours to and fro; With stolen Reports some listening Ears do fill; Some coin fresh Tales, in words that vary still; Lies mixed with Truth, all in the Telling grows, And each Relator adds to what he knows. All Acts of Heaven and Earth it boldly views, And thro' the spacious World inquires for NEWS. The Coffee-house (where News is so much enquired for) is no better than a Nursery for training up the smaller Fry of Virtuosos, in confident tattling. But ened it strange that any should be so mad as to run from Coffee house to Coffee-house, to pick up News, when in reality there is no such thing? For what has the Name of News, which (like the Athenians of old) they so Itch after, is no other (as my Poem shows) than newly augmented Lies; Relations so●nd diversely, as the Air of Affection carries them, and sometimes in a whole Volley of News, we shall not find one true Report; and therefore 'twas the Advice of a Father to his Son, Let the greatest part of the News thou hearest, be the least part of what thou believest, lest the greatest part of what thou believest, be the least part of what is true: And where Lies are admitted for News, the Father of Lies will not easily be excluded.— Perhaps what they miscall News, may have some Ground of Truth for its beginning; but being tossed from one to another, it is buried and lost in the multitude of New Additions, and there's nothing we can warrant for Pure News.—— But then you'll object, Those Additions are New. No: Madam, Terrence tells ye the contrary, by saying, Nihil est jam Dictum quod non Dictum sit Prius: Nothing is spoken now, but what has been said in former times: And that Philosopher Renaudots tells us— our very thoughts, though they be innumerable yet if they were Registered, would be all found ancient.— Thento what purpose do we hunt for News? Tis'true those Papers that pretend to News, tell us sometimes of a Kings being beheaded (and what is King James' Abdication, but a Parallel Case?)— of an Earl's Cutting his own Throat, and then flinging the Razor out of the Window;— of the penitent Death of some great Lord;— of a Bloody Fight;— of a Lover hanging himself;— of a Virgin Ravished;— of a Wise Alderman;— and now and then of a Woman C— ding her Husband, etc. But these (though Real Truths) are no New Things, but what we have seen over and over.— Not but I must own, if there were a New Thing under the Sun, the Author of the Flying Post would find it out: But he's an honest Gentleman, and writes nothing but Truth; and Truth is always the same; and if his Papers be always the same, what News can there be in them?— Or say, his Papers were all Invention (which comes neare●l to News, of any thing that is not so) yet still they were void of News; for Invention is nothing else (for the most part) but a Simple Imitation in Deeds or Words.— So that the Flying Post,— Post-Man— and Post-Boy, do Weekly labour in vain; for all their Pretence to News, is no better than an Old Design, to enrich the Bookseller, which I don't tell as a Piece of News; but as a thing acknowledged by every Hawker.—— But though we are disappointed of News where we most expect it, yet whoever is troubled with Impertinent Fancies, or would hear ridiculous Story, ●e need but step to the Coffee-house, and here the several Humours of the pretended News-mongers, is worth Remark. One gins ye the Story of a Sea-Fight; and though he never was so far as Wapping, yet having Pyrated the Names of Ships and Captains, he tells you Wonders; that he waded up to the middle in Blood on the Quarter-Deck, and never thought Serenade to his Mistress so charming as the Bullets Whistling; how he stopped a Man of War of the Enemies, under full Sail, till she was boarded with his Single Arm, instead of Grappling Irons; and then concludes with railing at the Conduct of some Great Officers (which he never heard of till last Week) and protests, had they taken his Advice, not a Soul had ' scaped ' 'em. He has no sooner done, but another gins Remarks— upon the London Gazette;— and here he nicknames the Spanish— Towns, etc. and inquires, whether Madrid and Barcelona be Turks or Saracens?— Stilo Novo; he interprets some Warlike Engine invented by the Duke of Savoy to confound Catinat;— and for Hungary, & c- he believes it to be a place where people are ready to starve.— Neither is any thing more common than to see one of these News Hunters spend half an hour in searching the Map for Counterscarp, and Brigadeer,— not doubting but to find them there, as well as Venice, Rome and Amsterdam, etc. Another relates t'ye all the Counsels of the French Court; the Germane Diet, the Roman Conclave; and those of Portugal, Spain and China, are as well known to him as his right hand; and this Gibberish is listened to with as great attention as Orpheus' Beasts did to his charming Music.— Then a Fourth stands up, and (he pretending to be a Traveller) tells the Company, That in his late Voyage to Ophir (though no body knows where 'tis) the Master of his Vessel, filled his Ship; with 300 Tun of Gold, in one night— This tickles the Auditors! so on he goes to tell 'em, that from thence he went to the jubilee, from whence, (after Kissing the Pope's Toe) he went to Venice, to see the Carnival; and here he met with the Harlot Tom-Coryat a Tom-Coryat gives a Pleasant Character of her in his Book, he entitles Crudities. married, lay with her one Night, and Swears he thinks her a very demure piece of Impudence.— Being weary of Italy, (Perhaps) he tells us in the next Place he Travelled to the Indies, (I have a Brother there, I hope he did not meet him) where he viewed the Chambers of the Rising Sun, learned the number of his Horses, and their several Names— His Eyes being not yet satisfied, he Rambles next to Persia where he shook Hands with the Great Mogul, Prester john, and lay 3 Nights with the King of Bantam— From thence (being resolved to out-Ramble Drake) he took Shipping for the Holy Land, but that being now overgrown with Superstition, he stayed there but two Nights, and then Embarked for New England, where he fairly kissed an Indian Queen (a mighty matter! and so did I in the year 86) and dined with 200 Sachems. At length a As is hinted in my American Rambles, which I'll Publish when I return for London. being quite tired he Embarked for England, but took Tartary in his way home, where he got a Hair from the Great Cham's Beard, and to Convince ye, Gentlemen all, this is no Lie, here ' 'tis.— The Traveller having told 'em all that he saw (and a great deal more,) an Old Beef Eater falls to rubbing their Itching Ears. He pretends to discover all the Secrets of the Cabinet Counsel; He knows all the affairs of White-Hall to a Cows-Thumb, and (which is a thing I never minded) which Lady is Painted, and which not Before his Discourse is ended, perhaps comes in a Fresh News-Hunter— Gins, Gentlemen have you heard any thing of a strange Whale now at Greenwich? Have any of ye seen the Great ●zar of Muscovy, who they say is Landed Incognito? Or which of ye have seen the Second Samson that carries 20 Hundred weight on his Shoulders, out draws all the Horses in Town, and will Snap a sunder a Cable Rope as if 'twere Sewing-Thread? If these Queries are slighted, his next words are— What do ye think Gentlemen of the New Design (or an Act of Parliament) to make Usurers Charitable, and Misses forsake their Gallants? By this time an Old-Toast that had been fast asleep with his Hat over his Face (For there's (a) always some shame in being Burdened with an useless Knowledge) Moral Essays Vol. 2. p. 178. a wakes, and having 500 Inventions dancing in his Noddle, resolves he won't be out-lyed, so tells 'em their News is nothing to his— He has an Advice-Boat on the Stocks that shall go to Riga and come back again in Three Hours. A Trick to march under Water, by which he'll Sink all the French Fleet as it lies at Anchor, and which (Gentlemen) is beyond this, I've just now found a way to catch Sun Beams for making the Lady's New Fashioned Towers, that Poets may no more be Damned for telling Lies about their Curls and Tresses. Thus (Madam) you see there is nothing New at the Coffeehouse (and I shall prove anon, nor any where else) and what stuff that is which they tell for News. Men come to Coffeehouses purely to vent their strange and wild Conceits, and an Opinion how Foolish or fond soever, here receives Entertainment. You'll believe this, when I tell your Ladyship that in the time of Monmouths' Invasion, I stepped to a Coffeehouse, where I found several ask for News? Gentlemen, said I, I can tell you what's very Surprising:— Come, let's have it, said one:— Nay, tell it, said another.— Why, 'tis this, The West is strangely Victorious, and I am told but an hour ago,— The Duke of Monmouth is to be made Prince George. Oh strange! said one 'Tis no more than I expected, said another. Nay, said a third, I did not doubt but he'd be our Deliverer.— And, to add to the Jest, 'tis no New Thing to the West Countrymen, to say, the Duke of Monmouth is yet alive. One would ha' thought this Report, That the Duke of Monmouth was to be made Prince George, had been News; for though Dr. Burnet tells us of † In his Travels to Italy, p. 246. Two Nuns being changed into Men; yet I never before heard of one Man's being transformed to another: Tho had it been true, it had been no News; for I doubt not but those skilled in Natural History can give Instances of it. But this was a Fable, and the Moral to it is this.— That there is no News, nor New Thing, and that the News we so Itch after, is nothing but Satan's Policy to abuse our Ears in hearing, our Tongues in speaking, and our Hearts in believing Lies, to disable us from discerning the Truth.— So much for News in Prose; and King james the First said, he'd never believe any News in Verse, since the hearing * See his Apothegms, p. 14. of a Ballad made of the Bp. of Spalata, touching his being a Martyr, etc. But perhaps you'll say, Tho the Coffee house, Weekly Papers, and men's Humours, have nothing New, yet search further, and you'll find Novelties.— What think ye of the Athenian Mercury? Was ned that a New Project? Was ned a Pretence to Answer all Nice Questions, and Cases of Conscience, (yet so as the Querist might never be known) a New Attempt? Was it ever practised in England, Holland, France, Germany, etc.) till you set it a Foot under the Title of the Athenian Mercury? If not, 'twas a New Project, and (being yours) will ye disown a Brat of your own begetting?— To this I answer,— Tho the Athenian Society had their first Meeting in my Brain, and the First Athenian Mercury was Partly my own Composure, yet I ened so vain as to think the Athenian Mercury was a New Project. 'Tis true, the answering any Reasonable Question, which should be proposed, was a thing of such a Nature as all the Ingenious appeared highly pleased with; nor has the Esteem and Success it met in the world, given me much Reason to repent of this Undertaking; for 'twas a Whim that pleased the Ladies (who honoured it with several Poems), and was continued to Twenty Volumes: but is far from being a New Project; for done't we read some thing like it in the Queen of Shebah, who * 1 Kings c. 10. v. 1, 3. hearing of the Fame of Solomon, came to prove him with hard Questions; and her Questions, however Nice and Curious, (to use the Phrase in my Athenian Title) were all told her by Solomon; Neither was there any thing hid from the King, which he told her not.— And as I took the Subject from the Queen of Shebah, so I took the Title from the Old Athenians St. Paul speaks of, who spent * Acts 17. 21. their time in nothing else, but in ask of Questions, and reporting what they thought was New.— And if Arts and Inventions flourished at Athens, whilst they were unknown in England, yet you see (in that One Instance of the Athenian Mercury) they were afterwards to appear in their Time, yea, the Mysteries of Salvation were always— in Intellectu Divino ('tis an Affront to English it to a Lady of your Sense) which made our Saviour say— That Abraham had seen him. And this is the Sense wherein it is true— There is nothing New under the Sun.—— Then ened it odd, that the Athenians (being Men of Learning) should tax. St. Paul for being a setter forth of strange * Acts 17. v. 18, 19 Gods, and a Broacher of New Doctrine; when Solomon, who was many Hundred Years before St. Paul, pronounces of his own Times, That there was not then, nor should ever be, any New Thing? How much more than is it true in our Time, being so many years after him?— Thus have I proved there is Nothing New. Or (Madam) if ye think I han't, I might further consider the Formae Substantialis, as Renaudots calls 'em, and we shall find there is not One of that sort New, not only in its Species, but even in its Individual Qualities, which indeed appear New to our Senses, but yet are not so for all that: as the Shape of a Marble Statue was in the Stone, not only in possibility, but also in Act, before the Graver made it appear to our Eyes, by taking away that which was superfluous, and hindered us from seeing it. 'Tis a saying, there is but One Good Wife in the World, and every Man enjoys her (or, in other words, if he that's married could see another Good Wife besides his own, he'd see something would be thought New) but it is not because it is so, but because it seems so; other Wives, as good, or better than ours, never coming to our Knowledge.— Much less likely is it that New Diseases should be produced, as some have believed, imagining that the Ancients were not Curious enough to describe all those of their Times, or their Successors diligent enough to examine their Writings, to find them there. That Diseases, some Hundred years ago, were the very same as they are now, is evident in that One Distemper the French Pox,— which though charged to Monsieurs Account, as a New Disease of his own begetting, yet 'tis easily proved, by Sennerius, and other Authors, that 'twas found at Naples many hundred years before 'twas called the French Disease; and I could as easily prove it had not its Rise at Naples, but was frequent in other Places, before it was heard of there.— So that (as I said before) many things appear New which are not so, if we look into ' 'em.— Thus Printing, and Guns, which we believe were invented within these 200 years, are found to have been in use among the Chinese above a Thousand Years ago.— A like Instance we have in the London-Lotteries (and that established by Act of Parliament) which some will tell ye were never heard of till the English Wits set 'em on foot; tho 'tis not a month since I heard an Italian say, these Lotteries were practised in Venice many years before they were mentioned in London. And so again for the Penny-Post: some assert 'twas a New Invention of W— s, when he never once dreamt of such a thing, till that Ingenious and Industrious Citizen Mr.— Dockwra, * As I hinted in my last Letter. had first proposed it to the World: and I shall ever think the Citizens of London own him a signal Mark of their Favour, for the Service he has done to them and their children's Children, on that account: For my own part, whenever the present Chamberlain Dies, had I a Thousand Hands he should have 'em all for his Advancement to that Honour, and that out of a sense of the Great Service he has done, (even we, as a Member of that City) in bringing the Penny-Post to Perfection.— But yet (Madam) to keep to my Text, I don't think the Penny-Post is a New Project. For what can the Man do that cometh after the King, but that which hath been already done? And I don't doubt but the Penny-Post is practised in some far Country, but I must own (to Mr. Dockwra's Honour) I could never learn when nor where. Finding nothing New amongst the Men, I'll next Visit the Ladies, for they Love to be gazed upon, and for that Reason, if there's anything-New to be sure they have it, but if you'll believe a Poet,— — They've nothing New (not scarce their Faces,) Every Woman is the same.— Tho' I'm the softest Creature in Nature, yet am I bad Company for Ladies, for they'll sit a whole day in talking of nothing but the Newest-Fashions, (and how much they're admired by this Bean and t'other Bea●)— How can I ha' patience to hear this, when I'm positive there's nothing New. And when they ask me when I saw any New Play, I bluntly tell 'em, There's 〈◊〉 such thing; For you know Madam (and so would they, if they●d look into Old Authors) that D— n stole from Shakespeare, and Shakespeare from Ben-Iohnson, and they all so steal from one another, that there's no Wit in any Play, but what we had 50 Years ago— But tho' there's nothing New in Play●, yet one would think there were Something-New in ●a is Dresses, (they dress in such a Towering manner) but if you Examine their Wardrobe, you'll find what they call New-Fashions, are but Old Fashions revived, for Fashion brought in Silks and Velvets at one Time, and Fashion brought in Russets and Grays at another.— Fashion brought in d●ep Ruffs and Shallow-Ruffs, Thick Ruffs and Thin Ruffs, Double-Ruffs and no Ruffs. Fashion brought in the Tunick and Vest, the Broad kneed Breeches, the Narrow brimmed Hat, the Shoulder knot, the Top knot, etc. But these are so far from being N●w, that they are Fashions that have been several times out and in, and in and out, and so will succeed each other (perhaps) to the End of Time.— This we see verified in the Farthingale; for Fashion brought in the Farthingale and carried out the Farthingale, and hath again revived the Farthingale from Death, and placed it behind, like a Rudder or Stern, to the body; in some so big, that the Vessel is scarce able to bear it.— So much as the wearing of Top-knots, which is thought to be a New-Fashion, was practised of old; this Monumental Pride, or High-Building of Headgear is not of a New Invention, as Men take it to be, but of an old Edition; for juvenal in his Sixth satire, makes mention of them.— Tota premit ordinibus, etc. Such Rows of Curls pressed on each other lie, She builds her Head so many stories high, That look on her before, and you would swear Hector's Tall-Wife Andromache, she were; Behind a Pigmy, so that not her Waste, But Head seems in the middle to be placed: And as Top-knots are an Old Fashion, so is women's wearing the Breeches, (as much as 'tis wondered at) a custom as old as the fall of Man, 'tis no new thing to see Women Fight, and Rave, and to forget Obedience to their tender Husbands; not but there was a Time in England when Men wore the Breeches, and debarred Women of that gadding Liberty which they now take; but Eve got the Start of Adam in sinning, and ever since for a Woman to wear the Breeches is no new thing. If you won't believe it on my words, read Mr. Turner's History of Providence, and there you'll find (in Chap. 51.) That the first Man Adam, the Righteous Lot, the Faithful Abraham, the Meek Moses, the strong Samson, the Wise Solomon, the Zealous Peter, the Philosopher Socrates, the Orator Cicero, were all either overreached or overpowered with Women.— So that 'tis no New-thing for Women to wear the Breechees. And though one would think it a New Thing, 'tis none, to find some of the Fair Sex First at making of Love; or (as you express a In your Remarks on my Con versation in Ire land, p. 514. it, taking upon 'em the part that once belonged to Men. Neither are She-Wi●s any New Thing. I know one can Resolve the Nicest Points in Divinity (you must pardon me if I mean your Ladyship) another that understands and teaches Algebra, (and is a Young Midwife into the Bargain) a Third that understands Latin— and a Fourth, called Philomela, who has taken the Name b See the Preface to my Wi●e's Funeral Sermon. of the Nightingale, and her Notes are as sweet as the Voice of that is Musical: And for the Dear D—ne (that's dead and gone) she was an Angel dre● in Flesh and Blood; yet she stooped so low as to honour me with a constant Friendship; and I may say her Witty Letters were the only thing that kept me alive in Ireland. But She Wits Flourished in former Ages as well as now. So that I visit the Ladies to as little purpose as I do the Men, for there's nothing new in Petticoats, and I think (Madam) 'tis as clear as the Sun, There's nothing New under it. And since I believed this, I've laid aside my Grand Ramble, for to what purpose should I Travel, when the whole World has nothing to show me, can be called New. And you have heard this was Solomon's opinion, who was one of the Wisest of mere Men; and well hath he said. There is nothing New under the Sun, because (as Dr. Winter observes) Things Subject to Mutation are every Minute growing old: Until at last they be no more. The State of Glory and Blessed Eternity is above the Brightness of the Sun. But the Starry Heavens come far short of it; They wax old as doth a Psal. 102. 26. 2 Pet. 3. 10. a Garment, and they shall pass away.— There is indeed a Day of Renovation coming; When he who of old made out of nothing all New things in the World; shall out of a ruin'd old World, worse than nothing, make b Rev. 21. 5. all things New. But this will be a work above the Sun: And till then, There is nothing New. Yet we see nothing pleases the deluded World but the Name and thought of Novelties.— The Devil and his Vile Instruments cry up their deluding Trash for New, as Women do their Oysters, when as they stink of Age. Custom is a Great Matter.— New-England, New-York, and Newmarket, (which has been built this Hundred Year) is like to be so called to the World's end.— Cunning Salesmen give a sudden Turn to an old Coat, and then sell it for a New Garment, and thus we are tricked out of our Money. Thus old forsaken Errors are become new cried up Lights; and the Quakers thou and thou, and way of Cheating by selling Goods— at a word— is no more than we find in the Gnostici and Carpocratists, and the Enthusiasts of former Ages.— Impostors are no New thing. Theudas the Sorcerer made himself a Second Moses; neither is it any New thing for these false Prophets to lead Silly-Women Captive.— Montanas who called himself the Holy Ghost, had two such the Angels; Priscilla and Maximilla; and so dearly did they Love, that he and Madam Maximilla both hanged themselves. Or if we look amongst the jacobites, (we shall still despair of any thing New,) for 'tis no new-thing for Men to pack juries to serve a Turn, to deliver up Charters, to fell their Country, to Murmur after a Great Deliverance, or to refuse taking the Oaths till a good Deanery Greases the Passage.— All this is no New-thing, Divers Hundred of Years since, The Christian Governor of the Castle of a Turk Histo. Abydus, was himself and Castle betrayed into the hands of the Turks by his own Daughter; and an Hundred and Forty Years before that, Aleppo, the strongest City of the Christians in those parts, was betrayed to the Turk by the Governor.— To swear and forswear, and to play at fast and lose with a Crown (as a late Author observes) is no New-thing. Neither is it any new thing for Men to Cheat, Slander, Duel, Whore; and to pick a Pocket under the Gallows, is a Custom as old as Tyburn.— Neither is it a New thing to see a Man accuse himself (for a Guilty Conscience e'nt easy without it,) or for Men of a mean Birth to grow Proud, if they grow Rich, and to forget their Duty both to God and Man. This is but Shakespeare, and Ben johnson brought again upon the Stage: And now I talk of Poets, I may venture to say 'tis no new thing to see Poets Starve.— (Oldham could scarce pay for his Garret and a Sundays Dinner,) and for the Famous Butler (as I hinted in my Second Letter,) he was kept so Poor, that he was forced to die and be interred on Tick— But 'tis no new-thing to see Poets build Castles, in the Air; and I'm sure 'tis no new thing to see a Chemist * As is hinted in my last Letter. spend his Estate in searching after the Philosopher's Stone.— And lastly, to see Men of Piety and Sense slighted, and Fools and Idle Persons regarded, is no New Thing— For Merits and good Service to be starved in the Poor, for high Crimes to be Pardoned and Dignified in the Rich; and in a word, for plainhearted Men neither to be Patiently heard, nor at all believed, is no New Thing— Madam shall I stop here? For you see the further I search, the less hopes I have of finding any Thing New? But perhaps you'll say— Here's a long Harangue to prove there is nothing New, when at the same time your retreat from London disproves all ye ha'▪ said— Surely this is a New Thing; that I. D.— should leave a House surrounded with 3 Gardens, (Gardens, the things he so much delights in) a Flourishing Trade, a Religious Wife (and one that he dotes upon) a rich Mother in Law, tender Relations, and abundance of Loving Friends for no other end then to live in a Poor Cell to learn the Art of Living Incognito.— Madam, this is neither new nor strange; han't I proved in my first Letter, that by retreating, thus, I do but follow the example of several great Men?— But that which makes me the most in Love with Living Incognito, is your own Example; for (in your Answer to my first Letter), you say you know and taste it to the full, and that 'tis a Life you ha' courted e'er since ye were at your own dispose. When you consider this, you'll own my leaving of London for a poor Cell is no new thing; nor a jot, to be wondered at— But still you'll be ready to say, though▪ there's nothing New in this private adventure, yet surely 'tis a New thing for a Bookseller to turn Author!— To this I answer, My Raven a As was formerly hinted in the Athenian Mercury. is gone to Roost, and I write purely for my own diversion, so can't properly be called an Author, the word being generally taken in a Mercenary Sense and therefore don't wonder to find your Ladyship so angry with me at my offering to make you a Present. Were Bishop such a one— and Dr. such a one, of your Noble Temper, you'd scarce find a Bookseller that was not an Alderman— However, let me write for what end I please, there's nothing New in my leaving the Counter to turn Author— han't we Bookseller-Authors glittering in the Term. Catalogue.— I could name several.— As first there's D. N. he's not only a Great Casuist, but I'm told has been Author of several Books, amongst which— The Protestants Resolution, showing his Reasons why he will not be a Papist— is said to be one— and I wish your Ladyship had the Book, for I don't doubt but you'd like it so well as to give several Thousands away. Not far from hence lives a Bookseller-Poet, (which is no Novelty neither, for there's Poet Larkin— Poet Kirkman, Poet Harris, and many other Bookselle-rPoet;) this Bard is a Poet Born— He's too Modest to, let me name him, but I've read his Poems, and (If I e'nt Partial to my Brother-Author;) would he Print 'em, you'd think him Cowley revived— But I don't wonder that an humble Man should avoid Praise; but I do admire that I. S-y; (that wou'd-be-Wit) never turned Author; for he had the most conceit, and the least Reason for it, of any Man I ever knew in my Life— And 'twould be no New Thing to hear Patrick-Campbell say as much of me for writing— The Dublin Scuffle, and my Essay on Knowing our Friends in Heaven. However some Men of Great Quality and Wit have given these Books the Reading, and 'tis no new Thing for an Author, whose Books sell, to Print on till he ruins the Bookseller, and therefore (Madam,) provide yourself with a Hogshead of Ink, and a Million of Pens, for my Art of Living Incognito shall be continued to a Thousand Letters (as is hinted in my Dedioation to your Ladyship) and by that time they are all Printed, I hope I shall have the Honour to see your Ladyship (if it be but half an Hour) to talk o'er the Virtues of that Dear Friend who was the first occasion of our Correspondence— And thus you see my turning Author is no more a Novelty then all the rest, and that there is nothing New, let us go East, West, North or South; and I'm sure you'll own 'tis no new Thing for me to be tedious, so I'll stop here, having satisfied myself there's nothing New; but I believe, not your Ladyship, for there's an Expression in your Remarks on my Conversation in Ireland, that proves you of another Opinion. In p. 544 you say— 'tis the Fate of Novelty to please or displease extremely— And again in p. 525. you have this Expression— But the Novelty once over, there's an end of the Enjoyment— Which plainly intimates— you think there is something New; If thats your Opinion, I must expect to be disproven in all I have said on this Subject; but till then, I shall retain my Opinion that the Art of living Incognito can't consist of anything New, and that if you expect Novelties, you'll be disappointed; so I shan't Apologise for entertaining ye with old Thoughts and old Expressions, for (I have proved) there is nothing new under the Sun. If there be any thing New, 'tis Valeria; and she is or may be so if she prefers my Esteem to the World: But loving at this rate myself, I shall ever think that an Old Love that Flames not so high as mine; but except Valeria, there is nothing New; and as there's nothing new, I have in that proved myself to to be, Your Old Friend and Servant, JOHN DUNTON. The LADY's Answer to my Fourth LETTER. SIR, YOU do me a great Favour in giving me a right apprehension of what I must expect in those Thousand, not New but Uncommon Subjects you have chosen to write upon, and have taken some Pains to free me from the Vulgar Error of expecting new things, which Solomon Affirms the World can never show, which yet Experience seems to contradict, and shall be my Business to reconcile, since you have given me that Libert; and I think may be done without much difficulty, if we consider, when Solomon says there's nothing new under the Sun, he meant it only with respect to the Sinful and depraved Tempers and Inclinations of Men, which would be always the same, producing the same Mischiefs and Calamities in the World; this Experience has abundantly confirmed, for instance, the Fine Houses and Palaces every where Built, with such Magnificent Pride to make themselves a Name, is but the same design that set to Work the Builders of Babel; nor do these find any New Success; the Fate of their Posterity, for all their great design, is the same with those of; Babel, to be scattered abroad upon the Face of the Earth. And before that, when Men were distinguished and called the Sons of God, because they began to call on the Name of the Lord, yet when they saw the Daughters of the Men of the World that they were Fair, they took 'em Wives of all, whom they Chose, which provoked God, (foreseeing the wickedness it would engage 'em in, and that the ' thoughts and Imaginations of their Hearts were only Evil continually) to bring a deluge upon the Earth to destroy ' 'em. Now the same Corruption of Nature works in this Generation, they take those Women that please 'em, and have no more regard than those of old to any thing else; and one sees all the World over the sad and dreadful effects of the Evil Thoughts and Imaginations of their Hearts, which will improve continually, till the great Conslagration, unless God in his Wisdom have prepared some other Cure for ' 'em. And now that we find all our Cities abound in Wickedness, we must not look for any new or strange cause of it; 'tis the same that caused the Sin of Sodom; Pride; fullness of Bread, and abundance of Idleness was in her and in her Daughters, says the Prophet Ezekiel, So we see there's nothing new in Sin, or the Fruits and Effects of it, nor any new Device for Building Happiness upon the weak and frail foundation of Corrupt Nature, which Solomon at that time was Essaying to do and upon the fullest Trial that ever was or could be made, he pronounced, that all the Experience he had gotten, served only to convince him that Happiness could never spring from Sinful Nature, which never did, nor ever could, produce any thing but Vanity and Vexation of Spirit. But I see not how Solomon in saying there was nothing New under the Sun, could possibly extend it so far as to Arts and Sciences; for there were some Generations passed (as Scripture testifies) before there were; Harps and Organs, or those that could handle 'em, or any that could work in Brass and Iron, till Lamech's two Wives brought him two Sons, who instructed in those Arts; and for the work of the Taber nacle, God is said to inspire two Men with Wisdom, Understanding and Knowledge, to Devise cunning Works in Silver, and Gold, and Brass; those things must needs have been New that were never known till th●t Generation; and who could say there was nothing new, with respect to Arts and Sciences with less reason than Solomon, who sat himself upon a Throne of so new an Invention; the Scripture affirming there was none like it in any Kingdom: And that which is said to dispirit the Queen of Sheba, was the wonderful Novelty she observed in the Oeconomy of that Great and Wise King, who can't be thought, after all this, to deny that Arts and Sciences may be New, else what must become of the Foundation the Port Royal has laid, upon the supposit on of new Arts and Inventions, to prove the existence of God, and that the World is not Eternal? They say, and with great reason too, there are some Inventions so beneficial to the World, that 'tis impossible that being once known, they could ever be lost or laid aside, as the Invention of Printing, of the Sea Card, Guns and Mills, which for certain some Ages past the World was Ignorant of, and therefore must be the new Inventions of later Ages; and by this they prove the World itself was New some Thousand years since; for had it been from Eternity, things so obvious and easy must needs have been found out long before; it binder's not but that many things are thought New, only for having been so long disused that they are out of remembrance; and 'tis Happy for us, in some respect, because thereby it gives us all that can be called Pleasure in the whole Universe; for we see the defects of what we are throughly acquainted with, but we are pleasingly deluded with great Expectations from every thing that's New: and I am sorry you should ever give the World so just an occasion to quarrel with you for taking away their Soul, their Life, their all; yet if you can make good your promise, and present 'em with new Subjects, such as are curious and very rarely handled, you'll make 'em ample aménds; for a thing so much beyond their expectation will be esteemed equal to a Novelty, and as to all those Projects and Inventions from which you have been so studious to take off the dear reputation of new, that perhaps chief recommended them at first, but since found so necessary for the gratifying of their sinful and depraved Appetites, they are too considerable for you to blast, yet are they the Fruits and Effects of Sin, so nothing new according to Solomon; but many things not new to all, are so to those who are strangers to the World, and have but little experience, which i● my Case. For Booksellers to turn Authors, is News to me, but no surprise; 'tis hard to think how they should forbear writing, having filled their Heads with so much reading; and of all Men they may best be allowed to be Poets, which is the readiest vent for abundance of thoughts; so that, 'twere strange if Booksellers were not more learned than other Traders, for they have all the Utensils of Learning about them, living by Learning; though 'tis often seen, it's worth runs more into their Pockets then Heads; however 'tis certain, that Men of this Profession have greater opportunities than others for improving their Understandings in Languages, History, Divinity, etc. The Book you mention, I should once have thought it great Charity to disperse, but now I think there's little danger of the Papists making many Proselytes any where; I expect that Church should lose every day and not gain. But what can be said to your retirement from so many advantages to a lonely Cell, living Incognito, in order to writing, purely for your own Diversion? If you have proved by many Examples 'tis not new thing, which should I grant you, I can't allow it not a Jot to be wondered at, for nothing can be more surprising then such a sudden and unaccountable change, as from having your Head and Fancy running to the farthest part of the Earth, and your Eyes never satisfied with seeing, you should like a Morocco Mounted upon a Barb, give a sudden check to your Passionate Love to Rambleng, in its highest career, and confine yourself to a lonely Cell: Sure Hope has represented to your Fancy some excessive fine Prospect of learning the Art of Living Incognito, which must be New, for I believe you never was before under such an Enchantment; I'll go no farther, therefore, for an Instance than yourself, to find a proof of something new, after all the Pains you take to prove the contrary, and yet the method you take to procure this mighty Happiness you expect, is to me more new and strange, that knowing as you do, how easy it is for an Authorwhose Book sells to write on till he ruins the Bookseller, you should lay such a Project of writing so many Letters, and choose a Person to help you so proper for such a purpose of ruining the Bookseller, especially if I must bepaid too for doing mischief; which plainly shows you have some new and Ill design against the World. But I'll take no Pay for such Services, and this again is something new; so that there needs no more to convince you of your mistaking the sense of; Solomon, I shall add no more, but conclude. Your, etc. From my Cell January 18th. 1699. LETTER V. Being a Defence of Speedy Marrying after the Death of a good Wife. Madam, I Have now made so great a Progress in the Art of Living Incognito, as that I Live so now whether I will or no; not that I like it the better, that I must now do that for my Safety, which at first I designed for my Pleasure; but this Necessity, added to my Natural Inclination to a Private Life, will have that good Effect as to perfect me in the Art of Living Incognito; seeing 'tis likely Now to be my Daily Study to the End of my Life, But for what Reasons I Refer you to my Printed Case; and as Dismal as that is, seeing I Married a Second Time in hopes to be as happy as I was at first, the Subject of this Letter shall be Defence of Speedy Marrying after the Death of a good Wife. One would think (Madam) my being Banished to a Private Cell should raise in my Breast an Aversion to your Sex, (by Reason my Dear would not prevent it) yet I see nothing can change my nature; for the Thoughts of the good Wife I lately Buried, and that kind one, I yet hope to find in Valeria, fills me with an Extraordinary Opinion of Marriage, and truly (Madam) your Displeasure at this, has strangely misled your Friendship, if it makes you angry with me for being such a Loving-Creature.— Sure, Sabina, you were not in Earnest when (after the Death of my first Wife) you reflected on my design of speedy Marrying again— That Widower only loved at first as he ought, who Marries again as soon as (decently) he can; 'tis a known Truth, those love their first Wives best, who Marry soon (there's a Remarkable instance of this now at Hackney) neither is it rational to think they'd run Headlong into a State of Life, wherein they had been unfortunate; alas, Madam, a good Wife at first does but whet one's Appetite the more for another, and make; one even languish for a second part to the same Tune— A good Wife is but Woman in Body alone, and a Woman with a wise Soul is the fittest Companion for Man, otherwise God would ha' given him a Friend rather than a Wife; but we find even in Paradise twoned good for Man to be alone, and that even then a she-Companion was the meetest helper. If Man in Innocency needed a Help, Solace, and Comfort, and Marriage was all these, how deficient were our (now miserable) Lives without it? For besides that it doubles joys and divides Griefs, it creates new and unthought-of Contenments. So that I admire Marriage is so unfashionable, and that you and others are so backwards to't, for it not only includes all the Sweets of Life, but he that hath a Wife which Loves him, hath two Selves, and possesses all his Faculties double, his Hands, his Eyes, and Mind, he can at once leave Faithful at home, and carry Faithful abroad— Cato was so taken with Marriage, that he'd have no Widower live a month single; and he did not stick to maintain that it was more Honourable to be a good Husband then a great Senator— Madam, when you're blaming of hasty Matches, you quite forget, that when Ieptha's Daughter Died, they mourned for that she Died a Maid; and the truth is, tho' we we find many Enemies to speedy Marriage, yet 'tis rare to find an Enemy to the use on't, and I don't wonder at this, for both Sexes made but Man at first, so that Marriage perfects Creation by restoring our lost Rib. Surely He, (I won't say she) was made Imperfect that is not tending to Propagation— Now all are concerned here (even Sabina herself, if she's Flesh and blood) and consequently should Marry as soon as they can; for to have an honest Remedy at Hand, and yet to seek out forbidden Cures, is a Frenzy that deserves more than a Chain and a Dark Room. But tho' speedy Marriage be often a Duty, yet let generous minds beware in their haste of Marrying Poor, for tho' they care the least for Wealth, yet they'll be most galled with the want of it; for my own share, my Flesh is not over Malicious towards sweet meats, yet (should I lose Valeria) I'd soon Marry again, for the defence of a good Custom, a great deal of Love, and a little Money— Nay, Madam, think what you please (of this speedy Marrying,) to something I must dedicate myself: for my Dear in her parting with me, seems to take away even the substance of my Soul along with her, and certainly I laid up my chief Treasure (whatever you may think of my Marrying so hastily) in the Frail and Sickly Life of that Tender Wife— But now she's gone, I must not weep as one without hope; for she's as happy as Heaven can make her, and I as Earth can make me; if Valeria for my sake, and her own good, would despise the World.— These were the Reasons why I Married so soon after the Death of my first Wife, and made me think Time lost till I went about it; for (Madam) the Soul is framed of such an active Nature, that 'tis impossible, but it must assume something to itself to delight in; we seldom find any without Peculiar Delight in some Peculiar thing; and mine consists in carressing a Virtuous Wife. But tho' something I must Like and Love, yet nothing so Violently as to undo myself with wanting it; yet will never love a Wife so little (should I Mary 50) as that she shall not Command the All of an honest Man; and what would they have more?— Confess, Sabina, should not these considerations weigh down all the Formalities that a Customary Practice can possibly impose? Besides, Gather your Rosebuds whilst you may, is an old Song, and Nature having denied me Children (those tender Pledges of conjugal Love) it could be no Crime in me to prevent the work of Time, and Mary as soon as I could, for fear of Staying till Time were passed—— 'Tis true, Children are the poorest way of Immortalising as may be, and as Natural to a Beggar as a Prince: yet for all that, I shall be very Proud of getting an Heir to Sampsill (when 'tis consistent with doing Justice,) and of being a Father, though 'twere but for one Day. Not that I'm in Post-haste; but if pure Love can make a Woman Kind, I hope (with Valeria's leave) to be happy a second time in a Married State, and can never be so in any other. But Valeria sure is Dead, (for I han't received a Line from her since we parted in jewen-street) or were she not, had I all the World it should be hers; for though I'm treated with the greatest Indifference, methinks I can ne'er be kind enough to those I Love.— (But to digress no longer) So much I was pleased with my first Marriage, and so unlikely to forget that Dear Half that's Dead, that I may truly say all the time I lived without her I was as 'twere in a Dream; and I don't doubt, should I Marry a third time, but I shall (as I did at first) find more Pleasure in Possession, than I now do in expectation— Then can you blame my hasty Marrying, seeing when I Married, my own Venus was supposed (and so she'll prove at length) all that's excellent in Woman kind; for what has the whole Sex more than in one alon● that is kind and loving? and so I'll think the Person I Marry, were she made of Adamant— Then Sabina, acknowledge your Error in Censuring my hasty Marriage; You know▪ not what— Charms there are in a Virtuous Spouse, what a Mine of pleasure, what sprightly Life and Vigour did Iris give to all my Thoughts, Looks and Actions, how many new satisfactions in every thing she did! How did I even live in her Dying Breath! If you doubt this, read her LIFE, and you'll find it so— Now (whilst I was a Widower) thought I with myself, why might not some of these Virtues revive in a second Wife? how ever, Hit or Miss; Luck all; and who'd not hastily venture for such a Prize, except (as some have thought) all Female Excellence is fled with Iris; and I should think so too, were Valeria Dead, who has Charms enough, but her Bags hid 'em— I might urge mo●e in defence of a hasty Marriage, as the Inclination of Black Men— the Benefit in a Wives going to Market, (for I never knew, nor could Buy a joint of Meat)— The want of a Mistress to rule the Kitchen (for I ne'er presume to direct there) to order about Tarts, Puddings, Wines and Kickshaws, and I had almost forgot the Cream o'th' jest, the pleasure of a warm Bedfellow; but I'll not enlarge as not doubting but what's said 〈◊〉 has fairly proved that every Widdowerought to Wed as soon as he can, and that my Marrying again (five Months after my Wife died) was no slight to her Memory: SLIGHT! no I assure your Ladyship, 'twas to fulfil her DYING REQUEST; 'twas the desire of my Dear herself, that after her Death I'd speedily Marry again (such regard had she to my future happiness) and I could not deny such a Wife any thing, especially her last Request on her Death— Bed; that was uttered with a tenderness that will ne'er be equalled; to sl●ght this Request, would be to forget h●r, which is the Crime you charge me wi●h, and of which you'll ever acquit me when you read the following EPITAPH (now Engraved on the Tomb erected to her Dear Memory,) (viz.) Here Lies all that was Mortal of ELIZABETH, first Wife of JOHN DUNTON, Citizen and Stationer of London, who departed this Life, May 28th, 1697. Sacred Urn, with whom we Trust! This Dear Pile of Sacred Dust; Know thy Charge, and safely Guard, Till Death's Brazen Gate's Unbarred; Till the Angel bi●s it Rise, And Remove to Paradise. A Wife Obliging, Tender, Wise, A Friend to comfort and Advise; Virtue Mild as Zephirs Breath, Piety which smiled in Death; Such a Wife and such a Friend, All Lament and all Commend. But with EATING CARES oppressed, He who knew and loved her best, Who her LOYAL HEART did share, He who reigned unrivalled there, And no Truce to Sighs will give, Till he Dye with her to Live. a I have desired in my Will to be Buried in the same Grave. Or if more we would comprise, a The Name I called her, by before our Marriage. Here interred Fair Iris lies. Thus (Madam) you see I'm so far from slighting the Memory of my Dear Iris (by my hasty Marrying) that to her very Ashes I keep a Body pure and Troth inviolable, and that Separation can have no place in our Union, which is too great to be exampled; and as I own this respect to the Memory of my first Wife, so 'tis no more (when she proves as kind,) than I'll pay to this, or if possible, a greater Tenderness; for I ever thought he never loved who ever makes retreat.— Sabina are you yet reconciled to my HASTY MARRIAGE? If not, I must be forced to ' tell ye, that no other Amusement but Marriage could ha' saved my Life, and you ' enter my Friend if you'd have me, die when there were Remedies at hand!— Alas I no sooner thought of my Dear Departed (and I hardly thought of any thing else till I had a NEW Wife to divert the Melancholy,) but I even pinned aw'ay; but (thought I) should I get HER LIKENESS AGAIN, that then Iris would live with me still, tho' but in Effigy; and such a RESEMBLANCE of her must save my Life, or nothing; truly Madam, 'twas thus with me, and I MUST BE SHACKLED AGAIN, OR DYE FOR'T— What the success has been, you'll see in my PRINTED CASE, but how happy I am yet to be, time must discover: However should Wife, Mother, and all my Friends either continue or grow unkind, yet I have this comfort left, that by A SELF-ABNEGATION, and dis-sociation from the World, I shall be United to Him, who is so much above all I ever had, or the World can give, as he is all I can wish to have; and certainly he only is the DIVINE HERMIT, who by not loving the World, leaves it whilst he lives in it; excluding himself as well from the S●n, as the Society of Men, and by Acting thus, he CONQUERS BY RETREATING, and thereby shows he is not altogether beholding to Solitude for the Glory of his Virtue— I have only to add, That your speedy Answer, will be Impatiently desired by, Your Obedient Friend, and very Humble Servant, JOHN DUNTON. The LADY's Answer to my Fifth Letter. SIR, I AM very sorry so Unhappy a Necessity should come to take from you the Glory of Constancy; for I am persuaded you would have perfected your Art of Living Incognito, without Constraint, and showed yourself as constant to what you first chose for your Pleasure, and the Improvement of your Thoughts, as you do now to Marriage, in your defence of it, after all the Ill Treatment you have so lately received from it, which, as you well observe, might have created an Aversion to the whole Sex, in a Man of a Less Loving Temper: but you still dream of finding out some way of making Valeria a Kind and Loving Wife. Small hopes, 'tis true, attends your mighty Care; But of all Passions, Love does last despair. And indeed I should be very defective in my Friendship, were I resolved to blame your Loving Temper since 'tis that alone enables you to bear your Misfortunes with any Tolerable Fase, hoping still to Charm Valeria with your Love, and at last rival the Bags I wish it may ever do you so much good. I confess what I observe in those Loving Tempers, can never bring me to Ambition such a happiness as they possess with all their Enjoyments, in a World so full of changes and uncertainties, and in one of the frailest things in the World, a Woman, so Composed of Vanity and Inconstancy. Yet notwithstanding I must own (what will partly justify your Extraordinary Opinion of Marriage); That Friendship never is in that Perfection as between Man and Wife; and that a Woman with a Wise Soul, is the fittest Companion for a Man: Nay if there be but one WISE SOUL between 'em, so it be but known to 'em which it is that has it, 'tis well enough; the very Union makes 'em happy, and useful to each other. CALO was much in the right to say, It was more Honourable to be a Good Husband than a Great Senator? For 'tis always better to be Good than Great; but was not so extremely rigid in not allowwing A MONTH'S TIME for single Liberty. The Man that can obtain the Reputation of a good Husband in such an Age as this, is worthy of double honour; for he must have a strange Art of Conduct, not only for the Governing his Wife, but of what ever Governs her; and 'tis twenty to one he gets the Reputation of an ill Husband for his pains, rather than a good one, let him deal never so gently, unless the virtue lie in some Measure on the Woman's side, of cheerfully submiting to his Government; therefore by Cato's good leave, there's no doing any thing well in haste, the World is not so mightily stocked with Women of that Virtue, that a Man can't choose but light on 'em in a Month's time; they were more scarce than so in Solomon's time, much more in this Corrupt Age; yet so far I yield, as to allow it a great Argument of Love to your first Wife, your Impatience to be yoked again; but must beg your pardon if I deal plainly with you, and tell you such a sudden Engagement after her Death, looked as if you had not the Exact Estimate of her Singulr Virtue; you did not impute the Sole cause of your Felicity to a thing so rarely found in Women, as Solomon affirms, but thought it went in common with the fair Sex. I also fear you imputed a little too much to yourself, and thought your Love and Tenderness, most needs endear you to any Woman. Some such Mistake made you so fearless in such a Hazardous Attempt. but though I blamed your hasty Marriage, when I was a stranger to your many reasons for it, yet am I far from thinking i● any slight to the Memory of your first Wife; I really believe you esteemed it the only means to comfort you for the loss of her, and am very Glad whatever has happened since, it proved at that time, such a Cordial as saved your Life. But in all this, I see no cause to applaud your LOVING TEMPER, that forces you to dedicate yourself to something, when there's nothing Permanent under Heaven, and must therefore leave you, and carry away the very Substance of your Soul, that can't be easy without its peculiar delight, which consists in caressing a Virtuous Wife that's hardly to be found: So that your Felicity is Composed of so many difficulties, it must come samewhat near a Miracle that makes you happy; and all owing to your being such a Loving Creature. But be it as it will, when SPEEDY MARRIAGE becomes a duty (for then God calls us to that state of Life) we have nothing to consider, but how to make a virtue of Necessity, and choose, as near as we can, for Piety and Goodness, rather than trouble ourselves with the fears of Poverty. A Man is not the less Generous for having little to give; but shows his Generosity as much in envying no Body, but being satisfied with his Portion in this Life: For the greater the Mind is, with the less it is content; and whatever the World may think, the Poor serve the Public in Marrying, as much as the Rich. Should none Marry but the Wealthy, with what a Race of Pride and insolence would it fill the World? All Arts and Ingenuity Spring from Necessity; and Poverty may be truly said to be the source of all Virtue; and those that make so ill use of it as to commit such Outrages, as brings 'em often to untimely ends, would have made no better use of Riches, if they had had 'em; and 'tis only our corrupt Nature turns Sovereign Medicines into Poison. And now I shall Freely own, I am convinced of my Error, in censuring your hasty Marriage; though I can't admit of all your Arguments for Marriage in general. I am convinced some Persons Tempers and Inclinations are so perfectly opposite, as plainly shows Providence never designed ' ●m for it; and for such to marry, merely to please the World, and avoid Reproach, would be the greatest Sin and Folly imaginable, in despising the highest Gift and Privilege Heaven could bestow on Mortals, while here on Earth; which is enough to justify those that neither seek nor desire Marriage: yet ought they to think it their Duty to serve the Public, and not live only for themselves; Nay they are obliged to do the more, as having the Liberty of choosing so many several ways of doing it. It had been happy for the World, if so great a Patron and Votary to Marriage, as you, had not met with such a discouragement; a little time will discover for whom to chastisement was designed. I hope it will never come to that, of Mother, Wife, and all your Friends forsaking you. I can answer for one; though in the way you propose to yourself, you may perhaps find more comfort than in the greatest kindness any Friend can show you; and this is passed a Doubt with me; for I really believe it, who am, Your, etc. From my Cell, January 28th. 1699. LETTER VI. Proving 'tis a Happiness to be in Debt. Madam, IN my last Letter I acquainted your Ladyship that I had made a considerable Progress in the Art of Living incognito, and that I was now obliged to live s● whether I would o● no: I was ever in love wi● A PRIVATE LIFE; 〈◊〉 ' ●is my misfortune now, (and the only thing in the World that ables me) that my obl●gations to some People, drive me as much as my own inclinations, to a lonesome-Cell Madam, you'll admire at this, for you see by my See my Printed Case. p. 7. PRINTED CASE, that all I own in the World is scarce 250 Pounds; which I must think is a TRIFLING SUM, as 'tis not the 15th part Lands are worth (if you take in present Possessions and Reversions) and of what my 〈◊〉 scarce the tenth part of what my Wife, (an only Child) has a Title to, at her Mother's Death, and which she cannot enjoy without me; for I wish I could see that Man that dares keep her from me, when I send for her. a which I shall at Midsummer, if not Sooner But for all this Plenty on both sides, at present I have a little occasion for Money; yet neither she nor her Mother will permit me to take up the Small SUM I want. So that 'tis clear tho' we Solemnly took each other for RICHER FOR b See the Reflectione on my Printed Case. p. 2. POORER, that nothing but Money parts us; and this is evident by her saying, (as I can prove by a dozen Witnesses,) that she had been a miserable Woman, had she Married any Man but myself. But I had only such fair words, whilst they cost her nothing: however, my comfort is, a little Time will work my Deliverance without her; but in the mean time I am pinched (as I'm forced to trespass on my, generous Friends,) but seeing every Man is willing to make his present Circumstance as easy as he o●n (that I may make a Virtue of Necessity, as well as others) this Subject of this Letter shall be, An Essay proving 'tis a Happiness to be in Debt. You see, Madam, by this Assertion, 'tis a very strange case, which can find no Advocate what is it that fancy cannot put a varnish on? A porsoned Pill may be gilded over, as well as that which is wholesome. Favorinus long ago wrote in the commendation of a Quartan Ague; the soul Disease hath not wanted a Pen to excuse and commend it: others have made a very bad Wise the Subject of their Commendation, because (they say) She brings a Man to Repentance. But, of all barren Subjects that have been yet writ upon, this of proving 'tis a Happiness to be in Debt, I judge will be most surprising. I own at present I Live Incognito that I may be rendered uncapable of contracting any more Debts: yet I shall endeavour to prove 'tis a Happiness to be in Debt. 'Tis true for my own part, I'd rather sell my Coat from my Back, than own any thing; and therefore in 15 YEARS TRADING, I never set any Man call twice for Money: and 'tis my Advice to every Citizen, (that is in Debt) that he pays every Man his own, the he ●ares himself not worth a Great; or it he compounds to pay a part. nevertheless let him resolve to satisfy all to the full, if his endeavours, and God's Blessing, ever again inables him. If our Citizen Acts thus— By suffering he shall Conquer. The Romans overcame sitting still, 'tis a comfort to remember Iob's beginning and ending: Tribulation refines the Understanding. Hannibal deservedly boasted of himself, Age, Prosperity, and Adversity have so Instructed me, that I had rather follow Reason than Fortune. He had never attdined this pitch of discomment, ●ad for his decliming Fortines obliged him to surmount all difficulties by his Conduct. The Rich Chabot would be Symbolised by a Ball with this Inscription— Being Smitten, I Rise higher— Men in prosperity are seldom Religious. But no Whip is more likely to reform the unfortunate, or gives a shrewder Las●, than the Labels of a Bond, or Obligation with a Noverint Universi. He therefore, and only he gets by his breaking, who is more humble, pitiful, mortified, given to Pryer, etc. Thus Madam, having first told you my Noti●s of ●ustice. I hope I may now, without offence to those few I'm engaged to—— Prove, 'tis a Happiness to be in Debt, and most live as if they belseved as much— For to run in Debt ouw adays, is the Fashion, from the Lord to the Cobbler: 'tis become a saying, he Pays like Quality: that is, he is Dun-Proof; and thinks it a mean thing to pay his Debts: and this is not only the Practice of some Rich Men, (for the greatest part are of a Nobler Principle,) but also of the poorer Gentry. Mr. Marshal of B—mer told me yesterday of a Gentleman that dropped 25. 6d. as he was mounting his Horse, the Ostler stooped for it, and would said have given it him, Prithee (Friend) take it, said the Gentleman, for ' twaned worth my stooping for, when at the same time he owed more than he was worth; sure such as these think 'tis a Happiness to be in Debt, or th●y'd never be thus Prodigal! But I wonder how they can sleep in quiet that are thus injurious to others; and I find Augustus Caesar of the same mind, for hearing it talked in his Court what a huge Sum of Money a certain Knight in Rome outed at his Death, and that all his Goods were to be Sold to make Payment of his Debts; Commanded the Master of his WARDROBE to buy for him that BED wherein this Knight used to lie, for (says he) if I cannot Sleep sound in that Bed wherein he could Sleep, that owed so much, then surely I shall Sleep in none— But some han't been so forward to run in Debt, but others have been as forward to punish their Injustice— The Debt being confessed (amongst the Romans) Thirty Days were allowed the Debtor for the payment of the Money. The Money not paid, the Debtor was delivered up as a Servant to his Creditor; he was sometimes cast into Prison, and unless the Creditor were in the mean time compounded with; he remained Threescore Days in Prison, and Three Market Days being brought before the Judge, the Debt was Solemnly proclaimed, and upon the third Market Day, he was either Sold to Foreigners for a Slave, or else was Punished by Death, each Ceditor being suffered if he would, to cut a piece of his Dead Body instead of payment a Roman Antiquities. —— Asychis made as odd a Law against bad Debtors as this, 'twas that the Dead Bodies should be in the Creditors keeping, till the Debt were paid; and I'm told, 'tis common in England to Arrest the Corpse of a Debtor as 'tis carrying to the Grave. But one would admire that Men (that stand in need of mercy themselves) should be thus sharp upon their poor Debtors. For in the whole Course and Frame of Nature, we see that nothing is made for itself, but each hath a Bond of Duty, of Use, or of Service, by which it is Indebted to others. The SUN by his splendour to enlighten all the World, by his warmth, and heat i● cherish and comfort each living and vegetable Creature— Yea, even Man (the Lord of the Creation) is so framed of God, that not only his Country, his Parents, and his Friends, claim a share in him, but he is also indebted to his Hound and to his Ox, the one for Hunting for his pleasure, and the other for labouring for his profit; and therefore a good Man is merciful to his Beast. His judgement, Wit, Discretion, he hath them for others as much as for himself; and as to his WEALTH he han't a Penny but what he's accountable for. But such is the mystery of this Stewardship (where even GOD himself is Debtor, and Mail Creditor; for is it not said, He that hath pity on the Poor dareth unto the Lord, and that which he hath given will be pay him again, Prov. 19 17.) That present payment is the least and worst, the Lender oweth more than the Receiver; the Poor (whose Prayers are he●rd) bestowing more than he receiveth; and his Box is more the Rich Man's Treasury than his own! Then would we have a Policy on Heaven (of our uncertain Riches) we must make the Poor our Insurers? Sure I am, ev●ry Man stands in need of this Advice; seeing had he the Riches of Solomon (whose Wealth was so Great that it would puzzle our Accomplants to find New Names for Sums) of all we may say as he said of the Axe Head that fell off to Elijah the Prophet (2. Kings 6. 5.) Alas Master, it is but borrowed. Do ●ou Oua● such a one rich (saith Seneca) because of his, ●ich Sumpter Horse, or because he has a Blow going in every Province, or for his large Account-Book, o● s●ch large Possessions near, the City? When you have said all, he is Poor: But you will say why? Why because ●e oweth all; unless you make a difference between borrowing from Men and from Providence.— Then let not him that has lost an Estate Mourn, for another lost it before he had it: perchance if he had not lost it now, it had lost him for ever, and therefore in such a Case as this, let us rather think what we have escaped then lost— And what we Own, rather than what we are Even Kings own Protection to their Loyal Subjects and their Subjects of all Ranks, own Allegiance to their Sovereign Lord— Our Lands and Lives (if we are Loyal) are the Kings, and nothing can we call our own but Death.— Then again let us look into ourselves and see how our constitutive parts are Debtors each to other— The Soul doth quicken and give Life to the Body, and the Body like an Automaton (as one expresses it) doth move and carry itself and the Soul.— Again if we Survey Man in his parts, the Eye sees for the Foot, the Foot standeth for the Hand, the Hand toucheth for the Mouth, the Mouth tasteth for the Stomach, the Stomach eateth for the whole Body, the Body repayeth again that Nutriment, which it hath received to all the parts, discharging the Retriments by the Port Esquiline, and all this (as an Eminent Physician observes) in so comely an Order and by a Law so certain, and in so due a time, as if Nature had rather Man should not have been at all, than not to be a Debtor in every part of him. The ALCHIMISIS who promise to themselves to turn Tin into Silver, and Copper into Gold, how will they be transported out of themselves with Joy, if they should but see a happy issue of their attempt? How much more a Creditor when he shall recover a desperate Debt? It is like the Joy of a Father that receives his lost Child. Again, He that is in Debt, hath this great Privilege above other Men, that his Creditors pour out Hearty Prayers for him; they wish that he may Live, Thrive, Prosper and grow Rich; and all for their own Advantage; They seem to be careful for their Debtors, that they may not lose the many Hundreds they own them. Witness those usurers of Rochel, who when they heard that the Interest of Money was fallen, went and hanged themselves for Grief, and truly (Madam,) I can't altogether blame 'em, for most Men own not only there Learning to their Plenty, but likewise their Virtue and their Honesty: For how many Thousands live now in the World in great Reputation for their Honest and Just Deal with all Mankind, who if they were put to their Shifts, as others as Honestly inclined are, would soon lose their Reputation, ●ea, turn Rogues and Knaves too, as the Vulgar think and generally call't such as are not able to pay their Debts? I question not but Want and self Preservation, (for Hunger will break through Stone Walls) would put some of them upon those very hard Shifts, they now blame so much in others: But for all they are so often put to their Shifts, I must say this, to the HONOUR OF DEBTORS, that they have a great Influence over their Creditors, they become in a manner, their Landlords, to whom they Cringe, Kneel, as if they did owe them all Imaginable Services; and are as Ambitious of their Debtors Favours, as they who in King Charles' Reign did caress the Royal-Misses to attain the Lives of their Condemned Friends, or some Place at Court.— Without DEBT, AND LOAN, the Fabric of the World will be dis-jointed and fall asunder into its first Chaos: I might first Instance, in what it owes for Drink: For (as Cow tells us) The Thirsty Earth soaks up the Rain, And Drinks, and gapes for Drink again; The Plants such in the Earth, and are The Sea itself, which one would think Should have but little need of Drink, Drinks Ten Thousand Rivers up, So filled that they over flow the Cup. The busy Sun (and one would guests By's Drunken fiery Face no less) Drinks up the Sea; and when h'as done, The Moon and Stars drink up the Sun. They drink, and dance by their own Light, They drink, and Revel all the Night. Nothing in Nature's sober found; But an ETERNAL HEALTH goes Round. And if the World Runs thus in Debt for Bubb, what does it own for its other Supports? Or rather, what does it not owe? For, first, the Beauty of the Stars, what would it be but Vastness, and Deformity, if the Sun did not lend 'em Light? The Earth would remain unfruitful, if it did not borrow Refreshing Dews from the Watery Signs and Planets. The Summer is pleasant, and promiseth great hopes of Plenty; but it is, because it taketh up much upon Trust from the Friendly and Seasonable Temperament of the Elements. And, to say the Truth, there is NOTHING GOOD, or GREAT in the World, but that it BORROWETH something from others, to make it Great, or dareth to another to make it Good.— The ELEMENTS, who are linked together by a League of Association, and by their symbolising Qualities, do Barter, and Truck, Borrow and Lend one to another, as being (as 'twere) the ROYAL EXCHANGE OF NATURE; They are by this Traffic and Intercourse, the very LIFE AND NOURISHMENT of all Sublunary Bodies. Well, If it be such A HAPPINESS TO BE IN DEBT, and every thing lives under a Necessity of owing something,— Then farewel Diogenes, thou SURLY CLOWN; for who ever lived more like a Soused Mackarel, amongst Men, barrelling up thyself in a Tub like a Kegg of Sturgeon, and this because thou hadst not Soul enough to treat thy Friends, or to live in Debt. I also bid farewell to Coke, Littleton, Shephard, etc. and other Lawyers, and Molestors of Causes, who accounted as their (surviving Brethren do to this day) being in Debt a very great Evil.— I also pity Zem's Weakness, who blushed to borrow:— Crates Pride, for scorning to be Trusted;— and do as much despise that POET LAUREATE, who forfeited his WREATH OF BAYS (rather than owe a Farthing) and afterwards made Prayers to his Purse to supply his Wants; though (as I've proved) 'TIS A HAPPINESS TO BE IN DEBT.— But let Men that either will not, or cannot be Trusted, a● as they please: for my own share, whilst I live, I am willing to live in Debt.— IN DEBT to the Creator of all things, for his so Curiously framing me in my Mother's Womb Psal. 139. 13. 15. In Debt to Christ, for hopes of a blessed Resurrection; and as I own, so I will be ever ready to lose my Life for my Country's Service.— I will owe Duty and Respect to my Wife's Mother, and shall pay it when she an swers my Just Request.— And for my FEW CREDITORS, when I've paid them (and they may depend on what I promise in my Printed Case) yet I shall ever owe them my hearty Prayers, and a Thankful Acknowledgement for their Kind Forbearance. They are so generous to consider that he that oweth Money, and cannot pay it, is an Agent for Sorrow: and 'tis my Duty to remember that he that hath it and will not pay▪ it, is a Steward for the Devil.— Then I don't see why any Man should be uneasy, for I've promised (after I see the Issue of this Year) to sell even myself to the skin, rather than any Man shall lose a 〈◊〉, which they will not, (If they can have Patience) but will be paid their Principal, and Interest upon Interest, if demanded. I will also owe, and be ever paying Love and Tenderness to my present Wife, and a Hearty Reconciliation when ever she Desires it.— And ere long I shall pay my GREAT DEBT UNTO NATURE which is the most Difficult Debt I have left to pay, and for that Reason I'm still Learning THE ART OF LIVING INCOGNITO; For as Philositratus lived Seven Years in his Tomb to acquaint himself with Death; So I shall pray that my Private Life may have the same Effect.— But wherever I end my Days, whether in a Cell or in a Public Station, I shall there render my Spirit into the Hands of God, and bequeath my Body to be buried (by those I shall make my Heirs) in the New-Burying place, and in the same Grave with my first Wife, where we shall both pay THAT DEBT WE OWN TO THE WORMS (and be still happy together, if a senseless happiness can be called so,) and after the Worms are satisfied. I hope (at the General R●ection,) we shall both Rise together, and know and Love one another for ever, in the presence of that God, to whom we own all we have and ●e.— Neither has my Living in a Cell banished the Remembrance of what I own your Ladyship for your Ingenious Remarks on the Letters, I send ye ('tis to you, Madam, I'm Indebted for all the Pleasures I shall find in Retirement); Which I here Acknowledge with this Assurance, that the Respect jowe your Ladyship, shall be as Immortal as the Soul of, Your most Indebted Friend And Servant, JOHN DUNTON. The LADY'S Answer to my Sixth Letter. SIR, I Am apt to think the World must needs be surprised that any Person should have the Courage to advance any thing in favour of Debtors, the most abject Creatures in the World; that very few, while they pity and relieve 'em, but at the same ●me, have a great de● of contempt for ' 'em. So little reflection is made upon the wise disposal of Providence, who has made us all Debtors, not having the least right to the ●rest Blessing upon Earth; for what was given at our Creation, was forfeited by Rebellion; and we are therefore indebted to God's infinite Mercy, for all we have, Especially when we have received an ample Portion in this Life, and never suffered want: such Persons are so deeply indebted, that if they pay no part to those God has constituted to be his Receivers, they may Perhaps be paying it to all Eternity; but such Debtors command respect, wherever they come; for their Money is every one's Aim; it answers all things; yet I see not why the Poor Debtor may not find something in his condition to be esteemed for; since God, who permits it, has a good design in it for the teaching us many necessary Truths; 'tis the only Glass that shows us the true Image of ourselves, and the Vain Delusions of the World. How long do we live in the Mistake, that we are Born only for ourselves▪ and what do we study more than to be, or to seem to be great, and considerable; that so we may obtain Friends, respect, and application, and all that flatters our Imaginations: but at last meeting with disapointments, we then perceive there's no Living with out dependence, being forced to seek the help and assistance of others. But miserable is their case, who applye● to the rich, who's tender mercies are not unlike the Ancient ROMANS, ●ou mention: Those Laws must needs have an admirable effect of promoting Sordidness and Self-interest; for the basest crime could not be more severely punished, no● meet with a more fatal mischief then to find any one so Cruelly unkind, at tolay the Foundation of a Man's Misfortune and Slavery, by lending him Money: 'twere much kinder to ●ave him to Starve in his necessity. The Makers of such Laws we may be sure would stick at nothing, that might secure 'em from those s●re Penalties; by which one may guests at their integrity, in Aiming so exactly at the Poor, who perhaps bears an honester mind to Pay their Debts, were it in their Power, than many of the Rich, who are often so puffed up with Pride and insolence, they frequently neglect to Pay their DEBTS, thinking all the World depends upon 'em and are their Slaves. Sure no Laws could be severe enough for such, if there could be found men of sufficient Courage and Integrits to put 'em in execution There are so many innocent ways of contracting Debts, 'tis much to be admired Men could be so Ignorant of the Condition of Human Life, as to insult over the misfortunes of others, and not think ' emselves as liable to ' 'em. But this is the privilege Adversity carries with it, to give in Experience of our own Imbecility, and the many changes we are subjected to in this Life; which brings us to the pursuit of a more lassing Happiness in another World, and to Retirement from this, in which we find full leisure for useful Thoughts and Reflections upon our passed misses: The Debtor now sees plainly there's not a weaker Threatener, nor stronger Flatterer than Fortune, while the World was his Friend, he had the same Partial Affection for it as most persons usually have for those that loves 'em, but the Treatment Debtors receive from it, soon opens their Eyes to see the change their Fortune makes in it; and can with Hannibal, resolve to follow a better Guide, that will deal more truly with 'em, and convince 'em of the HAPPINESS OF POOR DEBTORS that can't Pay: For the World takes so many ways of payment by exposing 'em to the Public in all ma●r of ill reflections, will they have given their Pride and Malice more than full Satisfaction for the want of their Money, that at last they make themselves their Debtors no less, tho' in another kind, which such an Adversity will teach 'em that Humlity to bear, and the Charity to forgive, and t●'s a blessed condition that brings 'em acquainted with two such Graces. And this condition is no les● Friend to true. Mortification, which till we have attained, our Soul is not in a right State, for 'tis like a Man Hen-pecked by his Wife, the Body domineers over the Soul, and ●gages it in all the Follies that Cha●m its Br●ish Senses, and so ranverses all Peace and Order, till the Soul assumes its Authority by Subjecting the Body, which is so hard to do, tho' the Happiness of this Life and the Next depends upon it, One may well esteem it, the height of Felicity to be many condition that facilitates it; And in this consists the Debtors Privilege, the World accounts all Favour lost upon him, and so withdraws all Temptations, and his necessitous Fortune ours off all Eyess from his dep●ed Appetites, and the Devil will then leave him as he did job, 〈◊〉 he had no Accomplices left to assist him▪ and so a Debtor see● his Th● Great Enemies Conquered by his Patient Suffering. This may be every Debtors Case that Studies to gain by his Afflictions the Improvement of his Virtues, rather than give up himself to base and wicked compliance with the Rich and Powerful, or r●ing into vain Presumptuous Projects, in hopes of a more speedy relief; when by waiting upon God, and using only such mean as he appoints, he may expect a Blessed End of his troubles in this Life▪ or if he patiently submits to Gods Will, 〈◊〉 full as ●appy for 〈◊〉 is uneasy to think others should suffer upon his accounted; yet if he spares what's possible from himself, using all the means in his power, God will not be wanting either to assist him to pay, or to support his Creditors under the loss. This in general may be said of the Happiness of being in Debt; nor does the oddness of your CASE, exclude you from any of the Privileges that poor Debtors enjoy, though your Prospect is not so desperate as theirs; but no DEPENDENCE can be fixed on in this 〈◊〉 certain World, therefore must wait the issue. In the mean time, I perceive you study to pay with thanks and grateful acknowledgements, what ever you own, or think you owe and your mistake GIVES ME A SHARE, tho' I know nothing of any such pretence I can have: therefore to own it, would be very unconscionable and unbecoming▪ Your, etc. POSTSCRIPT. WHilst I was finishing the last Sheet of this Book, my Ingenious Friend Mr. GEORGE LARKIN Senjor, sent me the following Lines, Entitled An Acrostic to his Worthy and much Esteemed Friend, Mr. JOHN DUNTON Upon his Art of Living Incognito. I ●ognito to lives an ART indeed: O Happy's he that can therein succeed! H e only knows how to Command his Fate; N othing can make that Man Unfortunate. D oing to A● what you'd have done to You, U sing the World, yet bidding it Adieu: N ot to be Seen, yet every thing to See: T his sure to Live Incognito: must be! O Happy Life! of which I only know, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 can live ●er than Incognito. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 ●d if thou dost this A● Pursue, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 thy scholar be, and learn it too. FINIS. 〈◊〉 Written by JOHN DUNTON. 1. THE Second Part of the Art of living Incognito, will speedily go to the Press, (if this First meets with Encouragement) and contains the following Letters, viz. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. Of every Thing. Letter 8. Dun● represented as Dead and Buried, on an Essay upon his own Funeral. Letter 9 A Morning's thought, on these Words. The time of Singing of Birds is come Latter. 10. ●d to my Summer Friends, Letter 11. In Praise of Sore-Eyes. Letter 12. On the Riding made for Women that beat their Husbands. Letter 13. An Essay upon dead men's Shoes. Letter 14. On the Royal Sport of Co● Fight. Letter 15. In Praise of the Tooth. Ach. Letter 16. The Character of that HONOURABLE LADY to whom these Letters were sent. 17. Of Bargaining for a Wife, or an Essay upon Jointure●. Letter 18. Of being asked in the Church, with the Answers that have been given to this Question, Do any of you know cause or ●st Impediment why these two Persons should not be joined together in Holy 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 Letter ●9. 〈◊〉 the doing Penance in a White Sheet. 〈◊〉 other Uncome 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 To each of these Letters (which are all written 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 LAD● has returned a particular Answer, which is 〈◊〉 to each Letter. Price. Stitched 〈◊〉. 2. An Essay proving we shall know our Frie● in 〈◊〉, occasioned by the Death of my First Wife and dedicated to her 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 S● in a 〈◊〉 to a Reveren● Divine. The 〈◊〉 Edition is ready for the● 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 6●. 3. The Dublin 〈◊〉, with some account of my 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 In several Letters to the Spectators Price bo● 〈◊〉. 4. The Case of john 〈◊〉 Citizen of 〈◊〉 with respect to his Mother in Law M● 〈◊〉 Nichol● of 〈◊〉 ●ans, and her only Child Sarah Dunton; with the just Reason's 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 leaving her. In a Letter 〈◊〉 Mr. Georgee Larkin Senior. To which 〈◊〉 his Letter to his Wife Price 〈◊〉 3● Reflections on Mr. Duntons' leaving his Wife, in a Letter to himself, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 ☞ All (5) sold by A. Baldwin, near the Oxford 〈◊〉 in Warwick Lane. THE SECOND PART Of the ART of Living Incognito. OR, DUNTON Represented as Dead and Buried, In an ESSAY upon his own FUNERAL. To which is added, His Essay upon every Thing. Being a Continuation of the Thousand Letters on as many Uncommon Subjects, Written by JOHN DUNTON, during his Retreat from the World; and sent to that Honourable Lady, to whom he addressed His Conversation in Ireland. With her Ladyships Answer to each Letter. To be continued till the whole Correspondence is finished. Man, ere he is ware, Hath put together a Solemnity; And dressed his Hearse while he hath Breath, As yet to spare: Yet, Lord, instruct us so to die, That all these Die may be Life in Death— Herbert. LONDON, Printed (for the Author) and are to be sold by A. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 the Oxford Arms in Warwick-Lane; of whom is to be had the First and Second Parts Price of each 1 s. THE SECOND PART Of the ART of Living Incognito. From my Cell, April 10. 1700. LETTER VII. Of every Thing. Madam, MY First Part of the Art of living Incognito, having met with a kind Reception (except from FOPS, who to show their Wat, a See my First Part of the Art of living Incognito. p. 2. rail at every thing but the Product of their own Brain) This has encouraged me to Publish a Second Part: For, seeing ' was Sabina that first inspired me with the Resolution of living Incognito: I now intent to proceed to the writing the Thousand Letters that must go to the perfecting of this ART, except your Ladyship should grow weary of the Correspondence; or if you should, my Project would be still Incognito; for I'm not so vain as to think that any thing but your Ladyship's Remarks could have given my Letters a Reputation in the World; and without that, though I should still have studied, yet should no longer have Printed— the Art of living Incognito— But could I doubt of that kind Reception it has met with, when your Ladyship was pleased to say b In your Letter dared Ap. 10. That the World is much deluded with Appearances; but if you are the Person that has raised their Expectation, they'll not grudge a Shilling to satisfy it; but if their Envy is only raised, they'll content themselves with laughing at your presumptuous pretention (of writing on a Thousand uncommon Subjects) without ever reading it, and spend some Wit upon the Lady concerned in it: But whoever buys it with indifference, and so reads it, will, I believe, find what's worth his Money, and commend it. Soul of my Muse, I thank thee; and in that, A short Poem dedicated to the Honourable Lady. I pay the humble Tribute of my Fate: How hast thou Crowned my Head? O what Divine Raptures inspired, beyond the powerful Nine? I will not call Rome's Caesar's back again, To show their Triumphs; one is in my Brain Great as all theirs; and circled with thy BAYS, My thoughts take Empire o'er all Land, and Seas; Against subtle lightning and fierce Thunder stroke, I shall be safer than Augustus' OAK, With double Guard of Laurel, and made free From Age, look fresh still as my Daphnian-Tree, And Printing still my Son and Heir shall be. Critics shall dread my Looks, no Slander dare To approach my Books; whilst your Ideas there. Great Patroness of Cells, I could create New Worlds methinks for thee; and in a State As Free as Innocence, shame all Poet's Wit, Can climb no higher than Elysium; yet, Where they but build cool Arbours Shades and Groves, Teach Brooks to murmur Songs, 〈◊〉 please their Loves: We will have other Flights, erect new Things, To call the Envy up of Queens and Kings. Museus, Homer, and the sacred rest, Whom the World thinks in their own Ashes blest, Shall live again, and only having wrote Our Friendship, wish their other Songs forgot; And themselves too, but that our LETTERS must, In spite of Time and Death, quicken their Dust: What cannot I command? What can a Thought Be ambitious of, thus wreathed, but shall be brought? By Virtue of your Charms, I will undo The Year, and at our pleasure make one New. All Spring is Blooming Paradise, but when You List, shall with one Frown whither again. Astrologers leave poreing in the Skies, Expect all Fate from fair Sabina's Eyes. Thus ex●asy'd with me, scorn other Star, Admire, and think it Heaven where we two are. For he that learns to live Incognito, Now lives in Heaven, if quitting Earth be so. Madam, I have dedicated this short Poem to your Ladyship as a Poor Acknowledgement for your generous Remarks on my First Part of the Art of Living Incognito, and as a Defiance to all Critics, I was willing the World should know your Opinion of what I A defiance to all Critics. Publish, as believing none will presume to dislike what you approve of; or if they do, I shall not value it, so● prefer your single Judgement to all others; and therefore 'tis the Honour of your Friendship, is one of those things that I value myself most upon— Then seeing the Art of Living Incognito, has such an Ingenious and Honourable Lady to Protect and Defend it, I shan't doubt but this Second Bart will be as well received as the FIRST; however, your consenting to my Printing of it, is a sufficient Warrant for its Publication. And I don't doubt, after treating of every Ching in this Letter, but to say something in my next, (which will be an Essay 〈◊〉 my own Funeral) which shall justify my Resolution to Live and Die in a private Cell. M● Resolution to live and die in a private Cell, Whilst all the World is in an hurry, busied here and there with Vanity and Vexation, whilst few or none almost are looking after their Future State; whilst most thus mistake their Happiness, I shall endeavour to find it in a lonesome Cell which (in my next) I shall prove an Emblem of Death, and I must needs love it as 'tis a Place where I have nothing to do but to prepare for Heaven. But tho' I live Incognito, as I'm charmed with a quiet Life (and partly as I am obliged to Privacy) a For the Reasons tentioned 〈◊〉 my last 〈◊〉. Yet I have no such Pique to the World, (I mean that GREAT WORLD, through which I am passing) but that I'm willing to give your Ladyship an Account what I formerly I observed in it; and I shall think I'm still advancing in the Art of living Incognito, if in this Letter I treat— Of every thing— I mean— every thing, that affected me in my Cursory View of the GREAT ●ections 〈◊〉 every ●ing that ●fected me 〈◊〉 my cur● view of ●e Word. WORLD. I call it a Cursory View as I hurried so fast through it, to that private Cell where I now live. Perhaps you'll admire (Sabina) that the World should now take up my Thoughts, when 'tis my Happiness and Wish to be freed from it. To this I Answer, it must be confessed, That to avoid the Noise and Turbulence of the World (the more quietly and undisturbed to look into ourselves) has been the Practice of the most Discreet and Eminent Men; even the famous Virgil composed his Matchless Georgics in a Grot or Cave. But tho' a Hermit's Life be the most desirable, yet I shall now prove that something may be learned even from Courts and Cities, and every thing we see in Public. Before I begin my Remarks on the World, I shall give this Description of it. The World is the perfect and entire composition of all Things, and the true Image and admirable workmanship of the Godhead, the greatness whereof is Incomprehensible; and What the World is. yet limited, being also adorned with all Bodies, and kinds of Creatures which are in Nature. The Great God having made this Great World, he was pleased to draw a Map of it in the Dast; and so he 〈◊〉 Crea●on of A● and 〈◊〉. form ADAM, and out of him EVE, the Work of the sixth Day, and a Compendium of the Labours of the other Five. More Servants wait on Man, Than he'll take notice of; in every Path, He treads down that which doth befriend him; When Sickness makes him pale and Wan. Oh mighty Love! Man is one World, and hath Another to attend him. Since than my God thou hast So brave a Palace built; Oh dwell in it, That it may dwell with thee at last, Till then, afford us so much Wit; That as the World serves us, we may serve thee, And both thy Servants be.— Herbert. But my Subject now is only of every Thing in the Great World, for I reserve the little walking WORLD to be considered hereafter. 'Tis the Great World What Heaven is. I'm now to behold. And the first Thing I shall observe in it is, the Heaven and the Stars. Oh what a fine Book is Heaven for mortal Man to Study! By Heavens I mean not the Supreme Imperial part, not the Seat of the Blessed, which is out of sight, but the outward and visible Parts of the heavenly Orbs. Here all th' extended Sky. Is but one Galaxy; 'Tis all so bright, and gay And the Joint-Eyes of Night make up a perfect Day. Every Star is a fair Letter of the Almighty's Power, and is a firm Essence in Heaven, giving Light. If you What a Star is. ask what this Heaven is. I answer, 'Tis as it were a vaulted Body made of water thin like a Skin and movable— And here I must own that when I view the whirling-Heavens, and revolve their natural and violent motions— when I observe the wandering Stars not fail to accomplish a certain course, to keep such exactness in their Irregularities, that a Prognosticator will give us a Prediction of the most Shadowed Eccypses in the clearest Sunshine,— when I see the ●●●ble Spheres The Har●●●● of the spheres. Dancing their unerring Rounds, I easily assent to their Harmony so much disputed. Blessed Lord, when I consider thy Heavens, the work of thy Fingers, the Moon and the Stars which thou hast ordained; I must say with David, What is Man that thou art mindful of him, and the Son of Man that thou visitest him? If it be asked how David (a) Ps. 83. 4. in surveying the Heavens cometh to mention the Moon and Stars and omit the Sun, the other being but his 〈◊〉; shining with that exhibition of Light, which the Bounty of the Sun allotteth them— To this I answer; This was David's Night Meditation, when the Sun departing to the other World, left the lesser Lights only visible in Heaven, and as the Sky is best beheld by Day in the Glory thereof, so it is best surveyed by, Night, in the variety of the same— Night was made for Man to rest in; but when I cannot sleep, may I with this Psamist entertain my waking with good thoughts; not to use them as Optum, to invite my corrupt Nature to Slumber, but to bolt out bad Thoughts, which otherwise would possess my Soul. Again when I view the Firmament (the Orb of the movable What the Firmament i●. Heaven) while mine Eye is terminared with it, I admire without a limit, when I behold the curious Colours in it, and the variety of Blazon; and then again, consider myself a Poor Creature, and yet in Chief to the rest; By observing this I have wondered to Extacy, and conclude that my Tongue was made for nothing more than to dwell on the Praises of that Glory that owns this Coat-Armor. The Sun is the Spring of Light, a always burning What the Sun is. Torch, or a Universal Candle that serves the whole World to Work and Walk by. Then twinkling Tapors of the Night, That poorly Satisfy our Eyes, More by your Number then your Light; Like common People of the Skies; What are ye, when the SUN does rise! When with a dazled-Eye I look upon this Radiant-Sun (the brightest of all Wand'ring Stars, and the Fountain of Light and Heat) when I view this Enlivening Flanet, and find him roll in the zodiac as in a Wheel, when I note how he screws the Heavens in the Ecliptic, how well he knows his Regresses; having touched either 〈◊〉, I assure myself there is a HAND that wields this useful Instrument, and trims this Lamp unto the World: The Psalmist tells us expressly, He appointed the Moon for Seasons, and the Sun knoweth his going down— Ps. 104. 19 'Slight those who say amidst their sickly Healths, Thou liv'st by Rule; what doth not so, but Man? Houses are built by Rule, and Commonwealths; Entice the trusty Sun if that you can, From his Ecliptic line, beck'n the Sky; Who lives by Rule then, keeps good Company.— Herbert. Again, When I consider the Circuit of the Earth, that The Earth small if compared with the Aetherial Orbs. 'tis more than one and Twenty Thousand Miles, yet of no Moment in respect of the Heavens, this constrains me to acknowledge the great Immensity of the Artherial Orbs— Great Immeensity, did I say? why the Sun alone is much bigger than the Earth; Nay, we have more than probable conjectures from its Piramidal-Shadow, that it exceeds it in Magnitude above one Hundred and Sixty Times; when I consider this, and that Sol-Apogeus is distant from me more than Eleven Hundred Semidiameters of the ●erestial Globe, yet no higher than the midst of the Planets; when I consider this, and what small proportion it bears to the expanded Skies, I am lost in the wideness of the 8th Sphere, and will say, Certainly, If a Creature could fill our Capacious Spirit, I had found it— Were I merely Ethnic, the beholding the Sun alone would drive me to a Metaphysicall-Search; the Power, and Glory evident in this would source me to proclaim an Atheist the greatest Dunce in Nature; Advice to th●se that are or w●u'd be A●sts. for he is one who denies the Light, and upon the first assent of his Irrational thoughts, 〈◊〉 all his Senses— Then you that are, or would be Atheists, often view the Bright Eye of the World (the Glorious Sun for by the Light hereof (if you on't blind) you may see The being of a God; for what is the whole World but the Explanation of a Deity? But if nothing reforms you, but you'll still be Atheists, (that you may sin securely) you run yourselves into Praemunire, out of Protection and will be undeceived by the Flames of Hell; and perhaps sooner, for the Atheist dreads that Deity he does deny. We see this verified in that Great Commander (Mr. Terry speaks See Terry's Voyage to the East-Indies. p. 414. of,) who was a professed Atheist, yet a Man of approved Valour: But upon a time he sitting in dalliance with one of his Women, she plucked an Hair from his Breast (which grew about his Nipple) in Wantonness, without the least thought of doing him hurt. But the little wound, that small Instrument of Death made, presently began to Fester, and in shorttime after, became a Canker incurable; when he saw that he must die, he uttered these words viz. Who would not have thought but that I, who have The dying Sp●ch of an Atheist been so long bred a Soldier, should have died in the Face of mine Enemy, either by a Sword, or a Lance, or an Arrow, or a Bullet, or by some such Instrument of Death: But now (though too late) I am forced to confess that there is a Great God above, whose Majesty I have ever despised, that needs no bigger Lance than an Hair to Kill an Atheist, or a despiser of his Majesty; and so (desiring that those his last Words might be told unto the King his Master) died— Till Sin, into the World had made a Breach, Death was not heard of: Ever since in Each Poor Human Mortal it doth Couchant lie, The Kernel of a Grape, kills one; a Fly Another chokes; by a corrupted Breath of Air one dyes; and others have▪ found Death In a small bit of Meat; or by a Corn, Too closely cut, or by a Prick of Thorn When Death comes armed with God's Imperial Word, An Hair can pierce as deep as sharpest Sword. Such Reflections as these I made upon viewing the Sun, 〈◊〉, and stars, etc. and when I was weary 〈◊〉 looking upwards (as he soon is that lives in a Hurry) I would 〈◊〉 a Walk into my Garden, to visit Madge; I have writ an Essarupon this Owl, of near twenty Sheets, to which is annexed the Elegy I writ in Ireland, upon the News of his Death. ('tis the Bird of Athens) or to please my senses with the curiousness of the Knots, ●or variety of Flowers that were in it. God the first Garden made, and the first City, Cain. And indeed where does the Wisdom and Power of God shine in a more bright and sweet Reflection than in a Garden? which Cow was so in love with, that he tells us; A small House and a large Garden (with moderate Conveniencies joined to them) is all he desires in this World. Nor does this Happy Place only dispense, Such various Pleasures to the Sense; Here Health it sel● does live, That Salt of Life, which does to all a Relish give; Here fragrant Beauties still are seen; 'Tis only here an Ever-Green. No Man possesses more private Happiness in a Garden than I have done; for I was once such a Lover of Gardens, that when I could steal time from behind the Counter, I made it my business to be well acquainted The Pleasures of a Garden. with all the variegated Capes●ry of Nature in the several Seasons of the Year. But I find no Pleasure is of long continuance with me, for I had not applied myself to the Study of Gardens above five Years, but I was banished my little Eden, and the Flowers that cost me a great deal, are now exposed to the mercy of Catorpillars. Farewell dear Flowers; sweetly your Time ye spent, Fit, while ye lived, for Smell or Ornament; And after Death for Cures. I follow straight without Complaint or Grief, Since if my Scent be good, I care not if It be as short as yours.— Herbert. How uncertain are Worldly Comforts? for being banished from the Black-Raven, (the most pleasant House How uncertain are worldly Comforts. I ever dwelled in) I am now so far from taking Pleasure in GARDENS, etc. That I'm like a Man fallen out with the World. Fortune has denied me something, I am fallin out with the World. and I take pet and will be miserable in spite— In plainer English, I've sent for my Dear Spouse, and I shan't be so Rich as my Honoured Mother, till I have Published the whole Art of Living Incognito. she refuses to come till I'm as Rich as her Mother, which will scarce be till I have published the whole Art of living Incognito. So that nothing pleases me now, except some deep Tragedy. A Charnel-House covered with Sculls— A gloomy Vale wrapped with unpleasant Yews— Or some dark Cell cut out by Nature's skill, and whose Entrance is environed with thick Trees (like to that where I now live) In a Word, I'm so peevish grown, since Nothing pleases me not, but some deep Tragedy, etc. I find I can't Outrival the Bags, that I can scarce bear to see my own Brother Merry; and wonder what Men can find to laugh at; for my own share, I think I shall never more draw my Lips to a Smile, but I ened so I shall never Outrival the Bags. morose neither, but still I can love a Garden, but none pleases me NOW, but what's the v●ry Picture of Melancholy. My First Garden. was a little Eden. my Second, the very Picture of Melancholy. 1. Fain would I have a Plate of Ground, Which the Sun should never see, Nor by wanton Lover found; That alone my Garden be. 2 No Curious Flowers would I crave, To tempt my smelling or my Eye: A little Heart's Ease, if I have Place a fa●ing TULIP by. 3. My Counterfeit will best appear In the Violet's drooping Head, On which a Melancholy Tear, The Discontented Morn hath shed. 4. MY TIME be withered, let no ROSE Her perfumed Bosom show; And the Sweet-Brier when it blows, No embracing Wood-bine know. 5. Wove a pretty Roof of Willow, On each side the Black-Thorn Spring; Raise a Bank, where for my Pillow, Wormwood, Rue, and Poppies bring. 6. No Bird sing here unless my Soul; Would Hear sad Phy●omels Disgrace; The TURTLE shall awake the OWL, To join her Melancholy BASE. 7. Here let no Man find me out; Or if CHANCE shall bring out hither, I'll be secure, when round about I moat it, with my Eyes foul Wether. 8. Thus let me Sigh my Heart away, At last to one as sad as I. I'll give my GARDEN that he may By my Example, Love and Die. And so much for my little EDEN— and that Melancholy-Garden where Valeria's Jointure has sent me to dig— I shall now proceed to the Observations I made in my cursory view of the Word. After I was tired with my Two Gardens (except 'twas Post-Night, or I had some Author to visit) I would next take a Turn to Stepney, (a) Observations in a Walk to Stepney, etc. Hackney, or my beloved Hamstead; and now as I went along, I would conceive the World a Building, the Earth a Floor, spread wi● a Green Carpet-Co●g, the 〈◊〉 a Roo● 〈◊〉 with exquisite Ornaments; such Thoughts as the●e d●d m●ke me revere the Wisdom of the 〈◊〉 Arch●t. When (in these 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 aches) I observed such magni●ence in the Outward Court, I presently concluded the ●tum 〈◊〉 was beyond description. A●, Madam! we live here in the very bottom o● Nature, and think little who or what are on the Top o● the Context; methinks I have something of it by ●ting glances, but it vanishes, and I ne'er catch it! Thu● you see (Madam) what Meditations the World affords, when I consider it as a B●g, the Earth as a Floor, and the ●ns as ●he 〈◊〉 ●o it. When in longer Walks, I have considered the World as a Cable spread; I have observed satisfaction ●or every 〈◊〉 fo● 〈◊〉 ●se. Sense, dished out in Proper-Objects. For us the Winds do blow, The Earth doth rest, H●aven-move, and Fountains flow; Nothing we see but m●ans our good, As our Delight, or as our Treasure: The wh●le is either our Cupboard of Fo●d, Or Cabinet of Pleasure.— Herber●. What Orient Colours are brought in to please the EYE; to delight the EAR; what Melody is enclosed in The Music 〈◊〉 be found in Grove●. the Breasts of Birds, so well instructed in Song, that every Grove becomes a Choir? What silken softness have we for the touch— What Cates and tasteful Viands for the daintiest Palates? What Odoriferous Scents? What perfumed Airs to feast the other Sense? What abundance of sweetness is bound up in the small Volume of a Flower? I read no less than a Deity in the Few Folios of a Damask Rose— Thus Ble●ed Lord, thy World is a Table spread! and every thing in it looks up to thee for their daily Food. Thy Cupha●rd serves the 〈◊〉; the Meat is se●, Where all may reach, no Beast but knows his Feed: Birds teach us hawking, Fishes have their Net: The great prey on the less, they on some Weed. Nothing engendered doth prevent his Meat; ●es have their Cable spread, ere they appear: Some Creatures have in Winter what to eat; Others do sleep, and envy not their Cheer. And as thy House is full, so I adore Thy curious Art in Marshalling thy Goods: The Hills with Health abound, the Vales with store; The South with Marble; North with Furs and Woods. (Herbert. By the many Sights, 〈◊〉 observe in these several Walks, I conclude that Nature hath not left my Soul Objectless, but there is somewhere a Truth for my Understanding, and Goodness for my Will. Again, my Heart it Elated above the ordinary Level of Admiration; when I perceive this Sublunary-world top full of Things; as contrary as Fire and Water, Earth This sublunary. World is top full of Things as contrary as Fire and Water, etc. and Air, yet to subsist by one another; when I see this, (and which is yet stranger, when I see them peaceably cohabit in the same Subject) I cannot but attribute their ACCORD to a Sovereign Arm and Guidance. When on a Promontory I fix my Foot on firm Earth, while mine Eye lancheth out into the Main, and see the Billows come wallowing one in the Neck of another, as if they naturally encouraged themselves to an universal Deluge, yet when they foam and make a noise as unkenneled: I may soon observe them at the end of their Chain; or if the Tempest should rage's so long, A Storm described. that the tossing Seas should touch the Sky, and every Puff should blow up a Grave, yet as these Storms are of Nah. 1. 3, 4. Ps. 148. 8. Gods sending, so they are subject to his Government. The Lord hath his way in the whirlwind; and the stormy Wind fulfils his word. Tempests are calm to thee, they know thy Hand, And hold it fast, as Children do their Fathers, Which cry and follow. Thou hast made poor Sand Check the Proud Sea, even when it ●wells and gathers? (Herbert. While the Ocean swells itself into Alps of Water, and the Brow of it is so surrowed with Rage, that every Wave threatens to write me among the Dead, suddenly all is cut off with a dash: When I behold this diffusive Element stand upon an Heap, sure there is some Hitherto and no further; that it hears in its loudest Roar, and this is Gates and Bars to it. When The Reciprocation of the Water●. I look upon the Reciprocation of the Waters, I feel a Springtide of Thoughts at the highest flow within me, and go beyond the MOON to find a Cause. 'Tis true, some attribute the Ebbing and Flowing of the S●a, to certain subterranean Fires, whose Matter is near a kin to the Matter of the MOON; and therefore according to her Motion, there continue their Times of burning; and burning they make the Sea so to boil, as that it is a Tide or High-water, but going out, the ●es in the bottom of 〈◊〉 Sea. Sea sinks again; but these Fires in the bottom of the Sea are but mere Conjecture; for the Flux and Re flux of the Sea is a great Secret of Nature, and gives us therefore principal occasion to magnify the Power of God, whose Name only is excellent, and whose Power above Heaven and Earth: With what amazement have I viewed the swelling Main! They that go down to the Sea in Ships, that do Business in great Waters— These see Psal. 107. 23. the Works of the Lord, and his Wonders in the Deep. Who can enough admire the Providence of God to Sea men! The Sea, which seems to stop the Traveller, Is by a Ship the speed●er Passage made; The Winds, who think they rule the Marener, Are ruled by him, and taught to serve his Trade. Again when I look upon the Use of the Sea; I conceive great Mercy and Wisdom, in placing of it:— Those Heavenly-Buckets that pour out refreshing Refreshing Showers. whence they come. Showers on the parched Soil, are dipped in this Cistern, and it is as the Liver to the Body, fil●s the Ground with irriguous Veins; thus we see— Each thing is full of Duty. Waters united, are our Navigation; Distinguished, our Habitation Below, our Drink; above, our ●eat: Both are our Cleanliness. Hath one such Beauty, Then how are all things neat. Again, when I see the Earth once every Day mu●e The Night described itself in ' its own Shadow, and that the Dark may not be Irksome our busy Eyes are as often closed by a Law of Rest which upon Pain of Death we may not long infringe, and how orderly do we go to sleep? The Stars have us to bed; Night draws the Curtain, which the Sun withdraws: Music and Light attendour Head. All things unto our Fleshare kind In their Descent and Being; to our Mind In their Assent and cause— Herbert That Sleep (which refreshes Nature) may be thus defined— 'Tis the resting of the feeling Faculty: the Sleep how caused. Cause is a cooling of the Brain by a pleasant abounding Vapour, breathing forth of the Stomach, and ascending to the Brain— when that Vapour is concoct and turned into Spirits the Heat returneth, and the Senses recovering W●ing 〈◊〉▪ how caused. their former Function, cause waking. The Affections of Sleep are Dreams— If 'tis asked Drea●s. what they are, I answer— A Dream is an inward Act of the Mind, the Body sleeping: and the quieter that Sleep What they be. is, the easier be Dreams; but if Sleep be unquier, than the Mind is troubled— The Ubiety of Dreams is according to the divers constitution There variety. of the Body— the clear and pleasant Dreams are when the Spirits of the Brain, which the Soul useth to imagine with, are most pure and thin, as towards Morning, when Concoction is perfected. But Troublesome Dreams are when the Spirits be thick and impure. All Natural Dreams are by Images, either before proffered to Memory, or conceived by Temperature alone, or by some Influence from the Stars, as some think. But I shall say no more upon this head, designing my 40th Letter shall treat of the Sentiments of the Soul in Infancy. Dreams, Trances, Dotage etc. Thus we see NIGHT serves us for a Curtain; and Half our Life runs out in a Sleepy Vacation of Senses. that whether we Sleep, Wake, or Dream, the half of the Term of our Life runs out in a Sleepy-Uacation of Senses; and is most pleasurable, though least delightsome Blessed Lord! How finely dost thou Times, and Seasons Spin, And make a Twist chequered with Night and Day! Which a● it lengthens, Winds, and Winds us in, As Bowls go on; but turning all the way.— Herbert. In this I adore a Supreme Wisdom! The withering Grass likewise is no less beholding to the Night then The Heavenly L●beck 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 the● 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 their may be a Growth in Vegtables. our heavy Heads; for now the Heavenly-Limb●ks do distil the●r cheering Influences, that there may be a Growth in Uegetables; the Nightly Moisture ●gles itself with the Heat by Day; But while I stand admiring thus. C●thius Aurem Velli●, here is one within tells me, I need not go fish for Wonders in the Deep, or camb the height of Heaven, for Heaven; for myself is a● amazing wonder. Indeed when I reflect on the Structure of my Body, Meditations on the structure of my own body. I see it is not ordinary; I see it is erect, when other Creatures Grovel; I have a Privilege of looking up, when the rest stand mottoed by the Poet with. A Pronaque cum sp●ant etc. Os Homini sublime dedit etc. Is there a more exact Work then our Head? here all The S● keep their Rendivouz in the Head the Senses keep their Rendezvous, lie Leaguer to give Intelligence; if an Object that carries any Colour with it comes; the Eye notes it immediately; If it makes a noise, the Ear catches it, and so of the rest. Man is all Symmetry, Full of Proportions, one Limb to another, And all to all the World besides: Each part may call the farthest Brother: For Head with Foot hath private Amity, And both with Moons, and Tides. We see MAN is a Creature that hath Reason, and What Man is and the manner of his Generation. as he is most excellent, so hath he a more perfect shape in Body than others. Physicians tell us, His Members are form, and begin to appear distinctly, about the Six and twentieth Day. And they are all perfect in Males at 30 Days, and in Females at 36 Days. About this time, the Child beginneth to live, and to feel. The Male is moved in the Third Month, but the Females in the Fourth Month: then 'tis nourished and increased till the Ninth Month when it is Grown great, it is brought forth. This is the forming, and procreating of Man, for whose sake all other Creatures were made. Then what a wonder in Nature is Man! and where ever we Ramble, we find the Wonder the greater by the diversity of Faces we see in Public, in Ten Millions of Faces there are not two alike, or not so alike but they are easily known one from tother; and their ●aices are different as their Faces. ' Thomas the Face of the Creation hath ' its variations of Senses onward. Prospect and Beauty, by the alternate Intermixtures of Land and Waters; of Woods, and Fields, Meadows and Pastures; God here mounting a Hill, and there sinking a Vale, and yonder levelling a pleasant Plain; designedly to render the whole more delectable. and ravishing to the Eyes of Men (〈◊〉 they see his wonders in the Land of the Living)— ye● hath he not where given us more admirable expre●ons of his infinite Power and Wisdom, than in the 〈◊〉 ●brick of Man's Body, wherein he hath contriv●d to Sum up all the Perfections of the Greater, t●at lie here and there scattered about; nor, is it possible for the Heart of Man to adore enough the Tran● of his Divine hand in the Perfections that he bears about him. But amongst them all, (omitting the courteous Contexture of the whole Frame) to survey only the a A Brief Survey of Glories of the Face and of the Admirable Graces that God has lodged in 〈◊〉 Feature of it. Glories of the Face, and the admirable Graces that God has ●odged in each Feature of it; and then to remember how many Millions of them have passed through his Hands already, flourished out with a perfect diversity of appearance; every one (as I hinted before) discernably varying from all the rest in different Feature and ●ein; and yet every one excellently agreeing with all, in the same Identity of Aspect. All this variegated-Work miracusously performed within the compass of a Span, to let us see what a God can do, when (as the Wise Potter) he turneth his Wheel, and moulds Nature into infinite Ideas and Forms. The several Senses in Man are also Matter of Wonder, Senses Outward. These are Outward or Inward. The Outward only perceiving. Things persent: And every one of these have their Proper Subject. The Sense in the whole Body is TOUCHING; This Touching is a Sense by means of Flesh, full of Sinews, apprehending Tactil Qualities. His Instrument is Flesh, full of Sinews, or rather a Nerve, like a Hair, dispersed thoughout the whole Body Senses of certain parts are more or less Noble. The see Nobler are see and Hearing whose means are the Water and A● Sight, by the Eye, perceiveth bright and coloured Things: the Subject where of is Light, &c, his Instrument is the Neru-optick, which from the Brain cometh to the Eyes. Hearing is a Sense perceiving Sounds; his Instrument, is a little Skin in the lowest winding or turning of the Ear, dry and full of Holes: The Skin is double, one Hearing. below which covereth a little Bone, like an Anvil; another above, containing a little Bone, as it were a small Mallet. The upper stricken by the Sounds, striketh the Lower, and stirreth up the Spirits in the Nerves to perceive the sound. The more Ignoble Senses are Casting and Smelling; Tasting apprehendeth Tastes. His Instrument is— a Nerve stretched like a Net, upon the Flesh of the Tongue, which is full of little Pores. His means is a Temperate Tasting. Salt Humour, which if it do exceed the just quantity, it doth not exactly perceive Tastes; but if it be altogether consumed, no Tastes are perceived— Smelling judgeth qualities fit for Smell: His Instrument is the Entrance into the first Ventricle, covered with a Smelling. small Skin; the drier it is, the quicker of Smell, as in Dogs and Vultures; but Man, for the moistness of his Brain, hath but a dull Smell. Were there no more in MAN then these five outward Senses to be wondered at; well might David say he was wonderfully Senses inward. made, and curiously wrought in the lowest parts of the Earth a Ps. 139. 15. But besides these Five outward Senses, (to raise our Wonder yet a little higher) there are inward Senses, which, beside Things presently offered, do know Forms of many absent Things— By these, the Creature doth not only perceive, but also understandeth that which he doth perceive. These have their Seat in the Brain; they are either Conceiving or Preserving; Conceiving exerciseth Conceiving. his Faculty by discerning, or more fully judging; it is called common Sense, and the other is Phantasie. Common Sense more fully distinguisheth sensible Things; his instrument is the former Ventricle of the Brain, made by dryness fit to receive. Thantasie is an inward Sense more diligently examining the Forms of Things: This is the Thought and judgement of Creatures; his Place is the middle part of the Brain, being, through dryness, apt to retain— The preserving Sense is Memory, which according to the Constitution of the Brain, is better or worse. It is weaker in a moist Brain than in a dry Brain. ●is Instrument Preserving. is the hinder part of the Brain. Memory calling back Images preserved in former time, is called Remembrance; but this is not without the Use Remembrance. of Reason, and therefore is only attributed to Man. I would next say something of the Wonders found in the Brain, whence Tears proceed by the Angles of the Eyes, (and Tears proceed from the Brain. the greater the Flesh of those Angles be, so much more plentiful be Tears) but (Sabina) should I enlarge you'll take me for some Quick-Doctor, who confounds his Auditors with his learned Nonsense. However, the Structure of Man's Body, etc. being what took up much of my Thoughts when I lived in public: I can't leave this Subject till I have said something of his breathing Parts, which (next to the EYE) I take to be one of the greatest Wonders in the Body of Man. The Principal Parts of breathing are in the Breast; being either Lights o Heart; wherefore these being touched, The breathing Parts. breathing is immediately hurt; and such Wounds be deadly: The Lungs are a spongious and thin Part, soft, and like Foam of congealed Blood, declining something to the Rightside. Breath is brought into the Lights by a rough Artery k●it to the Root of the Tongue: This Artery is a long Channel made of many Gristle-Rings on a Row, which endeth in the Lights. If any thing falls into the hollowness of this, the Breath is hindered, and there is danger to be Choked; but this is a Nice Subject, I shall therefore treat of it more at large in an Essay upon my own Death. Thus having told your Ladyship what I discovered in the Celestial Bodies, and likewise what I observed under the Sun (but more especially) with respect to the Wonders ●f the Beasts, Fishes and Birds, but just mentioned, and why. Deep. The Tapestry of Nature— And the curious Frame of the Body of Man, etc. I should next proceed (if I'●e treat of every thing) to what Remarks I made upon Beast's, Fishes, and Birds, (more especially on the OWL, on whom I have written As is hinted before. a large Essay) but I am forced to drop these Subjects with just naming of 'em; for when I remember THAT whereby I observe all this, I am so nonplussed I can go no further. If you ask me any Question about it? I will say it is some strange Divine Thing, but what, I well know not; it is The Soul is some strange Divine Thing. called a SOUL; a most active Being, I'm sure it is; it is ever grinding; if you rake it up in the Ashes of a Sleep, it will glow in a Dream: It is fixed in the Orb of the Body, but raiseth itself further than the Sun: It will pierce the most solid Substance; rests not in a few Objects, though a single one sometimes may, like a Glass, collect its Beams to a Flame. O the Soul that can drag the past and future Times to the Bar of present Consideration! that will in the most retired Cell, discourse to me of various Matters: This Cosmographical Spirit that can show me the Heavens and the Earth as in Landscape, in the darkest Room! Oh It can show me the Heaven and the Earth, as in Land ●ip. in t●e darkest Room. the swiftness of its motion! it will beat against East and West (like a Bean in a Bladder) with less noise and more nimbleness, which made Randolph say, And when I walk abroad, Fancy shall be, My skilful Coachman, and shall hurry me Through Heaven and Earth, and Neptune's watery Plain, And in a Moment bring me back again. This nimble Soul forgets (sometimes) 'tis espoused to It forgts sometimes that 'tis espoused to Flesh and Blood. Flesh and Blood; it now leans so far without my Windows (by Reason of the STONE, and other Distempers) that another Blast will puff it out, and frieze up the Casements. Oh! i● thou stayest still; why must I stay? My God, what is this World to me? This World of Woe? Hence all ye Clouds away, Away; I must get up and see— Then l●se this Frame, this Knot of Man untie, 〈◊〉 f●ee Soul may use her Wing, Which now is pinioned with Mortality; As an entangled hampered thing. What have I left. that I should s●ay and Groan? T●e most of ●e to cleaned is fled: My Thoughts and ●ys are all packed up and gone. And so t●ir old Acquaintance ●lead. By musing on the Nature and Excellency of my own Soul it leads me to consider the SWAY I bear in the World; and here I observe all the visible Creation to bow down to me. The Sun, Moon, and Stars— wait The Nature and Excellency of ●e Soul, lea●s me to consider the sway I bear in the World upon me, but what shall all this fill my Life with Pride, as my Mind with Wonder? Neither can any thing I have heard or seen in my Fellow-Creatures, (who are proud of being Rational tho' their Reason is but the Perspective Glass, through which they behold their Misery) warrant my giving them Black Characters— No (Sabina) I find too much in my own Breast, to damp my censuring others, and have as little Reason to be puft up with Conceit: With Conceit! of what should I be proud of, for my Head is as full of Whimsies as if it kept open House for all the Maggots in Nature— yet excuse me too! for I don't see but others (only they have more Wit to conceal 'em) have as many Maggots as john Dunton: And therefore Maggots in every Brain. 'tis Mr. Herbert tells us—. Man builds a House, which quickly down must go, As if a Whirlwind blue, And crushed the Buildings: And it's partly true, His Mind is so. O what a sight were Man, if his Attires Did alter with his Mind! And like a Dolphin's Skin, his clothes combined With his Desires! Surely, if each one saw another's Heart, There would be no Commerce, No Sale or Bargain pass: All would disperse, Andliv apart. But suppose I could see nothing greater (or more Maggotty) than myself to arrogate my Service, yet were I far from being Absolute; nor dare I think myself mine own Man; My Hands and Shoulders tell ●e I was born to labour. for my Hands and Shoulders, and other parts, are a Lecture to me for the labour of my Body— And my station here minds me, that I must be busied in Contemplation; for I look on the Earth as a Green Bank recovered from the Waters for me to stand on unmovedly, while I behold the tossing Seas and turning Spheres, and all things else in agitation. Now to be tasked in this manner, denotes my condition to be that of a Servant. I further know my subjection My great Ignorance. by my Ignorance, I cannot so much as give an Account of my own Being; how I was brought hither, I have it not in my own knowledge; if those about me had combined, it had been more easy to have made me believe an Eternity of myself, a part ante, than the Atheist a part post— That I had a Beginning is but delivered me I was lighted I know not how no● when. by Tradition, confirmed by the Motions of accretion and diminution in myself, and Example in others, for I was LIGHTED I know not how, nor when. Again, In the Administration of Things, their Order is not from any Law of mine, and I might well be called Esop's foolish Fly; should I think myself able to make the very Bsop's foolish Fly. Dust that made me; now while I ponder on these Things, and a thousand more that I see in the World, I look for something greater than it. It seems to me unreasonable, That a Work so Absolute and Uniform, should want an Efficient; I dare not with Empedocles, sit shuffling in a dusty The wise Administration of Things, lead us to the Consideration of an Immense Being. CELL, till I have made a World of Atoms. But I will resolvedly say, such wise Position and Administration of Things here, was never Casual, so I search, and wonder, and tremble; for I find myself not far from that Immense Being that I thus grope after; and (sure I am) if a Light was brought into the Room, I should see myself in the everlasting Arms of a Father or an Enemy. These things I read by the Hierogliphics of the Creatures in the A. B. C. of Nature, for so I'll call the Book of Morks, compared to that of the Word of later Edition, and of more Perfection: This is the unmasking of the others Frontispiece; this leads me, and refers them, to an ALMIGHTY GOD, here manifested in his several Subsistences and Attributes; I have it here in plain Words, What was but pointed at in the other. Behold this little Volume here enrolled, 'Tis the Almighty's Present to the World. Harken Earth, Earth, Each senseless thing can hear His Maker's Thunder, tho' it want an Ear. God's Word▪ is signior to his Work, ●y rather, If rightly weighed, the World may call it Father; God spoke, 'twas done: This great Foundation, Was but the Maker's Exhalation, Breathed out in speaking. The least work of Man, Is better than his Word; but if we scan God's Word aright, his Works far short do fall: The Word is God, the Works are; Creature's all: The sundry pieces of this general Frame, Are dimmer Letters, all which spell the same Eternal Word. But these cannot express, His Greatness with such easy Readiness, And therefore yield. For Heaven shall pass away, The Sun, the Moon, the Stars, shall all obey. To light one general Boonfire; but his WORD, His Builder up, his all destroying Sword; Yet still survives, no jot of that can die, Each Tittle measures Immortality. Once more, this mighty Word his People greets, Thus lapped, and thus swathed up in Paper-sheets. Read here God's Image with a Zealous Eye, The Legihle and Written Deity. But I'll not undertake to unfold its Excellency; for to speak of every Thing in this Book, requires a better Why the Holy Bible is the chief Book we should study. Pen than mine; however, this I shall say of it, He that Questions its Worth, instead of an Answer, shall be deservedly blamed, as neglectful of reading the Holy Scripture. When I have weighed the Premises, I am troubled My Resolutions to read it often. that I have so truanted formerly, and cannot but now resolve to put myself with more diligence upon this Spiritual Literature▪ Thus having mentioned the Characters of SUN, MOON, HEAVEN, and EARTH, (and the other Creatures) I shall be able to put them together, and make them spell Infinite Wisdom and Power, as much as boundless Mercy. From the Earth, I learn to contemplate, from the Heavens, I learn to add Motion and Practice to my Speculation— When I see how the dead Earth and Water serve the Vegetive, and they the Sensitive, and they the Rational Creatures: What spiritual use we should make of every Thing we see in the World. And when I see how this subordination keeps every thing entire, let me hence also learn Duty, let me remember, tho' I am exalted above all these, yet there is a higher than the highest, to whom I am in all humbleness to stoop, as they to me. And if my Ox knows his Owner, and my Ass his Master's Crib, let them teach me to know him from whom I have received All, and to whom I own all. And Lastly, When I see the largeness and capacity of my own Soul; I will learn to decline the small and narrow Creature, and search after an Object able to better it, able to fill it. And as I should make this spiritual use of every thing I see in the World, which I call the Book of Works; so likewise, that I may be more skilled in God's other Book, I shall desire to meditate in it Day and Night; to use it on all occasions, as a Medicine for every Disease. If I am in doubt, I will make it my Counsellor; if in Affliction, I will make this sure and tried Word my support; if I am in Darkness, and see no Light, here I'll stay myself; when I see my Ignorance, I will esteem A Cure for every Disease both of Soul and Body. this able to give Understanding to the Simple; when I would launce my Soul, I will make use of this Two edged Sword; when it is fit to be healed again, why this is Balm from Gilead: If I am Poor, I will take pains for this Treasure, more worth than much fine Gold; Pearls and Rubies are not to be compared with it; by this I may learn Godliness, which is great Gain. If I am Rich, this Book will plentifully show me, that a Man's Wealth doth not consist in the Abundance which he possesseth, and that Riches have Wings: If Sorrow takes hold of me, the sweet Consolations here are as Health to the Navel, and as Marrow to the Bones. If Trouble be general; I have here direction where to rest at Noon. Oh Book, infinite sweetness! let my Heart, Suck every Letter, and a honey gain; Precious for any grief in any part, To clear the Breast, to mollify all Pain. Thou art all Health, Health, thriving till it make A full Eternity; thou art a Mass Of strange Delights, where we may wish and take: Ladies, look here; this is the Only Glass That mends the Looker's Eyes; this is the Well That washes what it shows; who can endear Thy praise too much? thou art heavens Leaguer here, Working against the States of Death and Hell. Thou art joys handsel; Heaven lies flat in thee, The way to be happy, when the wholeworld is dissolved. Subject to every Mounters bended Knee.— Herbert. In a Word, If I would leave that which I feel slipping away and perishing, and repose myself upon My treating of every Thing has been a Wild-goose chase through Heaven, Earth and Seas, etc. what is firm and lasting, Let me relinquish each worldly Confidence, and rest upon this Word, which shall stand unshaken upon the Ruins of Heaven and Earth. Thus (Madam) have I led you a Wild Goose-Chase, through Heaven, Earth, and Seas, etc. I would rummage the World further, but that I observe he that has the Ostentation or Vanity to be too much known to the World, is in great danger of being unacquainted with himself; and The danger of being unacquainted with ourselves. therefore having considered every Thing I saw in Public, (which was wont to employ my Thoughts) I shall retreat again from this Great World, to my quiet Cell, where I'll dissect my Breast, and write an Essay of the Lesser My Retreat from this great World to my private Cell. World, myself; and when I have so well surveyed this little piece of Earth, that I have left no part undiscovered, I shall next represent myself as Dead and Buried, in an My own Grave to be the Subject of the next Letter. Essay upon my own Grave, etc. Where I shall lie Incognito, till the Resurrection. And when the Dead awake, I shall then be Your known Friend, and Servant, JOHN DUNTON. The LADY's Answer to my Seventh LETTER. SIR, IF instead of living, you were buried Incognito, I could expect no account of your observations; but if you live, you must needs think; and the obscurity of your Cell, can be no impediment to your contemplating the great and busy World at such a distance, though only, upon what your memory furnishes; for from thence those thoughts may be produced in order and method, which were at first obtruded on you in hurry and confusion: 'Tis now, and not till now, you are in capacity to prove that something may be learned even from Courts and Cities; and every thing▪ we see in Public: For the noise and turmoil of the World, is no Friend to reflection. Virgil found it so, and so do all thinking Men; in so much that Retirement from the World, seems to stamp a Character of Wisdom upon those that can bear any Inconvenience better than the interruption of their Thoughts. Yet the very aspect of thinking, is so unacceptable to the gay World; that according to Monsieur Scuderie, Those that have better things to think of, than what they intent to speak, aught to remain in their Closets, and not to trouble the company with their silence; and yet perhaps their best Thoughts might be lost, should they venture to impart 'em so at random, as the Company shall be disposed to take 'em; but when composed in Solitude, and after Printed, tho' they are designed for none but those that like and approve 'em; they may with great pleasure satisfy the passions and malignant humours of such as dislike 'em; that all must own themselves mutually obliged; those that present the Subject for remarks; and those, who like the Bees in their Cells, convert 'em into useful Reflections. The great and little World, as they are the Noblest Objects you could choose for Contemplation, so your Esteem and Love of this Exercise appears by the Exactness of your Observations upon them; for besides Man, the epitome of the great World, the visible Heavens and Earth, alone, are full of the Majesty of God's Glory, and might sufficiently convince an Atheist; for as you well observe, the whole World is but the Explanation of a Deity; 'tis possible a Man with some defect of Mind, like that of Blindness in the Body, may have but weak Conjectures of what appears a perfect Demonstration to others; but should such a one take upon him to Dispute against a Deity, 'twould be a presumption like that of a Blindman's going about to prove there's neither Light nor Sun, because he can't see 'em; for the same Reason the Atheist therefore may well be silent; for he that does not conclude there is a God by Contemplation of the Universe, one must conclude has some defect in his Understanding or Will,▪ that spoils his judgement; for without Speech or Language, the Heavens declare the Glory of God; their sound is gone out into all Lands, and their words unto the ends of the World. Then who can pretend they have not heard enough to convince their Understanding? The fault must needs lie in the Will. A Fool may say in his Heart there is no God, when at the same time his Understanding tells him there is; he speaks as he would have it, but thinks as he fears; and truly Atheism is one of those stupendious Wonders which would astonish much, but that it joses the Horror by being so common; Nay, 'tis so Familiar to us, it passes unobserved: We little perceive the Practical Atheism we are all Guilty of, when we are so solicitous to please the World, and never ask ourselves the question whether we can serve God and Mammon; in that case we say in our Hearts, There is no God; that is, our sinful Affections and Appetites persuades us to think there it none; or at least not such a one as deserves our highest Love and Care to please; As also in any temptation of Profit, or Advantage, shall easily put a stop to our Proceed: But all the Threaten of the Great God of Heaven can't stop us in any sinful Action that is attended with Credit and Applause, as too many are; which is an Established Atheism, set up by Custom, if we can't say by Law; But you have taken the properest way to Destroy this Monster by penetrating, with such exactness all the Uarious and Wonderful Works of God; both the Pleasure and Advantage of such Contemplations are unspeakable; therefore 'tis as much for our Benefit as for God's Glory, the Scriptures were given us, that by them we might learn to observe & acknowledge his mighty Acts, and distinguish his Divine Providence from the Actions of sinful Man, who never fails to show his Sin and Frailty on all occasions, where God leaves him to Act alone; and certainly there is a kind of Atheism in that general disrespect to God's Providence, observable in the World; so few are sensible from whom they must expect the success of their Enterprises; they Esteem some Persons very Lucky, others they term Unfortunate, according to what befalls 'em, adverse or prosperous; Nay, even great and remarkable Providences are Esteemed Accidents; or if any cause assigned them, 'tis such as is purely humane, without the least relation to God. Thus we live without God in the World, and if we have but either Riches, Friends in Power, or our own Wits to trust to, we say in our hearts, there is no God; that is, we are not concerned whether there is or no; we think we can enjoy the World without him. But how much happier are those who are the great Observers of God's Providence, so that all That comes to pass in the World, serves for their Instruction? For as they acknowledge them to proceed from God's Order and Determination, they are of the same Use to us with the Holy Scriptures, to perfect and encourage us in all Good Works, when we are certain of the Truth of them, which may be discovered by their agreement with the Written Word; for were they as infallibly true, and we could have the same certainty of what is reported of Things done, and Acted in the World, nothing could excuse us from the same Reverence and Respect for 'em; for we know we shall be all taught of God, and we know his Providence has been of Old, and is still, his most usual way of teaching, as it falls under the Observation of the; meanest Capacities; and great effects may be seen of a true sense of God's Power, Mercy, and Goodness; amongst such Persons as have had neither Time nor Opportunity of other Instructions: I can speak it of my own knowledge, I have seen more sighs of true Faith, Hope, and Charity, and a reverend sense of God, in the Discourse and Actions of the Vulgar, such as Farmers and Day-Labourers in the Country, whose outward teaching has chief been the Experience and Observation of the Providence of God to themselves and Neighbours; tho' by the Learned so despised, as if for want of Knowledge, they were little better than Brutes: I wish I could see 'em mightily surpassed by the Lives and Discourses of those from whom we have reason to expect much more, as living under the means of Instruction, from their daily attendance at Church, of which the greatest part are WOMEN; but of too many of 'em, so little Virtue appears in their Conduct, one might take 'em for the silly Women St. Paul describes, laden with Sin; led away with divers Lusts; ever learning, and never able to come to the knowledge of the Truth: 'Tis to be feared they trust too much to teaching, and think themselves Religious and Devout, for only using the Means of being so; 'twere good if those People could be taught, that the faithful discharge of their Duty and Calling, would be a better Service to God; and then from a strict observation of his Providence, great Lessons might be learned of Patience, Humility and Charity, and every Christian Virtue they shall need to be adorned with. But those Men that have the advantage of natural and acquired Parts, are accountable for the Glory they own to God, from the Contemplation of his WORKS, which are great, sought out of all those that take pleasure therein: His Works are worthy to be praised and had in Honour; even so much a● Man is able to comprehend of 'em is enough to discover, by the invisible Things of God, his eternal Power and Godhead; this was manifest to the very Heathen, besides his infinite Love and Bounty to us Christians; from which Fountain springs all the Wonders you present me, whereof you make such pious Uses; and indeed I cannot enough admire, how it is possible so many Naturalists should ever be able to make such Advances in this Study, and not learn from the uncertainty and difficulties they find in 'em, to set the highest value upon the next Life, where the desire of Knowledge shall be fully satisfied; for as God in his Wisdom and Goodness, has given to all our Senses suitable Objects; our thirst after Knowledge and Happiness must necessarily from the same Goodness, meet with the fullest satisfaction in Heaven; for on Earth we are far from any Capacity of enjoying such Blessings as Truth and Goodness in its full Perfection. Every Days Experience, convinces us of the Mistakes those curious Minds continually make by an unsuccessful and presumptuous search into Nature, which they can never fathom; but for the present they are f●d to appease their eager and unquiet Thoughts, with Dreams and Shadows, while they quite lose the true end of Contemplation, which should lead us to our own chief good, the Knowledge and Love of the Divine Perfections; therefore an humble and modest Enquiry into the nature of God's wonderful Works, might, by this means, prove useful Spectacles, always ready at hand, through which his glory would reflect, to keep us in perpetual Praise and Admiration of his Wisdom, Power and Goodness, to us poor sinful Mortals in this life; and make us sigh after that more full and perfect measure of intellectual Knowledge we shall find in Heaven, where we shall then read all those Riddles we are now so puzzled with. That strange divine Thing, the Soul, you so pleasantly describe, will have the happiness to know, and be known, both which it wants now; for did we but know the Dignity of that Divine Guest, we would treat it with more Respect, than to employ all our Care and Thoughts to serve and content the Body, to the Injury and Disparagement of the Soul; for ' t●s certain, that Soul which knows its true rank, keeps the Body in subjection, and suffers none to rule and govern it, but God who made it; nor is it of the Bodies childish Appetite, to take Delight in sensual Pleasures, it values only Heavenly Food, of which 'tis amply furnished in the Holy Scriptures, and of a far more delightful Relish than can be found in any Humane Science. The Royal Prophet David found it so, which filled his Psalms with such high Eulogiums of the Law of God, where he found his Hearts Desire; and as it was his chiefest Business and Concern, not only by continual Exercise in it Day and Night, to perfect his own Delight, so he earnestly recommends it to others, as that which would give 'em the Wisdom of the Aged, and make them wiser than their Enemies; and never rests till he has made it plain, that the Word of God is the only Remedy for all the Miseries of Humane Life; consider therefore what a Treasure you have got in your Resolution of putting yourself with more diligence upon this Spiritual Literature, where you will not only See, but Taste the Divine Goodness; after which, the study of the Great World, and yourself, the Little World, or whatever serves for Matter of Contemplation, will all be referred to the glory of God, as its ultimate end; which will increase your Joy and Happiness, in that Day when you shall awake from the Dead, and may perhaps be KNOWN, amongst the rest, to Your &c. Dunton Represented AS DEAD and BURIED, IN An Essay upon his own Funeral. From my Cell, April 30. 1700. LETTER VIII. Madam, IN my Sixth Letter, I acquainted your Ladyship, That tho' God had blest me with a competent Fortune, yet that I was A Cell the best place to resine our Thoughts. straightened at present; and that as long as I continued so, a Private Cell was the best Place to resine my Thoughts, and to preserve my Liberty:— But can I doubt my Liberty, when I am only a Prisoner to my Wife's jointure? That Minute she pulls off the Shackles, I'll receive her as a Dutiful Wife; but can she be so whilst she refuses to make me easy? When all that's desired is but 500 Pound (out 'Tis an Emblem of Death. of 6000 l.) and that to pay off a Debt which she knew of before Marriage. She tells me a In the Letters she sent me since we parted. indeed, That she loves me as her own Soul; and that she and I are one; and if so, (to use her own Expression) she should not let her Member suffer in the midst of a good Estate, in which she has but her bare Life, and that neither, till I am Dead and Buried (not in Effigy, but) in good Earnest. But Valeria (like some other Wives) thinking all the Duty lies on the Man's side, won't release a Foot of her Jointure; so that at present I do as 'twere want what I possess; however I the less admire ●me Wives ●ink all ●e Duty ●es on the ●an's side. at my Change of Fortune, when I consider the Divine Providence useth Men, here below, as Counters in a Reckoning, which now stand for Pence, and straightways for Crowns: Some all the time of their Lives are buried in a deep Night; we neither know their Entrance into the World, nor their Passage out (except by a Sprig of Rosemary, if their Estate will bear it) and if we know them by a Title, 'tis by that of their Miseries. But if the World be such a perfect Lottery, Give me the pliant Mind, whose gentle measure Complies and suits with all Estates; Which can let lose to a Crown, and yet with Pleasure; Take up within a Cloyster's Gates.— Herbert. This is my Case till Valeria smiles; till then, I'm confined to my little Cell, where turning over in my Remembrance, all that could further afflict or torment me; I was brought at last to think on the last of all dreadful Terrible Things, DEATH. And ●hy I shoved not admire at ●y change ●f Fortune. seeing my present Dwelling and Circumstance, is so very private, as to be an Emblem of Death: I think I can't make a better Advance in the Art of living Incognito, then by making this Subject— An Essay on my own Funeral, etc.— Whilst I lived in Ireland, my Friend Mr. Larkin brought me acquainted with a Gentleman, who in his perfect Health sent for Of an Irish Gentleman, who in his perfect Health, sent for a Sexton to ring his Knell. the Sexton to ring his Knell, being asked the Reason, he replied, because he was DEAD; that is, (said he) in a Civil Sense, I am Dead (tho' I walk about) for my Money is gone, and I were as good be out of the World; this seems to be my Case, yet 'tis not this DEATH I'm writing of; but tho' 'tis not, yet we see by this Man, who would have his Knell rung whilst he was living, that some Men have more Brains than they can be quiet with, and the Death of such, if not a Triumph, yet (as Feltham observes) is a repose to themselves, and to those who were their Acquaintance. Those also that grudge themselves the Conveniencies of Life, may be said to be DEAD (whilst they are yet breathing) as much as Every Miser is a dead Man. the ' foresaid Gentleman; for the one is starved for the want of Money, and the other is starved with his Abundance; and in this Sense each Miser is Dead; like a Dog in a Wheel, he toils to roast Meat for others eating, and therefore might properly write an Essay on his own Funeral. Tho if he should, he now makes his Will against his Will; settles his Estate, assures all for the World; and at last, sends for a Preacher, who finds him unfitting for God or the World. Sickness and Death I see are Bold and Impartial Sergeants; the World and Wealth are but poor Bail upon Death's Arrests; all Means are nothing when God strikes.— Yet when a Rich Man is sick, what resorting is there to his House, by Kindred, Friends and Neighbours? He wants not for Company, Counsel, or Help; when as an honest Poor Man may lie long enough under a tedious Sickness, and have no such Visitants— But my Funeral Essay is intended for neither of these Persons; My desig● in writing an Essay on my own Funeral. for what I design is only an Essay on my Dead Body, (and what will happen to it) and I would here, by laying myself out for Dead, learn to die at my own Funeral. I can't find this Subject was ever handled before; for ' tho some have seen themselves buried in Pomp, as I shall show anon, 'Tis a Subject that was never writ of before. yet no Man (till now) ' ere writ An Essay on his own Funeral; neither has— Any courteous Ghosts told this great Secrecy. What 'tis they are, and we must be— Mr. Norris. I have never met any one of those Million of Souls, that have passed into the other World, to learn from 'em what Death is; and therefore pnthe re-resenting myself Dead and buried nothing can be expected but mere conjecture. in the representing myself Dead and Buried when I am yet alive you can expect nothing but mere Conjecture; However I'll close my Eyes on this vain World, and dress out my Hearse in the best manner I can: I went Yesterday to Stepny-Church to to view the Graves of others, the better to prepare my Mind to write this Essay on my own Funeral; I spent about Five Hours among the Tombs; which tho' it be a Melancholy sight, yet has something in it proper to instruct the Living; In walking through What we may learn, by walking through a Churchyard, and by Viewing of Dead men's Sculls. a Churchyard (especially that of Stepny and Chiswick) we see a great number of Dead-mens-Sculls arranged one in Pile upon another, which puts us in mind of the Vanity and Arrogance wherewith other while they have been filled. We need but walk through a Church yard to see what is this Foolish Animal, Man. Here we see what we Magnify; what we call a King, a Duke, a Lord, even a little Warm and Walking Earth, that will be Ashes soon; we came into the World crying and squalling and We consume our Lives in driuling Infancy, in Ignorance Sleep, etc. so much of our Time's consumed in driuling Infancy, in Ignorance, Sleep, Disease, Trouble, that the remainder is not worth the being reared to; we see in walking through a Church yard how Time laughs us out of Greatness, and shuts up our wide designs in a Dark Narrow Room. Then what Midness is the Pomp, the Noise, Time shuts up our wids designs in a Dark Narrow-Room. the Splendour the Frantic Glory of this Foolish Life; we makeour selves Fools, to disport ourselves, and vary a Thousand antic ugly shapes of Folly and Madness; These fill up the Scenes and Empty Spaces of our Lives. Folly and Madness fill up the Empty Spaces of our Lives. The Thoughts of this, one would think, should abate our Pride and sensual Affections, for why should I be so Vain to Pride myself in outward Pomp, and Bravery; who within a few Hours may be a Dead Corpse carried in Procession— Methinks the Sight of a Funeral should humble the Proudest Man; or Proud Man, that thou mayst be humbled, The Sight of a Funeral should humble the Proudestman. Go to the dull Churchyard and see, Those Hillocks of Mortality? Where Proudest Man is only Found; By a small swelling of the Ground, Here Crowds of Rich Bodies are made Slaves to the Pick Axe and the Spade; Dig but a Foot or two to make A cold Bed for thy Dead Friends sake, 'Tis odds, but in that Scantling Boom, Thou robbst some Great Man of his Tomb And in thy Delving Smitest upon His Shinbone, or his Cranion— Some make a huge Noise in the World to have the Honour to fill out a more Splendid Epitaph. Such Lessons as these we may learn by viewing the Tombs of those who make a huge Noise in the World, that they may have the Honour to fill out a more Splendid Epitaph— And as a walk through a Church yard shows us the Uanity and End of all Worldly Grandeur, so it also shows us That Death is as Common as 'tis Ingrateful. Infants, as well as Men, daily can direct us in it; Witness every Churchyard, where are to be seen Graves of all Sizes. In every Churchyard are to be seen Graves of all Sizes. This Treasury of Death Survey. Where Young and Old like Tribute pay. See what Acquaintance thou canst Spy Amongst those Skulls; I prithee try: Man of Science, prithee show: Thy Darling Child, or Aged Foe. Mankind by thee alone are read: And knowst thou nothing of the Dead? No surely, nothing at all! for Alexander seeing Diogenes tumbling among Dead Bones, asked him what he sought? To whom the other Diogenes Tumbling among Dead-Bones. Answered, that which I cannot find. The difference between the Rich and the Poor— And as there be Graves of all Qualities and Sizes, so who can see 'em covered with Green Turf and withering Grass and forget he must die? Before we come into the Church we are presented with these Sights; A 7th part of our Time is set a part to put us in mind of dying. as if unfit to hear God's Word, until we are put in mind of Death; and this we are enjoined once in Seven Days, as if it 7th part of our Time were to be set apart, to put us in mind of dying— And happy are those Christians whom the sight of Funerals and Graves Rings a Peal in their Ears, of their own Dissolution, which (by most) is so little remembered, that 'tis become a saying, I thought no more on't then of my Dying Day; which tho' a wicked Expression, yet I fear there's a great deal of Truth in't, for myself must Confess,— That Living in a Country village, where a Burial was a Rarity, I never thought of Death, it was so seldom presented unto me; coming to London, where there is plenty of Funerals (so that Coffins and Corpse in the Grave Observations upon the Funerals in Country Villages, and upon those in London. justle for Elbow-Room, for so they do both at Stepney and Chiswick, and every Churchyard in this Populous Town) I Slighted and neglected Death, because grown an Object so constant, and Common— How soul is my Stomach to turn all Food into bad Humours? Funerals neither few nor frequent, work effectually on me; London is a Library of Mortality: Volumes of all Sorts and sizes, Rich and Poor, Infants, Children, Youth etc. daily die— I see there is more required to make a good Scholar, than only the having of many Books. Lord, I therefore wish, that thou wilt be my Schoolmaster, and teach me to Number my Days, that I may apply my Heart unto Wisdom: Thus Madam have I shown, what we may learn in a Churchyard (where you'll see me buried ' eat my Letter is finished) It teaches us the Vanity and End of all Worldly Grandeur.— What little A Churchyard gives me hints about my own Death, and fair warning to prepare for it. reason (such Worms as I) have to be Proud?— That Death is the Fate of all that come into this World (from the Man of 60 to the Infant that is just born) And in this Particular it reminds me of my own Death and the consequence of it, and therefore A walk to●a Church-yard, I thought the most likely thing to prepare my Mind to write an Essay on my own Funeral— And as a Churchyard gives me hints about my own Death, (and fair warning to prepare for it) so it also shows us the Folly of murmuring; that we are Mortal Creatures; for should I complain, that there shall be a Time, in the which I shall not be, I may as well repent that there was a Time in the which I was not; and so be grieved that I am We have to Reason to murmur that we are mortal Creatures no● Old as Adam had been had he lived to this present Year 1700; for not to have been 4000 Years before this Moment, is as much to be deplored as not to be 4000 Years after it: we know (something) what Death is by the Thought of that Time and Estate of ourselves which was ' ere we were; our Nephews have the same Reason to ●ex 〈◊〉 yes that, they 〈◊〉 not ●ung in our Days, which we have 〈◊〉, that we shall not be old in theirs; they who so re-went us, did give place unto us, and shall we grieve to give room to them who come after us? And I'm apt to think, there's nothing in Death itself that can affright us; 'tis only Fancy gives Death those hideous Shapes we think him in; 'tis the Saying of one, I fear not to be dead, yet am afraid to die; ' tho I don't see why we should be afraid of Death, (but as 'tis the inlet to What Life is.— Eternity) for Death is no more than a soft and easy Nothing.— Should you ask me then what is Life? I'd answer with Crates, who being asked this Question, said nothing, but turned him round and vanished, and 'twas judged a proper Answer Life's nothing but a dull repetition, What Death is.— a vain fantastic Dream, and there's an end on't— But what ever 'tis to live, sure I am (if you credit Seneca) 'tis no more to die 'tis only Fancygives Death those hideous Shapes we think him in.—— than to be born; we felt no pain coming into the World, nor shall we in the Act of leaving it. Death is but a ceasing to be what we were before we were, we are kindled and put out, to cease to be, and not to begin to be, is the same thing. I have met with one arguing thus. Death which is accounted the most dreadful of all Evils, is nothing to us, (saith he) because while we are in being, Death is not yet present; so that it neither concerns us as living nor dead; Epicurus in Gassend. Synt. for while we are alive, it hath not touched us, when we are dead, we are not. So that we look upon Death with our Eyes, not with our Reason, or we should find a certain Sweetness in Mortality, for that Essay on knowing our Friends in Heaven p. 87. can be no loss which can never be missed or desired again. But let Death be what it will, 'tis certain 'tis less troublesome than Sleep, for in Sleep, I may, have disquieting Pains, or Dreams, and yet I fear not going to bed. For Sleep gives us a sip of Joy, but Death the full draught. This is my Notion what DEATH is, but I can't be sure I ' ent mistaken, for my writing of my own Funeral shows I'm yet alive, or were I laid in my Grave, I should know as little what Death is as I do now, for dying deprives us of knowing what we are doing or what other state we are commenceing. 'tis a leap in the dark, not knowing where we shall light, as Mr. Hobbs told his inquisitive Friend when he was going to die. But ' tho I know so little what Death is, there have been Men, that have tried even in Death itself to relish and taste it, but (as I said before) there are none of them come back to tell us the News— Canius Julius endeavoured to make Trial what Death was that he might come again to acquaint his Friends with it.— — No one was ever, known to make, Who once in Death's cold Arms a Nap did take. Lucret. Lib. 3. Canius julius being condemned by that Beast Caligula, as he was going to receive the stroke of the Executioner, was asked by a Philosopher well Canius (said he) where about is your Soul now? what is she doing? what are you thinking of? Iwas thinking (〈◊〉 and the faculties of my mind settled and fixed, to try if in this short and quick instant of Death I could perceive the motion of the Soul when she starts from the Body, and what this passage is, and whether she has any resentment of the separation, that I may afterwards come again to acquaint my Fr●ends with it. But we don't read that Canius, after he was put to death, ever came to life again to acquaint his Friends what Death was. But ' tho he did not there be those that have, for my s●lf had once the Curiosity to visit two certain Persons, one had been hanged, & the other drowned, and both of them very miraculously brought to Life again. I asked Of two men that came to Life again after they had been hanged and drowned, with an account of what they felt in their dying. what Thoughts they had, and what Pains they were sensible of? The Person that was hanged, said, He expected some sort of a strange change, but knew not what; but the pangs of Death were not so intolerable as some sharp Diseases; nay he could not be positive whether he felt any other pain than what his fears exacted: He added, that he grew senseless by little and little, and at the first his Eyes represented a brisk shining red sort of Fire, which grew paler and paler, till at length it turned into a black; after which he thought no more, but insensibly acted the part of one that falls asleep, not knowing how, nor when. The other gave me almost the same Account, and both were dead (apparently) for a considerable Time. These Instances are very satisfactory in cases of violent Death; and for a natural Death, I cannot but think it much easier; diseases make a conquest of Life by Essay on knowing our Friends in Heaven p. 88 little and little, therefore the strife must be less where the in equality of power is greater. However, by these instances we see there is a certain way by which some Men make trial what Death is; but I never expect to know it, till I make the Experiment. But I do believe, if there be any evil in Death, it would appear to be for that Pain and Torment which we apprehend to arise on the breaking of those straight-bands which keep the Soul and Body together. But that the S●ght, Hearing, Smelling, Taste, leave us without Pain, and unawares, we know most certainly; and why should we not The Sight, Hearing, Sm●lling, Taste, leave us without Pain, and why should we not believe the same of Feeling.— believe the same of Feeling? But ' tho we can have no perfect Notion of Death, yet this we are sure, that Death is a profound sleep in which Nature lets itself fail insensibly, when she is tired with the disquiets of this Life. It is a Cessation of all those Services which the Soul renders to the Flesh. This is Death (as near as I can judge of it) And if Death be no more than this, I shan't shed one Tear at the Thoughts of my own Death, tho' I have shed many at the Death of others. I think the Thracians were much in the right, to weep when a Child was born, and to rejoice when it died. We also read that Lodowick Co●tusius, a Lawyer of Milan, forbidden to his Relations Tears and Lamentations by his Will, and desired that he might have Harper's Pipers, and all sorts of Music at his Funeral, who should partly go before partly follow the Corpse, leaving to every one of them a small sum of Mony. His Bier he ordered to be carried by 12 Virgins that being clad in Green were to sing all t● way such songs as Mirth brought to their remembrance; leaving to each a certain sum of Money instead of a Dowry. Thus was he buried in the Church of St. Sophia in Milan, accompanied with a hundred Attendants, together with all the A Lawyers merry Funeral. Clergy of the City (excepting those that wore Black) for such by his Will, he forbidden his Funeral; as it were, turning his Funeral Rites into a Marriage-Ceremony. I can't say how far such rejoicing as this is proper for a Funeral occasion, but this I declare, when I am once dead, I would not have my Friends lay it to heart. But however they may carry it towards my Dead-body, 'tis a comfort to me that I have no slavish Fears of Death.— I can be contented (when I'm fairly dead) to undergo the tedious conversation of Worms and Serpents, those greedy Tenants of the Grave, who will never be satisfied, till they have eat up the Ground-Landlord. By which it appears that The end of all other Creatures is less deformed than that of Man.—— We must not live in Sin, if we would not be afraid of Death. Plants, in their Death, retain some pleasing smell of their Bodies— The little Rose buries herself in her natural sweetness and Carnation Colour; only man's dead-Carkass is good for nothing but to feed Worms, and the Worms (●re long) will feed sweetly on me.— But tho' ●fter my Skin, Worms destroy this Body, yet in my flesh shall I see God; so that I am not solicitous how, or when I shall make my Exit, provided my Soul be happy, and my Body buried in that manner I shall anon describe, and therefore 'tis I'm writing— An Essay on my own Funeral— The Worms will feed sweetly on me, Job. 24. 20. I b. 19 26. why I am not terrified with the dismal kneels the Blocks and Hearses that attend Funerals. that I may bid farewell to the World before I leave it, that being in it, the World may see I would not be of it.— I would willingly set all things in order before Death comes; for the I am not much terrified with the Solitude and Darkness of Graves, (as they resemble my present Cell) nor with the Dismal Knell●, the Blacks and Hearses, etc. that attends Funerals; yet I must acknowledge, Death is a serious thing; for when a Man dies, he takes his solemn Leave of one World and g●es into another, where he never was yet, to receive his final Doom. The Dread of this made Oldham cry out in his last Sickness, Even I, who thought I could have been merry, in sight of my Coffin, and drunk a Health with the Se●ton in my own Grave, now tremble at the least Envoy of the King of Terrors; to see but the shaking of my Glass, makes me turn pale, and fear is like to prevent, and do the Work of my Distemper. 'Tis strange to see Men of such great Curiosity, so afraid of dying, for who would not be content to be a kind of Nothing for a Moment, to be within one Instant of a Spirit, and soaring through Oldham's Sunday-Thought in sickness p. 59 Regions he never saw, and yet is curious to behold.— But Conscience makes Cowards of us all; This made Lewis 2. so afraid of Death, that when he was sick, he forbidden any Man to speak of Death in his Court.— The wicked Liver ventures Eternity upon his last breath, and therefore Death (which lets him into it,) appears so ghastly.— But the Rays of the setting Sun are the fairest; and I desire to live in such a constant preparation for Death, that my life may not set Reflections on a Deathbed Repentance. in a Cloud, as they generally do, that crowd up Repentance into so narrow a room as a sickbed. Solomon saith, Man goeth to his long bome; short preparation will not fit so long a Journey. O let me not have my Oil to buy, when I am to burn it; they dreadfully mistake themselves that think a Man can live a Life of Holiness, when he is just a dying; and therefore when I come to d●e, I would have nothing to do but to die. For now I discover a Fallacy whereby I have long d●eived myself, which is this, I I desired to begin my Repentance from my Birthday. have desired to begin my amendment from my Birthday, or from the first Day of 〈◊〉 Year, or from some eminent Festival, that so my Repentance might bear some remarkable Date; but when those days were come, I have adjourned my Amendment to some other time. Thus whilst I ●on'd not agree with myself when to start, I have almost I adjourned my amendment to some other time lost the running of the Race. I am resolved thus to befool myself no longer, I see no time like to day. Grant, O Lord, that to day I may hear thy Voice. And if this day be obscure in the Calendar, and remarkable in itself for nothing else, give me to make it memorable in my Soul, by now beginning the Reformation of my Life.; Not that I allow myself in any known sin (none but an Atheist can do that) But Bishop ●her tells us, the best Man living does enough in the day to bring I'll delay 〈◊〉 no longer. ●im on his K●s at Night; and therefore I'd now be more concerned for my Soul then eye●, for having, loitered too much in my way to Heaven, I have no● a long Race to run by a s● B●h, a great way to go by a s●ing Sun. Yet I hope I should 〈◊〉 wholly despair if I 〈◊〉 but one moment left to repen●. I should not wholly despair, if I had but one moment left to repent in; for though our Lord says 'tis harder for a Richman ●o enter into Heaven then for a Camel to pass through a Needle's Eye; but yet he tells us, 'tis not Impossible for all that, and 'tis as hard for an old ●inner to enter into Heaven a for a Richman, and doubtless very hard for a Death bed, or momentary Repentance to obtain Salvation; because 'tis extremely dubious whether it can be real but yet, 'tis not Impossible; for, we see the Thief on the Cross was saved with one single act of it, exerted a moment ' jis as hard for an old sinner to enter into Heaven as a Richman before he died; that Example indeed is but one; but yet it shows us there may be, and is sometimes more, or else that Example would be to no purpose; and as it evidences on one side, that Continuation in sin is extreme dangerous, so on the other, it demonstrates that Dispair is still more so, and never to be entertained even at our latest Breath, for our Lord has declared at whatsoever time a sinner shall repent, he will receive him. But I would have no Man put off his Repentance, From this Minute I bid s●rewel to Covetousness, Pride, Ambition, etc. because God is merciful; for he that puts off his Repentance to another Day, as he has one day the less to repent in, so he has the loss Inclination for such a work; he that defers Repentance to a Death bed, 'tis a Thousand to one if he reputes at all: for besides, his aversion to such a work, his distemper may seize his Brain, or he may die suddenly, and for that Reason I● not run the hazard of a Deathbed Repentance, but do from this Minute bid farewell, to 〈◊〉, Pride, Ambition. etc. and all my beloved Sins, that so I may die with a good Conscience, and My Reason for making my Will. have nothing to trouble me when I'm leaving the World. And in order to this, I have made my Will, bequeathed my Soul into the hands of a Merciful God: And have (as you'll bear anon) given orders about my Funeral. And thus your Lady 〈◊〉 s●s, what a Melancholy thing it is for a Man to I'm here burying myself in Effigy.— Write of his own Death, especially if he● in Health, and strength; for methinks now I'm as 'twere Burying myself in 〈◊〉, I mean attending my own Corpse to the Grave.— 'Tis the last Office of love 〈◊〉 a Friend: and sure I am, I can follow the Corpse of none (except Valeria) that I love better. I live now where the The weekly Bill of Mortality never less than 200. in the most Healthful-Times— Bells can scarce solemnize the Funeral of any Person, but that I knew him, or knew that he was my Neighbour; and when these Bells tell me, that now one, and now another is buried, must not I acknowledge, that they have the Correction due to me, and paid 〈◊〉 Debt that I owe. In the most healthful Times, Two hundred and upwards w● 〈◊〉 constant weekly Tribute paid to Mortality in London. A large Bill 〈◊〉 it must be dis●ged: Can one City spend according to this weekly rate, and not be Bank● of People? At leastwise must not my Shot be called for to make up the Reckoning? Seven Young Men yearly taken out of Athens to be devoured by the Monster Minotaur. When only Seven young 〈◊〉, and those chosen by 〈◊〉, were but yearly taken out of Athens, to be devoured by the Monster Minotaur, the whole City was in a constant fright; Children for themselves, and Parents for their Children; yea, their escaping of the first, was but an introduction to the next Tears Lottery. Were the Dwellers and Lodgers in London-weekly to cast Lots, who should make up this 200, how would every one be affrighted? Now None regard it, my security concludes the afore said Number will consist of Infants and Old-Folk; Few Men of middle-Age, and amidst them surely not myself: But oh is not this putting the Evil-day far from me, the ready way to bring it the nearest to me? The Lot is Weekly drawn (though not by me) for me; I am therefore concerned seriously to provide, left that Death's Prize prove my Blank; for the Were the Dwellers. in London weekly to cast Lots who should makeup the Bill of Mortality, they would be all affrighted. Bells tell me (as I hinted-before) that now one, and now another is buried; and must not I acknowledge, that they have the Correction due to me, and paid the Debt that I own?—; 1. Hark! how chimes the Passing-Bell! There's no Music to a Knell; All the other Sounds we hear, Flatter, and but Cheat our Ear 2. This doth put us still in mind, That our Flesh must be resigned; And a general silence made, The World be Tenant to a Shade. 3. This Bell calls our Holy Groan. A loud Echo to this Tone; He that on his Pillow lies, Half Embalmed before he Dies; Carries (like a Sheep) his Life To meet the Sacrificers Knife. And for Eternity is pressed, Sad Bell-wether to the rest. But is this Sound a Passing-Bell? Then to Eternity farewell! Poor Soul, whose doom one Hour shall show, Eternal Bliss, or Endless Woe! If Virtues Laws thou hast despised, How would that Virtue now be prized! Or say, thou didst in our lose Age, On her forsaken side engage; Wouldst thou the dear Remembrance now, For the World's Monarchy forego? What other Medicine canst thou 〈◊〉, T'assuage the FEVER in thy Mind? Now, ' wakened Conscience speaks at large, And Envious Fiends enhance the Charge! Let the Bold Atheist now draw near, And try thy drooping Heart to cheer: His briskest Wine and Wit to thee, Will now alike insipid be. In Death's arrest, the Hector's Sword, As little Service can afford; Who hopes for rescue here, will fail, And the grim Sergeant takes not Bail. Once hearing one of these Passing-Bells Ring, I prayed that the Sick-man might have, through Christ. 〈◊〉 safe Voyage to his long Home. Afterwards The Tolling of the Bell has, through mistake, made me Pray for Persons that were departed this life. I understood that the Party was Dead some Hours before; and it seems in some Places of London, the tolling of the Bell is but a Preface of course to the ringing it out. Bells are better silent than thus telling Lies. What is this, but giving a false Alarm to men's Devotions, to make them to be ready armed with their Prayers, for the assistance of such who have already fought the good fight, and gotten the Conquest? Not to say, that men's Charity herein may be suspected of Superstition in praying for the Dead; However my Heart thus poured out, was not spilt on the Ground. My Prayers too late ●o do him good, came soon enough to speak my good will. What I freely tendered, God took according to the Integrity of my Intention. The Party I hope is in Abraham's, men's Charity herein may be suspected of Superstition in praying for the Dead. Bosom, and my Prayers are returned into my own— But ' tho sometimes the Bells mistad my Devotion, and I may pray perhaps for a Dead-Neighbour, yet Passing-Bells are of great use; for— The PASSING-BELL ringing, calls me into God's Church, to hear and learn, and to pray for the departing Soul; the Grave being digged, warns me to prepare for Sickness and Death; and passing by the Tombs of my dead Friends; puts me in mind that e'er long I must come to ' 'em. Having these frequent warnings of my own Death, I often think with myself, What Use we should make of the Passing-Bell. what Disease I would be best contented to die of; none please me. The Stone, the Colic, terrible as expected, intolerable when felt. The Palsy is Death before Death. The Consumption a flattering Disease, cozening Men into hope of long life at the last Gasp. Some Sicknesses besot, others enrage Men, some are too swift, and others too slow. If I could as easily decline Diseases as I could dislike 'em, I should be Immortal. But away with these Thoughts. The Mark must not choose what Arrow will be shot against it. What God sends, I must receive.— May I not be so curious to know what Weapon shall wound me, as careful to provide the Plaster of Patience against it! And surely I shall need Patience on a Sick Bed; for if I'm seized with a Fever, I fear I shall rave and rage, Oh whither What Disease I would be best contented to die of. will my Mind sail, when Distempers shall steer it? Whither will my Fancy run, when Diseases shall ride it? My Tongue, which of itself is a Fire, (Jam. 3. 6.) sure will be a Wildfire, when the Furnace of my Mouth is made seven times hotter with a burning Fever. But Lord, ' though I should talk idly to my own shame, let me not talk wickedly to thy Dishonour. Teach me the Art of Patience whilst I am well, and give me the use of it when I am sick. Commonly that Sickness seizes Men which they least suspect. In that day, either lighten my Burden, or strengthen my Back: Make me, who so often in my Health have discovered my Weakness, presuming on my own strength, to be strong in sickness when▪ I solely rely on thy assistance— But though I mention a Fever, at 'tis a Distemper I most dread, yet 'tis a great Question whether that Disease be to end 〈◊〉 Days. For 'tis commonly seen, That Sickness seizeth on Men, which they least suspect. He that expects to be burnt with a Fever may be drowned with a Dropsy; and she that fears to be Seeing there, be many. Ways out of the, World, I bless God that I can die but once. swelled with a Tympany, may be ●el'd with a Consumption. I might mention a thousand other Diseases, which unexpectedly may seize upon us. Then seeing there be so many Ways out of the World, and but one into it; I bless my God that 〈◊〉 die but once,; and once I must know what that CHANGE means— For in vain we take Momp●er-Air In hopes to leave the Thoughts of 〈◊〉 there. And as I must die, so, If I don't mistake the Disease, I shall die of, (for I expect to die of the Stone) my weary Pilgrimage on Earth is almost finished; so that my own Funeral is a proper Subject to employ my Thoughts, and Men of a stronger My own Funeral is a proper Subject to Employ my Thoughts Body than I (●till they get a Lease of their Lives) will do well to consider, That they have no continuing City here. Then, Healthful Man, why shouldst thou take such care! To lengthen out thy Live's short Calendar; Each Dropping Season, and each Flower doth cry, Fool, as I fade and whither, thou must die. The beating of thy Pulse, when thou art well, Is but the tolling of thy Passing-Bell. Night is thy Hearse, whose Sable-Canopy, Covers alike Deceased Day and thee: And all those weeping Dews which nightly fall, Are but as Tears shed for thy Funeral. Thus you see, (Madam) that Death no more spares the Strong and Heathful, than he that is always sickl●, but that we are all Pilgrims and Strangers o● Earth, as our Fathers were before us— On this Condition came we into the World, that we should leave it again, and therefore Anaxagoras having word Bona's saying upon the hearing of a Clock strike. brought him his only Son was dead, his Answer was, I know he was born to die. And BONA every time he heard the Clock strike, would say, Now I have one Hour less to live: I can't say Death is so often in my thoughts, that I should cry every Hour, I am so much nearer the Grave; yet I may say a● often as I view the Hourglass, and consider the swiftness of Time, that I desire to ●ie Tears with her Grains of Sands, that I might daily lament, that I've lived to no better purpose, and am so little affected with the Death of others. And as the consideration of the Death of others should remind me of my own, so I hope a sight of my GRAVE will make Riches (and what else I have doted on) to appear in their own Nature as things of nothing, in comparison of those above; and as I go still Riches, Plays, Beauty, etc. have their value from our estimation of ' 'em. nearer, the nearer, they seem unpleasanter; (the Fashion of this World 〈◊〉 aways) And I now perceive that Riches, Paintings, jewels, Songs, Plays, Beauty, etc. had their value to me, merely from mine own Estimation, which now I begin to take off, and look more intently on them. They begin to vanish like Castles in the Clouds, which are not there indeed, but in our Imagination only— And, as the Thoughts of my Death, should wean me from this World: so I perceive that the Egyptians found that the Sight of a Funeral was of great efficacy to this purpose, and therefore at Rich-Mens-Banquets, one went round about A piece of Timber wrought like the Carcase of a dead Man, attended with a Train of Mourners. the Table with a piece of Timber, wrought like the Carcase of a dead Man, attended with a Train of Mourners, and he spoke thus. Oh 〈◊〉 that eat so ●avourly, behold this Image, for even so shall ye shortly become. Till we have thus conquered the fear of Death, every spectacle of Mortality terrifies us; into what a Dump did the sight of Cyrus● Tomb strike the Mind of the great Alexander: But thus to fear Death, is always to live in the pangs of Death; for most true it is, Fear is more Pain than Pain; there is no 〈◊〉 in Death itself, like those in the Way, or Prologue to it. Then considering the Miseries of Humane Life, I wonder any should be afraid of Death▪ 'tis said of 〈◊〉, a Man of great Integrity, that he gave one the option of Life or Death, who told him he had 〈◊〉 The sight of Cyrus his Tomb terrified the Mind of the great Alexander. die again than live again, and certainly (as Frederick the Emperor was wont to say) The best thing in the World could happen to a Man, is to have a good going out of it. I believe he spoke as he thought, for the wearied Man desires the Bed, the languishing Man ●he Grave both would fain be at rest. I find this verified in my own Person: for being always followed with one Disease or other, I am so Zealous for a Passage out of this World, that I now take my leave of every Place I depart from, and think of nothing but dying: I have already purchased a Grave, where I intent to be buried, and took upon it the only sure Possession I have in this World: Of one who being put to his choice, would rather die than live. World, All that I 〈◊〉 of thee living, is a Grave when I'm dead; neither would I (〈◊〉 ' ●is the Bed where my Iris Sleeps) exchange it for the Manor of Sampsil. In this I follow the Example of Father Abraham, for see how he beginneth to possess the World, by no Land, pasture, or Arable Lordship; the First Thing is a Grave; he was so far from coveting this World, that he minded nothing but the purchase of a Burying-place, and that he might not be disappointed of it, he paid down the Money demanded of the Seller, currant Money among the Merchants. Why I purchased a Grave. and would not exchange it for the Manor of Sampsil. Of an Irish Bp. that would be buried near the Gallows. Most Men (says Dr Fuller) have been careful for the decent Interment of their 〈◊〉; few are of the Mind of Arbagastus an Irish Saint, and Bishop of Spires, who would be buried near the Gallows, in imitation of our Saviour, whose Grave was on Mount Calvary, near the place of Execution. Yet after all, it must be confessed, to want a Grave is the Cruelty of the Livine, not the Misery of the Dead. An English Gentleman not long since did lie on his Deathbed in Spain, and the Jesuits did flock about him to pervert him to their Religion; all was in vain, their last Argument was, If you will not turn Roman Catholic, then your Body shall be unburied; then (Answered he) I'll stink, and so turned his Head and died. Thus Love, if not to the Dead, to the Living, will make him, if not a Grave, a Hole, and it was the Beggar's Epitaph. Naked I lived, but being Dead, Now behold I'm covered. Let us be careful to provide rest for our Souls, for our Bodies (when Dead) A Gentleman threatened to be unburied if he would not turn Roman Catholic. The Beggar's Epitaph. will provide Rest for themselves. Having proceeded so far towards my own Funeral, as to secure six foot of Ground (if the Grave-maker don't cheat me) and having shaken Hands with my Friends and this v●in World. Being approached thus near towards my End, methinks now all my Worldly Cares are drawing to their Period, and 'twon't be long before I shall reach that happy Shore where Iris is already landed. Seeing then I am falling towards mine Harbour (and for a sight of her who died praying for my Eternal Welfare) methinks I even long till Death has wafted me to those bright Regions▪ where she is. If I e●t mistaken, I could rejoice to see the Bearers that must carry me to her Grave, and should triumph (could the Dead speak) when I'm tumbled into it. It even now sweetens the Thoughts of Heaven to me, to think I shall one day see her there; which if I do, With what Ardours shall we then caress one another! with what Transports of Divine Affection shall we mutually embrace, Essay on knowning our Friends. in Heaven. p. 16. and vent those Innocent Flames which had so long lain smothering in the Grave! How passionately Rhetorical and Elegant, will our Expressions be, when our tender Sentiments, which Death had frozen up, when he congealed our Blood, shall now be thawed again in the warm Airs of Paradise. Like Men that have escaped a common Ship wreck, and swim safe to the Shoar, shall we there congratulate each other with Joy and Wonder. What Extafies I should be in, upon seeing Iris again. Then how pleased am I to think my Ashes will shortly be mingled with her●, who loved me more than her own Life! For it rejoiced Iris to think she should die fi●st, and that she should live in me so long as I lived. And when we died, 'twas our mutual de●te to sleep together in the same Grave, where (as she expressed it) we shall be still happy together, if a senseless Happiness can be called so.— My Body can't Death, the Journey to her, is dark and melan. choly. fail of being Happy, if it sleeps with Iris! And for my 〈◊〉, I wish it no other Felicity, when she hath shaken off these Rags of Flesh, than to ascend to her, and to enjoy the same Bliss. Then cast off this ROBE of CLAY, my Soul, and fly to overtake her; 'tis true, DEATH, the Journey to her, is. Dark and Melancholy, but 'tis a Comfort to think that the He forgets that he can die who complains of misery. first Day of our Jubilee is DEATH: He forgets that, he can die, who complains of Misery. And therefore one petitioning NERO that he might be executed, his Answer was, Man, why art thou not dead already, when Death is in thy own Power? We are in the Power of no Calamity while Death is in our own. Death is the Cure of all Diseases— Thus (Madam) you see what Improvement I make of my DEATH and FUNERAL, and that I do what I can to secure a GRAVE; for why should I be unwilling to go to that Bed which my Blessed Lord hath perfumed with his own Body, and is now become the Dormitories of the Saints. 1. Then thou-that hast conversed with God and Death, In Speculation, shall thy Breath Unwillingly expire into his Hand, That comes to fetch it by Command From God that made thee? Art thou loath to be Possessed of thy Felicity, Because thy Guide looks pale, and must Convey thy Flesh to Dust? Though that to Worms converted be, What is all this to thee? 2. Thou shalt not Feel Death's Sting, but instant have Full joys and Triumph o'er the Grave: Where thy long-loved Companion flesh, shall rest, Until it ●e refined, new dressed For thy next Wearing in that Holy Place, That Heaven, where thou shalt Face to Face, With Saints and Angels, daily see Thy God, and ever be Replenished with Celestial Bliss: Oh my Soul, think still on this.— when I am in my Grave, my own Worms, like the false Servants of The Grave is the Dormitories of the Saints. some great Men, shall devour me; yet when my poor Corpse is mixed with common Dust, it shall sleep safely with the Dear Eliza. Then grant, O Lord, that as I am thus laid in my Grave by thy Sergeant Death, so I may be raised again by the quickening Power of thy Son's Resurrection, and be conducted by one of thy glorious Messengers to the Gates of Heaven. In this manner do I ponder on my Death and FUNERAL. But whether I consider Why I ought to prepare for a speedy death. my own Funeral, or the Funeral of others, I have Reason to prepare for a speedy DEATH, and the Consequence of it: 'Twas Plato's Opinion, That the Wise-man's Life was the Meditation of Death. But Man, in his Travails often measures his Grave, yet is forgetful of His End; seven Foot is his Dimension, yet most Men live in that security, as if that small scantling had a perpetual extension: But that my DEATH may not seem further off than-indeed it is, I will daily expect it; ' it were madness to think I should never arrive at that to which I am every minute going. Every Thought I have is a Sand running out of the Glass of Life. Then surely he is dead already that does not look for Death. How stupid are we to think so little of DYING, when not only the DEATH of men, but every thing else dies, to show us the Way. Sweet Day so cool, so calm, so bright, The ●ridal of the Earth and Sky, The Dew shall weep thy fall to Night; For thou must die. Sweet Rose, whose hue angry and brave, Bids the rash Gazer wipe his Buy. Thy Root is ever in its Grave, And thou must die. Sweet Spring, full of sweet Days and Roses, A Box where Sweets compacted lie, My Music shows ye have your Closes, And all must die. There may be News of my Funeral before I can finish my Essay upon it. Only a sweet and Virtuous Soul, Like seasoned Timber never gives; But though the whole World turn to Coal, Then chief lives.— Herbert. Besides the warning I have of my own DEATH, in the death of every thing I meet abroad; that I might want no warning when I go to SLEEP (which is a Death in Scripture is compared to Sleep. kind of dying too): What is my BED, but as it were a Passing-bell to remember me every four and twenty Hours of my Mortality, and that the Grave must speedily be my Bed, a Clod my Pillow, and the Mould and Worms my Covering. When I put off my Shirt, it puts me in mind of my Winding-sheet and last My Night-Prayer, &c may be resembled to making my Will. Shroud, that must cover me when I sleep under ground. Death in Scripture is compared to Sleep. Well then may my Night Prayer be resembled to making my Will. I will be careful not to die intestate; as also not to defer my Will-making, till I am not compos mentis, till the Lethargy of drowsiness seizes upon me; but being in perfect Memory, I bequeath my Soul to God; the rather, because I am sure the Devil will accuse me when sleeping. Oh the advantage of Spirits above Bodies! If our Clay Cottage be not cooled with Rest, the Roof falls The Devil will accuse me when sleeping. a Fire. Satan hath no such need: The Night is his fittest time, Rev. 12. 10. Thus Man's Vacation is the Terms for the Beasts of the Forest, they move most whilst he lies quiet in his Bed. Lest therefore, whilst sleeping, I be Outlawed for want of appearance to Satan's Charge, I commit my Cause to him, who An Appearance to Satan's Charge. Lying along is an improper Posture for Piety. neither slumbers nor sleeps: Answer for me, oh my God. I would not by this Expression be so understood as if I might defer my Night Prayer till I'm in Bed. This lying along is an improper posture for Piety Indeed there is no Contrivance of our Body, but some good Man in Scripture hath hanfeled it with Prayer, The Publican standing, job sitting, Hezekiah lying on his Bed, Elijah, with his Face between his Legs; but of all Postures, give me St. Paul's. For this cause I bow my Knees to the Father of my Lord Jesus Christ. Knees when they may, they must be hended. I have read a Copy of a grant of liberty from Queen Mary to Henry Ratcliff Earl of Sussex, giving him leave to wear a Night Cap or Coif in her Majesty's presence, counted a great Favour because of his Infirmity: Job. 18. 1 Kings 28. 42. Eph. 3. 14. Weavers Fun. Mon. p. 63. I know in case of necessity, God would graciously accept my Devotion, bound down in a sick-dressing; but now whilst I am in perfect Health, it is inexcusable; Christ commanded some to take up their Bed, in token of their full Recovery; my Laziness may suspect lest thus my Bed taking me up, prove a presage of my ensuing Sickness. Then Blessed Lord, pardon the former Idleness of my Night-Devotion, and I will never more offend thee in the same kind. In case of Necessity, God will accept my Devotion bound down in a Sick-Dressing. And thus my Bed, my Sleep, and every thing else, proclaims Death is on his March towards me. And, seeing my Sand runs faster than my Ink, your Ladyship may have News of my Funeral before I can finish this Essay upon it.— How soon doth Man decay! When Clothes are taken from a Chest of Sweets, To swadle Infants, whose young Breath, Scarce knows the way: Those Clouts are little Winding-sheets, Which do consign and send them unto Death. When Boys go first to Bed, They step into their voluntary Graves; Sleep binds them fast, only their Breath Makes them not dead: Successive Nights like rolling Waves, Convey them quickly, who are bound for Death. When Youth is frank and free, And calls for Music, while his Veins do swell, All Day exchanging Mirth and Breath, In Company; That Music summons to the Knel, Which shall befriend him at the House of Death. When Man grows stayed and wise, Getting a House and Home, where he may move, Within the Circle of his Breath, Schooling his Eyes; That dumb Enclosure maketh Love, Unto the COFFIN that attends his death. When Age grows lo● and weak, Marking his Grave, and thawing every Year, Till all do melt and drown his Breath, When he would speak: A Chair or Litter shows the Bier, Which shall convey him to the House of Death. Man, ere he is ware, Hath put together a Solemnity, And dressed his Hearse, while he hath Breath, I'm here ringing my own Passing-Bell. That 'Tis impossible for a man to write of his own Funeral whilst he's living. As yet to spare: Yet Lord, instruct us so to die, That all these Die may be life in Death.—— Herbert. Or had I not these Warnings of Death (in the several Stages of Life) yet I have such a Crazy Body, as daily puts me in mind of my Grave; and I'm now (by writing an Essay upon my own Funeral) as 'twere ringing my own Passing-Bell. But perhaps you'll say, How can you write of your own Funeral when you are yet alive? And were you dead, you'd be less able to handle your Pen, as much at you love scribbling.— Why, Madam, I am dead; but don't be frighted that I appear again in this White Sheet: For though I'm dead— 'Tis thus dead; I was born seemingly dead I was born seemingly dead. ('twas thought I was lugged out of my natural CELL into my Grave) and I could have been content had I had no more than the Register or Sexton, to tell the World that I had ever been. However I may venture to say that from the first laying of these Muddwalls in my conception, they have moldred away, and the whole course of Life is but an active Death; nay, every Meal we eat, is as it were a Ransom from one Death, and lays up for another; and while we think The whole Course of Life is but an active Death. a Thought, we die, for the Clock strikes, and reckons on our Portion of Eternity; nay, we even form our Words with the Breath of our Nostrils, and we have the less time to live (waned we dead already) Eor every word we speak: I say it again, uva ned we dead already, for Anaxagoras undertook to prove what 〈◊〉 we call Life is actual Death, and that what we call Death is Life— And as I am dead, (as dead as I've here described) so if I take a view of my My Father, Mother, etc. and most of my Friends are dead. Generation and Friends about me (though I enjoy them a while) I find at last they follow the necessity of their Generation, and are finally removed, some by Age, some by Sickness, and some by casualty; what, a Bubble! what, a nothing! What a wink of Life is Man! Most of my Friends are gone, and all by Death: My Father is gone in one Friend my Mother in another, Dear Ben in another Daphne, (the MATCHLESS DAPHNE) in another; Harris in another Showden in another, and S. Darker in another, the Delight of mine Eyes, the pleasure of my Ears, the Fellow of my Bed.— The Servants of my House, my old Schoolfellows, are either all gone, or much impaired. Time was their Race, but newly was begun, Whose Glass is run. They on the Troubled Sea were heretofore, ' Thomas now on Shore. And 'tis not long before it will be said, Of me as 'tis of them, Alas he's dead.— Now when I consider the Diminution I daily suffer in this kind, methinks I stand (as Aaron once did in the Camp) betwixt the Living and the Dead; and while I reflect on myself, I find I so participate of both, that I am indeed but half alive and half dead, for half my Body (by reason▪ of the Stone, &c) is dead, and hath already taken Seizing of the Grave for me: And (as I hinted before) I'm half alive and half dead. Five Parts of my Relations are dead the Companion also, and Fellows of my Apprenticeship, are gone before: So that if I would adhere to the greater number (as Many so in Factions) I must repair to the Dead, if I ened with 'em already; for my Habitation (My own Body) moulders apace, and the very top and Cover (my THATCH above) turns Colour, grows Grey, and withers. But tho' my Friends are dead, (and I'm dying apace myself) yet I am so much My Body moulders. apace. the same with my Reverend Father (which I dare not say of the other Persons I have here mentioned) that he cannot die whilst I am alive. THE youthful Blood that beat the winding Maze Within your Veins, gave length unto my Days; The active Heat distilled a crimson Dew Through those warm Limbecks, and made Me of you: That to such full proportion I am grown, People do still Me for Your Figure own: Then since I have derived a part from Thee. Thou canst not die, whilst Thou hast part in Me. Thus Sabina, having given you some general thoughts on my Death and Funeral, I shall next, lay myself out for Dead (for I'm now supposing what will I'm now laying myself out for Dead. happen one time or other)— And now when my Breath is gone, my Eyes closed, the Bell tolled, and my Body coffined up for the Grave, where would I have my Soul, whether in Heaven, or in Hell?— Sure not in Hell, lest I should want Lazarus to cool my Tongue, but in Heaven where there be Rivers of Pleasures, etc.— I thus descend to a particular Application of Death to myself, for the common No fight so terrible as to see a man breathing his last. sounds of Death-post's through our Ears without any stop, whereas the seeing a Dead Friend, the Spectacle thereof by a self Application Inns even in our Hearts. Much more than should the Representation of our own Deaths affect us, for there's no sight more Terrible then to see a Man breathing his last, but— It must be done (my Soul) tho' 'tis a strange A dismal and mysterious change, When thou shalt leave this Tenement of Clay, And to an unknown Somewhere wing away; When Time shall be Eternity, and thou (how. Shalt be thou knowst not what, and live thou knowst not When Life's close Knot, by Writ from Destiny, Disease shall cut, or Age untie; When after some delays, some dying strife, The Soul stands shivering on the ridge of Life; With what a dreadful curiosity Does she launch out into the Sea of vast Eternity.— Norris My Soul and Body (Two old Friends) being now parting, methinks I see how The parting of Soul and Body. my Mind would fain utter itself and cannot, for Respiration, or Breathing, is thus performed— The outward Air is drawn in by the vocal Artery, and sent by the mediation of the Midriff to the Lungs, which dilating themselves as a pair of Bellows, reciprocally fetch it in, and send it out to the Heart to cool it: and from thence, now being ho●, convey it again, still taking in fresh; but How the Body is encoldned to a Fashionable Clay. these Organs being now quite disabled, the Spirits shrink inward, and retire to the vanquished Heart, as if like Sons pressed from an Indulgent-Father, they would come for a sad Farewell, while that in the mean time pants with affrighting pangs, and the hands and feet, being the most remote from it, are by degrees encoldned to a Fashionable Clay, as if Death crept in at the Nails and by an insensible surprise suffocated the environed Heart. Curiously didst thou make me (saith David) in the lowest parts of the Earth; but now to see those Elements which compounded made the Body, to see them thus divided, and the Man dissolved, is a rueful fight— And now methinks I see all my Friends like conduits dropping Tears about me, while I neither know my wants, nor they my cure.— Nay now my very Doctor (tho' the most able Physician I know in London) stands as one that ga●es at a Comet, which he can reach with nothing but his Eye alone.— To see The Doctor knows not what to prescribe. all this happen to one whose Conversation has endeared him to us, is very dreadful:— Oh the Pangs I felt when Iris was breathing her last! for even then she lay uttering such Expressions as these. I'll love thee as long as I live— Thou art a dear Child to me— I pray God bless my Dear Yok-fellow, and give him Grace— I pray thee give him grace to live so here, as he may live What's meant by a Lightning before Death. with thee hereafter.— And all this she uttered at the Time when she was actualy dying— Which we found to be a Lightning before Death; 'tis observed of sick Persons, that a little before they die their Pains leave them, and their Understanding and Memory retuns to them; as a Candle just before it goes out, gives a great Blaze. This is what is called a Lightning before Death, Iris had a kind of Draught presented to her of those Heavenly j● she was going to possess. And this was Iris Case; for tho' she was now within a few Minutes of breathing her last; yet 'tis clear by the Prayer she then made, that she was very sensible of what she said, even so sensible, that she was now in joyful Raptures, and expressed a kind of impatience till she was dissolved. And why, because she spiritually saw what she could not utter; doubtless she had a kind of Draught presented to her by her Guardian Angel, of those Heavenly Joys she was almost ready to enter in possession of, and therefore she now prayed more earnestly than ever, and even longs till she's conveyed by Angels into Abraham's Bosom, which was now in a little time; for she had no sooner ended her Prayer, but DEATH seizes upon her: Thus— DEATH that on Humane Flesh doth use to feed, With Time and Sickness, two bold Thiefs, agreed To rob a House, and e'er the Break of Day, To steal the Treasure of POOR JOHN, away; Siekness took foot, but time went on apace. DEATH came behind; all come unto the Place. TIME stays without, Sickness would fain begin; DEATH watched a time, and after was let in, For Sickness faint, when he should stop her Breath, DEATH stole upon her, Sickness suffered Death: DEATH had no sooner fixed his Dart into her, But Hue and Cries pursue the Murderer; The Noise was heard, and TIME ran fast away, Sickness no longer had the Heart to stay. Death could not surprise Iris. DEATH, with his Prey straight hid him underground, Not since by any living Creature found. And now the PALE Murderer has done his worst, but 'tis my Comfort to think, he could not surprise Iris, as Theevishly as he stole upon her, for she She had assurance of Heaven. Iris loved me and not my Fortunes, and God blest our marriage. We took each other for Richer for Poorer. was Ripe for Heaven, and had long expected him, which made her often say, Were my Work now to do, I were undone forever— Madam you may think me tedious on this Head; but I can't think so myself, for Iris loved me, and thought her Heart not enough to give me, and as she loved me and not my Fortunes, so God blest our Marriage accordingly; for there was an even Thread of Endearment run through all we said or did, for the Fifteen Years we lived together, there never passed one angry Word— No disappointments (though we met with many) did ever lessen this growing Affection. Iris could not bear to see me dejected, and heard of my Losses with only saying, God will provide. She never railed at Providence, as they do who abuse their Friends for not being successful. We took each other— For Richer for Poorer; and therefore all our distresses of Body and Mind were so equally divided, that all hers were mine and all mine were hers; and though Death has now stole her from me, yet such a kind and generous Wife can die but half, Whilst I'm preserved— And as for my present Spouse, though she has been so Hungry as to fall in Love with her Jointure, Ir●s can die but half whilst I am preserved. yet I still think, could she love as I do, she'd have no other Wish but me; I inser this from my former Experience, for when Iris and I were throughly Endeared by a mutual confidence, compliance, and long Experience of each others Love, No Jointure could part us; and had we lost all the World (but one another) Had we lost all but one another we had still been happy we had still been happy. I'm sure had she enjoyed 'em, (or my occasions required 'em) she'd have dealt out Kingdoms to me without tiring— Her Sympathy with me in all the Distresses of my Life, makes her Virtues shine with the greater Lustre, as Stars in the darkest Night— Like the Gloe-Worm (the Emblem of true Friendship) she still shined to me in the Dark; and tho' this concern for me was no more than her Duty, yet to requite her Love I made her my sole Executrix, that I might give at the rate I loved her, and was scarce contented with giving all— I made Iris my sole Executrix, and shall be as kind to Valeria when she grows obliging. Valeria falls in love with her Jointure. Iris leads me from the Description of my own Death. I'm loath to give her the last Beck'n of Farewell. And I'll be as kind to Valeria (when like Iris) she thinks my Ease and Credit preferable to House and Land. But whether does Iris lead me from the description of my own Death? But, Madam, you can excuse it, for 'tis to show how loath I am to give her the last beck'n of Farewell. The best of Wives, and my truest Friend is but part of her Character, and I can't part with such a Treasure in post-haste— Part! bless me! how it sounds? The very Word is as Dagger thrust into my Heart; and now it comes to the push, I can't bear the Thoughts on't. That very Voice that did her Sickness tell, Struck like a Midnight Chime or Knell: At every Sound, I took into my Sense a Wound. 'Tis true, we first came together to help and prepare one another for Death, but now Death has snatched her from me; I am fainting away, methinks I feel already the Terments to which a Heart is exposed that loses what it loves. Thus the loving Hota followed her Husband to the Grave, laid him in a stately Tomb, and then for Nine Days together, she would neither Eat nor Drink, whereof she died, and was buried (as she had ordered in her last Will) by the side of her beloved Husband. He first deceased; she for a few Days tried To live without him; like d it not, and died. 1. Thus let me weep, weep out mine Eyes Upon the Tomb where Iris lies Embalmed and enshrined. Let not my Senses lead me home, And leave dear Iris in the Tomb. Why should I stay behind? We came together to prepare one another for Death. The sight of her, Dead Body makes me faint away. Iris as happy as Heaven can make her. 2. What Hope have I of Life or Bliss, Under so dire a Fate as this? What's Man without a Heart? There was but one 'twixt she and And that away from me did flee, (me, When hence she did departed. 3. And though the life of Sense I kept, 'Twere better in the Urn I slept; For sleeping there, I rest. And then my Heart and I should be Cemented in tranquillity; And both for ever blest. But though I've Reason thus to grieve for my Dear Iris (except Valeria would make me happy by despising the World). Yet I would not weep as one without hope. For the time is short, and therefore it remaineth that they that have Wives be as though they had none. And they that Weep as though they wept not— For the Fashion of this World passeth away— David fasted and Prayed for his Sick Son, that his Life might be prolonged. But when he was dead, this Consideration comforted him. I shall go to him, but he shall not return to me, 2 Sam. 12 13. And this likewise should comfort me under the loss of Iris, to think she is gone to Heaven and that if I die in Christ, I shall go to her, but this she could not do but by dying, which makes me the easier forgive Death for the Treasure he has stole from me, and my next comfort to her being in Heaven, is to think in what a triumphant Iris Triumphant Death is like the putting out of a prefumed Candle.— manner she went thither—. In a painful Sickness of near Forty Weeks, she never once repined at it, but would still say God had dealt tenderly with her, and that she was wholly resigned to his Will. Then certainly the Death of such a Good Wife is like the putting out of a Wax-perfumed Candle, she in some measure) recompenses the loss of Life with the sweet Odour she leaves behind her. — All must to their cold Graves; But the Religious Actions of the Just Smell sweet, in Death, and Blossom in the Dust. In a Word, Iris both in her Life and Death was like a Rose in June, which (though dead and dry) preserves a pleasing Sweetness, and for that Reason Her Life was a continued Act of Piety. was strewed by the Ancients upon their Kindred's Graves— 'Twas but reasonable to think that a Life which was one continued Act of Piety should have a joyful and happy ending.— And as Iris died in this Triumphant manner, and with uttering such Expressions as I have here mentioned, So I desire I may expire with these Words: ETernal and everliving God, I'm now drawing near the Gates of Death, and which is infinitely more terrible, the Bar of thy Judgement; oh Lord when I consider this, my My last Prayer. Flesh trembleth for fear of thee and my Heart is wounded within me. But one deep calleth upon another, the depth of my misery upon the depth of thy mercy, Lord save now, or I perish eternally.— Lord one day is with thee as a Thousand Years, oh let thy mighty Spirit work in me, now in this my last Hour, whatsoever thou seest wanting to fit me for thy Mercy and Acceptance; and than tho' I walk through the valley of the shadow of Death, I will fear no Evil.— There is but one step between me and Eternity; then blessed Jesus have Mercy on me, Pardon the Sins of my whole Life, O let not my Sun go down upon thy Wrath, but seal my Pardon before I go hence and be seen no more.— Dear Lord I neither desire, nor expect of thee Life or Death, may it be done unto me according to thy Will: But since Death is my passage into thy Presence, suffer not the Thoughts of it to be terrible unto me.— I can't without some Reluctance think of leaving my Friends and Relations, and forever shutting my Eyes upon that World where I now live (To go into a World where I never was) but tho' the Light is pleasant, and a joyful thing it is to behold the Sun, yet let it abundantly content me, oh Lord, that whether waking or Sleeping, dead or alive I shall be always thine, tho' thou shouldst break all my Bones and from Day even till Night with pining Sickness and Aches make an end of me, yet let me be dumb and not open my Mouth, because it is thy doing; suffer me not to whisper to myself what's the reason the Lord will deal thus with me; help me rather to consider what my Sins have deserved, and what a poor Derivative thing I am.— What a mere dependant upon thee— Lord I came into the World on thy Errand, and I live only upon thy allowance. Then let the consideration of thy Majesty and Glory swallow up all those petty Interests of my own which I create to myself, and help me oh Lord in every Passage of my Life and Death to say thy will be done.— If it be thy will I shall die now, receive my Spirit; and altho' I come In the Evening, at the very last of all, grant unto me that I may receive Eternal-Rest. Blessed Lord as soon as ever the Chain of my mortality is broke, let me take Wing and fly to thee.— Grant that sincerely reahing my Hands to thee from that Moment which is the upper Step of the Ladder of my Life, next to Heaven, thou mayest reach forth thy hand and receive me.— And when my Breath is gone, grant oh Lord, that I may see and know her again, who died praying for my Everlasting-Happiness, Into thy hand, Lord, I resign my Body and Soul.— Blessed Saviour receive my Spirit— even so come, Lord Jesus, come quickly. Amen. I shall go to Iris, but she shall not return to me I would have these words be my last breath till my Lips fail, and my Tongue cleaveth to the roof of my Mouth for as the Sun shines brightest at his setting, so should Man at his departing.— It is the evening crowns the day. And now the Fatal Hour is come in which I must Resign to Dust, This borrowed Flesh, whose Burden tires, My Soul as it aspires; Oh what a frail and undone Thing Is Man, when his best Part is taking Wing? But quake not, Oh my Soul! for Rest; thou'lt find This Pisgah Mount! thy Canaan lies behind: Look back and see the World's thin gaudy-Toys! Look on, and see the Crown of all thy Joys! For such a Place is worthy to be sought, Or were there none, yet Heaven's a pleasant Thought. Nor for my bright Conductors will I stay, But lead Heaven's flaming Ministers the way, In their known Passage to Eternal Day. Where the blessed CLIMES of Light will not seem fair, Unless I meet my dear Redeemer there; Unless I see my shining Saviour's Face, And grasp all Heaven in his sweet Embrace. When the trembling Soul has Heaven thus in sight Oh with what Joy and ravishing Delight!— She spreads her Wings, and bids this World good Night. Thus have I represented in what manner my Soul will leave that Body where it now dwells.— And have also considered in the Death of Iris, with what tranquillity, and peace of conscience a Soul sequested from the World, taketh her farewell of Earth. Whilst thus I musing lay, to my Bed side (Attired in all his Mourning Pride) The King of Terrors came. Awful his Looks, But not deformed and grim; (He's not such Goblin as we fancy him) Scarce we ourselves so civilised and tame! Unknown the Doom assigned me in this change, ' Tho justly I might fear Heavens worse Revenge; Yet with my present Griefs redressed, With curious Thoughts of unknown Worlds possessed, Inflamed with Thirst of Liberty, Long lovd, but ne'er enjoyed by me, I sued for leave the fatal Gulf to pass. My vital Sand is almost run, The Peace of Conscience with which a Soul (sequestered from the-World) takes her Farewell of Earth. A meditation upon the fight of a Deadman. And Death (said I) will strike anon. Then to dull Life I bid a long Farewell; And stretched for flight— But as the last grains fell Death failed my flattered hopes, and turned the Glass. But tho' my Soul and Body ened yet parted, yet I have conversed too long with the World already, so that now I'll suppose myself a dead Man: At the Sight whereof (were I living) I would thus meditate: Teach me (O Lord) so to number my Days, that, I may apply my Heart unto Wisdom, for I see by this dead Friend here lying before me, we soon pass away and are gone— All Flesh I see (in this Instance) is Grass, and the Beauty of it as the flower of the Field— Thou (oh God) hast determined the number of my Days which I cannot pass.— And I see here in my dead Friend, what will follow the Separation of my Soul and Body.— As long as this Tabernacle lodged the Soul of my Friend, it was sensible, active, could hear, ●ee, speak or move; but now that Guest is driven forth, there is nothing in it but breeds my abhorence, so that I now see all Confidence in Man is vain, and that I shall soon become I've said nothing of the manner of my Dying, but what I've observed in the Death of others. as Pale and Wan, at this Dead-Corpse, which I here behold with Terror and Amazement— And Lord help me to consider, that as this Body is dead without the Soul, so both Soul and Body without Grace— So much for the supposed manner of my Dying, and for those useful Thoughts, that a Sight of my Dead-Corpse might afford; in which I've advanced nothing but what I've observed in the Death of others, (especially of my dear Iris) My Breath being gone, I'll next suppose myself. Laid out for ●ead— I'm now Stripped and Dressed in a Shroud. and now the Cry of the House is— Bury the Dead out of my Sight— Being now Stripped and Dressed in a Shroud, great Care is taken by my Executor, (for I know he'll be punctual to observe my Will) that my Body be kept veiled and secret, and not exposed to curious Eyes; neither should Cyrus would have no Man stare in his Face after his Death. the Dishonours wrought upon the Face by the Changes of Death, be stared upon by impertinent Persons— When Cyrus was Dying, he called his Sons and Friends to take their leave of him, to touch his Hand, to see him the last time, and gave in Charge, that when he had put his Veil over his Face, No Man spoued uncover it— And Epiphanius' Body was res●d from inquisitive Eyes by a Miracle— But nothing A sight of my Dead-Body should affect my Relations. of this will disturb the Dead, but a sight of my Dead-Body should affect the Living— Then now all my Friends, (if you bened d●wn'd in Tears) come and observe what a Change is here— What a Change indeed! For my trembling Soul being fled, Lo how the Successors Valeria makes a shift to cry for my Death. of Sin do trample upon these Mud-walls, and demolish my House of Clay!— This dismal sight, one would think, should squeeze out a few Tears, if not from my Heir, (who has Signed, Sealed, and delivered, and is hasty to Bury me) yet surely it will from the Dear Valeria, for though some Wives Bury their Husbands only with a sour Visage, Masked over with Dissimulation, contracting (like the Ephesian Matron) second Marriages, before they have worn out their Mourning Garments. But Valeria may pass for a better Wife: For— When her dear Spouse's last Departure's nigh, See where this Fubbs has made a shift to cry; But I'm Boxed up (the Parli'ment be thanked, Whose Act has made my Rhyme) in Woollen Blanket. Being laid in my Coffin, come hither Valeria, and view me a little. The Chinesses always before they Bury their Dead, (if he was a Married Man) bring him to his Wife, that so she might first Kiss him, and bid him Farewell; when you have done this, prithee Valeria gaze upon me, see in A good jointure signifies nothing to a Dead Wife. my Dead Phiz, what Comfort you will have of your jointure, (which you once kept to my Ruin) when you come to this? For prid●ee try the Experiment— If you should put a B●g of Guineas into my Hand, I should let it fall— or could you give me Samp●, ' twoud be too heavy to carry to the other World, for don't you see that my Eyes are closed, and I observe nothing?— Then Valeria, view me well, u●ver my Face again; (for A Dead Husband is worth observing. a dead Husband is worth observing) and you'll find the Luminaries of my Body, which used to shine with a living Brightness, like the Jelly of a sl●g Meteor, lie now ●tombed in Darkness; and that ruddy Hue which gave the Name of Flesh to this whited Earth, hath either changed its Colour or its Place— In a Word— my Head, Arms, Body, Legs, etc. have now left their Motion, and lie as still as a Wife could wish, who loves nothing of her Husband, but the jointure he has left her. No wonder then, she refused to come when I sent for her, but has reserved all her Love for my dead Body; which perhaps she'll wash with a Tear or two, as it looks kind, and will cost her nothing; neither need she make any use of an Onion, for 'tis observed of Widows, they have Tears at command—. —— See where The Treasure of my Bosom doth appear, Now coming to my Corpse with her drowed Eyes, For jointure brings her where her Husband dies, To whose pale Relic she devoutly Pays Obedience, real as her Love, and Brays With many Tears, till quite dissolved in them, She SEEMS contrived into a Walking-Sream, As Destiny had meant her to descend From Rivers only, but to serve this end. Next, let my Sisters drop their pious-Rain, Larkin and Kenswell too, will Weep in vain; For none can soften my stiff Clay ag●in, Whilst my Eye thus amazedly wonders over my Dead Body, methinks I In the supposed View of my dead Body, I behold other men's Fate as well as my own. view in it other men's Fate as well as my own— Then blessed Lord, let me Die daily, that when Death shall be swallowed up in Victory, and the numberless Atoms of my Dust shall by thy Almighty Power be new moulded into a Body, my Soul may make a reentry, and be both glorified together. Death we do now behold thee gay and glad As at Doomsday, When Souls shall wear their new Array, And all thy Bones with Beauty shall be clad. Therefore we can go Die as Sleep, and trust Half that we have, Unto an an honest faithful Grave; Making our Pillows either Down or Dust— Herbert. My Corruption belongs to the maintaining of of the Order of the Universe. I lie merrily down in my Bed, tho' I expect to rise again to resume the Burden of all my friars, Hopes and Griefs, (the constant Attendants of my Life) and yet look Sadly and mournfully upon the Grave, (tho' my Corruption belongs to the maintaining of the Order of the Universe) but why should I be afraid of Corruption, seeing at my next Rising, much 'Tis a great wonder how a little Dustresolved into Elements, should become a living Body, but I no ways doubt of the Resurrection. My Soul & Body now seem at once laid out. ●ayer clad than before, I shall awake to Immortality and endless Joy? With the Eye of Reason I can look through the Glory of the World, and behold Vanity and Oblivion; with the Eye of faith I can look through Oblivion and Corruption itself, and behold Glory and Eternity. 'Tis indeed a Wonder how a little Dust resolved into Elements, should become a living Body again. But I no ways doubt of the Resurrection, for I'm sure that my Redeemer liveth, and tho' after my skin Worms destroy this Body, yet in my F●esh shall I see God— Then let the Body rise in what manner it will, I'm ravished to think what a bright and serene Morning the Resurrection will prove, after the long Night of Death, and the languishing Slumbers of the Grave—. My Soul being fled (I know not how nor where) and my Body left as a ghastly Spectacle to my Wife and Friends— Methinks now my Soul and Body too seem at once laid out—. Some think they shall Die presently if they make their Will. So that having proceeded so far towards my Funeral as— To purchase a Grave— To suppose the manner of my Dying— And to describe what a frightful Spectacle Death will make me— 'twill be proper next to give some Account of my UUill— For I never was of their Opinion, who think they must Die presently if their UUill be made, and so neglect it till it Why I made my Will in a time of Health. be too late. A Sickbed is no proper place to disturb our Brains about Worldly Matters, I therefore made my Will when I was best able—— A Scotch Laird having sent for a Clerk to make his Will, began to him thus, (after Of a Will made by a Scotch Laird We should avoid all unjust Partialities in the making our Wills. the common Preface) Imprimis, I bequeath my Soul to God— To which his Clerk made Answer very seriously— But what if he wonot take it, mon?—— With what temper of Spirit this was spoken I know not, but sure I am, 'tis a point that deserves a serious Thoughtfulness and Gravity of Mind— And particularly we should avoid all unjust Partialities, which are oftentimes very ill Grounded. But to proceed in the Account of my Will— My Nurse and Uisitan●s having declared me Dead, methinks I see my Executor, (whose Character My Executor sending in all haste to the Persons concerned in my Will. you shall have anon) sending in all haste to the Persons concerned in 〈◊〉 W●ll; for the Will of the Dead should be punctually observed, fòr to these we own a nobler Justice than to other Men, as they are unable to right themselves It is the bravest thing in the World, to do an Act of Kindness to him whom we shall never see again, but yet hath deserved it of us, and to whom we would do it if he were present; and unless we do so, our Charity To fulfil the Request of the Dead, is the noblest Friendship we canshew is Mercenary, and our Friendships are direct Merchandise; but what we do to the Dead, (or to the Living for their sakes) is Gratitude and Virtue for virtue's sake, and the Noblest Friendship we can show: Such a Generous Person I have made my Executor, so that all concerned, will have speedy notice of my Death— And now methinks I see all my Friends assembled about me, some to weep, News being sent of my Death, my Relations come to my Cell in Hopes of a good Legacy. but most rejoicing in Hopes of a good Legacy; but because they may see the Vanity in waiting for Dead-mens-Shoes, I'll now suppose my Executor Reading to them the following Lines, which are, — A Breviate of my last Will— IN the Name of God, Amen— I john Dunton, Citizen and Stationer of London, and late of St. Giles Cripplegate Parish, in the County of Middlesex, being through Mercy, in Health of Body and Mind, do make this my last Will and Testament—. A Breviate of my last will. And first out of Choice, (and not as 'tis matter of Form) I commit my Soul into the Hands of God, trusting through the Merits of Jesus Christ to be accepted with him— I commit my Soul into the Hands of God. My Body I Bequeath to the Dust, in hopes of a Glorious Resurrection; but with this Charge to my Executor, that he sees it Buried in the same Grave with my first Wife, for there (as she expressed it) we shall be still Happy together, if a senseless Happiness can be 〈◊〉 〈◊〉— As to the World, tho' I never loved it, yet I have taken that Care in the I Bequeath my Body to the Dust. disposing of what I have, as to give it to one that will keep open House for God and his poor Servants; I mean to one that has Sense enough to enjoy I have made a person heir to my Estate that has sense enough to enjoy it, and Piety enough to be Charitable, it, and Piety enough to be Charitable, and for that Reason I thought myself obliged in Conscience to give it all from the presumprive Heir and his scraping Friend, finding by sad Experience the more he has, the more he cove●s; so that if his Wealth increases at the rate it has done hitherto, he'll starve himself and his whole Family; and therefore to add my Estate to his, would be (in some sort) to hasten his Death; but that they might not think I forget 'em, I bequeath to 'em that Text,— And the Covetous which the Lord abhors— to reflect on as long as they live—. I'm My presumtive heir would starve himself should his Wealth increase. very Cordial in this Advice, for Men in their last Wills appear open and plain Hearted, they dare not die revenging of Injuries, no! when they think they shall die, their Eyes are open, and their Judgements unbiast. In some sense Peath's the truest Friend, for Death will not flatter, but deals plainly with us, and as Men dare not die with a Lie in their Mouths (nor in Malice with any) so they should be careful that they do not leave their Death's the truest friend. Friends quarrelling for their Estates, but take such care in their Wills that their Lands and Possessions may know their Owners after their Deaths; We should take care not to leave our Friends quarrelling for our Estates when we are Dead. and that mine may do so, of what I shall leave behind me, I make this following Disposal, all my just Debts being first paid, (and-by Debts, I mean whatever shall be proved to be so after my Decease, or whatever my Executor, hereafter named, can by diligent searching find out that I own) I bequeath the following Legacies to Graffham, from, Chesham, Aston, Missenden, Iver, New-street—. And here I presume so far as to give your Ladyship Mourning, and a Ring with this Inscription, In remembrance of Daphne and Philaret. What I mean by my debts To my most esteemed and eternal Friend, Mr. George Larkin, Sen. who I am sure will be a True Mourner at my Funeral, I give not only Mourning Legacies bequeathed to Graffham, from, etc. (which will soon wear out) but also a Ring with this Motto, Thy love to me was wonderful, passing the Love of Women; I also give him, as a farther Testimony of our Inviolable Friendship, what is not here expressed—. To that Generous and Uirtous Person whose tender care of me in my To the honourable Lady. Sickness has (through the Divine Blessing) more than once saved my Life, I give, etc. as a grateful Token of that seasonable Care, wherewith I was assisted in my greatest Extremity—. I have also remembered my obliging To George Larkin, Sen. and diligent Friends Mr. George Kenswel and his Wife, for that great Fidelity and Readiness to serve me, which they have expressed upon all To the Person that took care of me in my Sickness. occasions—. Neither have I forgot my Cousin Elizabeth johnson for that matchless Tenderness she showed to my first Wife, during her Sickness of near 40 Weeks continuance—. To my only Brother Mr. Lake Dunton, and to my Sisters Sarah, Mary, and Elizabeth, I have been more To George Kenswel and his Wife. kind than perhaps they expect—. I next bequeath to the generous Lutwich, (and to my two Sisters D—ld and I—th) such a Legacy as shows I have been obliged—. To the Reverend S— T— I give Twenty Pounds to To Elizab. johnson. Preach my funeral Sermon that Day, I am Buried, upon this Text, They shall lie down alike in the Dust, and the Worms shall cover them—. To my To my only Brother and my; Sisters. faithful Friend Mr. Richard Wild, the sole manager of all the Auctions I made in Dublin, I bequeath, etc. as an acknowledgement of the extraordinary Services he did me in that Kingdom. To my ancient Landlord Mr. Wilkins of Diversother Legacies. Boston in New England, I also be queath, etc. as a requital for his great Civilities to me and my Servant Palmer. I also give to my tried Friends the Booksellers, Printers and Stationers of London, 105. each, to buy 'em a Ring with this Inscription, Speak evil of no Man. And to my Summer Friends I give all my Gratitude, * Mentioned in my Printed Case p. 1. for I find they need it, and that they may hereafter do as they'd be done by, I bequeath to 'em all that Readiness with which I served 'em, both with my Person and Cash, when no body else would; but lest their change of Fortune (for they keep their Coach) should make 'em My Legacy to my Summer Friends. forget this, 'tis my desire that the Letters they formerly sent me be returned to 'em, that they may see how Black Ingratitude is, for they now deny to have received those Favours which (in these Letters) they declare they could never requite. When I meet 'em they scarce know me. The Remembrance of old Favours should live even in the blows of Injury. One of these is so Haughty that if I meet him by accident, (for Summer Friends never visit but when the Sun shines) he scarce knows me, or if he stoops so low as to give me a Nod, he does it in such a manner as shows he forgets how deeply I engaged for him at a time when SOME BODY would not, and his other Friends made too small a Figure to serve him.— 'Tis true, to a generous mind the Remembrance of old Favours would live even in the blows of Injury, but do an ungrateful Person 99 Kindnesses, and refuse him the Hundreth (for so I did, being provoked to it) and he thinks you cancel all your former Obligations; such Monsters, when they are obliged beyond a possibility of Requital, their way is to unmake, (or to lessen) those Favours they can't requite, and to abuse their very Benefactors— such Friends as these My Summer Friends compared to a fawning Spaniel. act like a fawning Spaniel, who when he gets out of the River shakes off that very Water (alias Maggots) which supported him—. And I don't doubt but others of this mean Spirit have been ready to blame me for publishing my private Case; but their dislike of my Conduct makes me the more approve I could never creep for Interest. on't. I could never creep for Interest, and Men of greater Sense and Honesty both advised to it, and judged it the best thing I could do for my quiet; and I have found it so, and therefore I shall never repent of any thing I did in that Publication, but for ever own my Obligations to those that promoted Page 2. We should requite the least courtesy we receive. it; then if the Reflecter on my Case says true, that I'm a Man of so grateful a Temper that I study to requite the least Courtesy from mere Strangers, etc. surely I can't leave a better Legacy to my Summer Friends then to bequeath my Gratitude amongst ' 'em. To that worthy and Ingenious Gentleman Mr. G— R—, I give, etc. or in case of his Death, I give this sum to his Wife; or if she dies, to his Son; or in case of his Death, to his nearest of Kin, for the generous Favours Mr. R— has done me shall ne'er be forgot whilst I have a Penny in the World, or he has a Relation alive. To the Members of the Athenian Society (as 'twas my darling Project) I bequeath Mourning—. To the Nightingale I give my Constancy, Platonic Letters, and contempt of Grandeur—. I next give to the Poor where I was born the sum of—. And to the Parish where I die as much—. I My Legacy to the reverend Divine that married me. also give to that Reverend Divine that Married me 100L. to Preach (and afterwards Print) a Sermon against Covetousness—. To the sweet Town of St. Alban I bequeath all my Printed Cases that shall be left unsold at the time of my Death; I bequeath 'em to this Town, as herein is a true State of my Case, with respect to Madam jane Nicholas and her only Child Sarah To the sweet Town of St. Alban. Dunton, with an Answer to all the Lies that either Revenge, Malice or Coverousness can spit at me (in any of the three Kingdoms) neither is there one Line in this Printed Case but what I'd assert to be true were I More Legacies. now dying; and therefore I can't understand Valeria's Policy in not sparing 500 l. out of 6000 l. seeing I do resolve, if she will be happy, it shall only be with her Husband, for I married her for Richer for Poorer, and as we embarked in the same COURTSHIP, so I do assure her we'll Sink or Swim together. But Solomon tell us there's a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing, and therefore tho' the Law is Eloquent, and There's a time to embrace, and a time to refrain fromembracing. will persuade her to Live with me, yet till I see a fair opportunity, I shan't turn my Addresses into a Legal-Courtship, for I had rather that kind methods should melt her into Love and Tenderness. However my Wife is my proper Goods, and I'll Pound that Man (whoever he is) that offers to steal her from me, or that endeavours by any Device (or by flattering her Mother) My Wife is my proper Goods. to defraud me of that which she solemnly promised me before marriage, for as 'tis a Promise in Writing, 'tis as much a Debt in the Court of Conscience (and in the Court of Chancery too) as if I had a Bond or Mortgage A promise in writing is a debt in the Court of Conscience, and in the Court of Chancery too. to secure it to me. And as I am able to prove such a Promise in Writing, so I can also prove (by a letter under her Artornies' Hands) that she was fully satisfied with my Estate. But why should we give Money to promote the La●? It would be more like Christians to give it to promote the Gospel. Besides if I had Ualeria's Company (and a small matter to make me easy) I have all I desire, and when she sends me the same Message, yil run to meet her with open Arms; she shall then even Rule me (and all I have) by her voluntary and ready obedience. But the Bags The Attorneys Letter gave satisfaction about my Estate. lie so high in her way at present, that she can't get over 'em; but when she falls to dispersing this gilded Rubbish, all misunderstanding will be then removed; and the same Hour I hear the News, the Bells of St. Alban shall Ring as loud for our Reconciliation, as ever they did for our first Marriage; neither shall the Poor of that Town be forgot, that so Heaven may Valeria's Company is all I desire. continue us a happy Couple. But this is News that I don't expect, and therefore I bequeath all my Printed Cases (except the Case should be altered) to my old Friends of St. Alban, that by comparing the Truth with those many The Bags lie so high in her way that she can't get over ' 'em. Lies they have heard, they may defend the Cause of an injured Stranger, who did not come till he was sent for, and therefore 'tis fit he should have civil Treatment—— And in the last Place, I give to the Dear Valeria, (my present Wife) A Ring with this Inscription— Set your Affections on things above; The Bells of St. Alban shall ring as loud for our Reconciliation, as ever they did for our first Marriage. for seeing she talks so much of going to her God, (instead of giving her Money to Adore and Worship) I freely bequeath her to God who gave her. 'Tis true she has a Rich Mother, and I might justly bequeath her to her, (for the Reasons mentioned in my Printed Case) and I have a Precedent for the leaving her Mother such a Legacy as this, for we read Endamidas dying Poor, left his Aged Mother to Aretaeus, and his young Daughter to Charixenus, two Rich Friends of his; the one to be maintained till she died, and the other till she Married; and the Heirs as soon as they heard of this Will, came forth, and accepted those things that were given in Charge. But suppose I had no such Precedent as this to bestow her Daughter upon her, yet one would think I could not leave her a better Legacy than her own Child; but seeing she won't part with her Bags now, she'll less do it when I am Dead, and therefore (out of pure Love) I choose rather to bequeath her to God who gave her; and tho' I ened like to be Buried with ●er Legacies. her— her precious Dust being to Feast the St. Al●ns worms, (in the Abbey Church where her Father hes) and not the Phanatick-worms, of the New-Burying-place, yet I hope she'll there rest in Peace, and hearafter meet me in Heaven— But if she grows so obliging, as to deliver me from my Present Grievance, that I may (HONESTLY) have Issue by her, to it I would leave 1 Chron. 28. 9 and I pray God see it executed according to my Will— And for herself, were she thus kind, I would turn her jointure into a Deed of Gift, (which would double the value of it) and make it the Study of my whole Life to please her. Having in these Legacies endeavoured to satisfy myself, my Friends, and my dear Spouse. It is farther my Will, That for the Payment of these Debts and Legacies, (If my present Wife happen to survive me) that The growth of my Woods will Pay all I own in 5 Years time. my Executor Sell my Woods, and the Reversion of my Estate, as soon as ever I am Buried; but in case I survive her, I'll pay 'em myself in a Weeks time. But if neither of our Deaths happen, let no Man question his Money; for the Growth of my Woods in about five Years Time will pay all I own, (what I own not being the fifteenth Part of what my Estate is worth)— No Debts in my Shop-Books to be received, etc. 'Tis farther my Will, that no Debts in any of my Shop-books be received from any Person that is not fully satisfied he owes me what he is charged with; I insert this, that no neglects of crossing Accounts (tho' I hope there's none) may be an Injury to any Man— 'Tis also my Will, that all the Promises I ever made (provided they are My Promises to be all performed fully proved) be as punctually performed by my Executor, as if the Persons to whom they were made, had 'em under my Hand and Seal— So much for my Debts and Legacies— My Body not to be Buried till the 7th day after my Decease. As to my Funeral and Grave, etc. 'Tis my Will that the 7th Day after my Decease, (and not before, my own Mother coming to Life that Day she was to be Buried) my Executor see me nailed down in an Elm-Coffin, such a one as was made for my first Wife— My Reverend Father (Mr. john Dunton) in his last Will, speaking concerning his Funeral, My Father's Funeral. says, 'Tis his Desire that his Funeral might not be performed till seven Days after his Decease; which Request was occasioned, (as I hinted before) by his first Wives lying seemingly Dead for 3 Days, and afterwards coming My Mother's seeming Death. to Life again, to the Admiration of all that saw her— This was also a Custom among the Romans, to keep the Body 7 Days unburied, Washing the Corpse every Day with hot Vinegar, and sometimes with Oil, that if the Body were only in a Slumber, and not quite ●ead, it might by these hot Causes be revived— After being kept Seven-Days unburied, 'tis my desire that my Body be conveyed in a decent Manner to— where I desire Mr.— should Preach my Funeral Sermon for the Benefit of my surviving Friends— The Custom of Preaching Funeral Sermons very Ancient. This Custom of Preaching Funeral-Sermons is very old, and of great use, for Dr. Taylor tells us, that anciently the Friends of the Dead used to make Funeral-Orations, and the Custom descended, but in the Channel of Time it mingled itself in the Veins of the Earth through which it passed, And now a Days Men that Die are commended at a Price, and the Measure of their Legacy is the degree of their Virtue— But these things I'd have nothing said of me at my Funeral, but my Abhorrence of Covetousness and Backbiting. ought not to be, and therefore 'tis my Desire, that nothing be said of me, (so many are my Sins and Infirmities) save my Abhorrence of Covetousness— and of Backbiting; as for Covetousness, I ever thought it a Beggarly-Vice, and I find 'tis its own Tormentor, For the Miser having all things, yet has nothing— And I'm as great an Enemy to Backbiting; not one Report in 40 is true, and therefore in Cases of Slander, I believe no Man's Eves nor Ears but my own: If I find any Man Censorious, I have done with him, for 'tis my way, to judge of all men's Religion by their Charity— I observe that Prejudice and Misinformation has Murdered the Reputation of many Innocent Persons, and for that Reason, I never judge any Man unheard; I never Judge any man unheard. and those that do, I think 'em worse than the Man they'd Blacken; as will appear by some late Instances, which shall be mentioned in my Funeral Sermon, or else be inserted in my History of those modern-Divines, that have been branded with Crimes of which they have been wholly I'm writing a History of those Modern Divines that have been branded with Crimes of which they have been wholly Innocent. Innocent; and as I'll Publish nothing (in this History) but what I'll prove, So Grant, Oh Lord! that no Man may turn that to an occasion of uncharitableness towards me, which I designed for his good, or was necessary for my own. Neither let any Man Censure me for anything but what be sees in me; and Lord thou knowest I have not the least Cause to be proud of that- I speak not this as I value the Praises of any Man— No! I would willingly come again from the other World to give any one the Lie, that reported me otherwise than I was, tho' he did it to honour me— And as I abominate Flattery, so I as little fear the worst Enemies I have; for tho' they may strike me in the Dark (and then like a Serpent creep into their hole again, for want of Courage to abet their Actions) yet I challenge them all to prove black is my Eye, with respect to I challenge my worst Enemies to prove me guilty of any immoral Practice. UUomen, A varice, Drunkenness Injustice, or any other immoral Practices; not but that single Life I'm forced to will make People the more Censorious, and some (that have been in the Oven) will be raising Lies of me perhaps, as well as of better Men; but by the Grace of God, I shall endeavour to live so, as I may have a Conscience void of Offence, both towards God and towards Man: 'Tis a comfort that Accusations make no Man a Criminal; or if they Accusations make no man a Criminal. did, an innocent Life would make me easy under all Aspersions, for they are generally raised by the leuder sort. A Backbiting Tongue is a sure sign of a Whoremaster. I could tell you of one that Stole his Wife. (the worst sort of Theft) and of others that have had Bastards, that have been the first in slandering A Backbiting Tongue is a sign of a whoremaster. their Neighbour; and I observe, that most Slanderes owe their rise to the fair Se●, but this is none of their Fault, but the Fault of the Men, who make it their Sport to abuse that Virtue they can't Debauch. Lampoons and Libels, so much in Fashion in this witty Age, are a ready way to murder any Most Slanders own their rise to the FairSex. Persons Reputation; and indeed, (as a late Author observes) The Nature of true Virtue is commonly such, that as the Flame ever has its Smoke, and the Body its Shadow, so the Brightness of Virtue never shines, but hath Disdain or Envy waiting upon it— Some Men are so vile, that when no merit of Fortune can make 'em hope Some men are so vile that when they can't enjoy the Bodies of those Beauties they are charmed with, will yet lie with their Reputations. to enjoy the Bodies of those Beauties they are Charmed with; they will yet lie with their Reputations. and make their Fames suffer— And tho' to such Women, Innocence is the safest Armour, (for just Heaven will ne'er for sake the Innocent) yet this jeud Revenge is a double Uillany, for certainly UUomen are necessary Evils; from our Cradle to our Grave we are wrapped in a Circle of Obligations to ' 'em. (my Divine Pylades was of this Opinion, or had never sent so often to his Doctress) And I am sure, such a Mortal as I (who am helpless at best) and often so afflicted with the Store, etc. that I can neither go nor stand, can't, Live without their Assistance; which if they are Virtuous they'll never deny me; for I'm so great an Enemy to running astray, that I hearty Women are necessary Evils. wish Adultery were Death. But whether does Covetousness and a Slandering Tongue lead me? But they are two Ui●es that my Soul loathes (as will be thewn to my Funeral Sermon) so that my Zeal against them is the more excusable—. After this Funeral Sermon (or rather Sermon against Slandering) is My Body next to be carried to the New burying-place. Preached, 'tis my request that my Body be carried to the New Bu●ying Place, there to lie in the same Grave with my first Wife, and upon her Coffin, if it can be found; and 'tis my Will, that no others be Buried with us, save my Executor, and that Dissenting Minister who is to Preach my Funeral Sermon— For 〈◊〉 'tis good to enjoy the Godly while they Live, so 'tis not amiss to be Buried with them after Death. The old Prophet's Bones escaped a Burning, by being Buried with the other Prophets; and the My Soul is fled where I shall know Iris again. Man that was tumbled into the Grave of Elisha, was rovived by Virtue of his Bones. As my Body will now Sleep in the same Grave with my first Wife, etc. So I hope through the Merits of my blessed Saviour, my Soul will be now fled, where I shall find, and know her again, for I don't question but This is largely proved in my Essay on knowing our Friends in Heaven. we shall know our Friends in Heaven, (Wise and Learned Men of all Ages, and several Scriptures plainly show it) And as we are to be Buried together, so 'tis my Desire that my, Executor purchase a marble Tomb, (for when Valeria Dies he may well afford it) not exceeding 50 l. and cause the following Superscription to be Engraved upon it. Here lies (Sleeping together) john Dunton, Citizen, and Stationer of London, and Elizabeth his first Wife— She departed this Life, Friday, May 28th 1697— And he, etc. And being the last that Died, his Will was (as they had promised each other in their Life time) to be Buried with her in the same Grave, and that on this Tombstone. should be Engraved the following Lines. I'm come to Bed, having lost my Pen and Sight, To Sleep with Iris in her Cell this Night; And leaving all for her, will never take Another Farewell, till our Ashes wake. Dr. Brown indeed tells us at his Death, He intends to take a total Remarks on my Tombstone. Adieu of the World, not caring for a Monument, History, or Epitaph, not so much as the bare Memory of his Name to be found any where, but in the universal Register of God— This Superscription on my Diogenes desired to be Buried with a Staff in his Hand to fright away the Crows. Tomb shows I'ent for taking such a Farewell as this— Nor am I so Cinical as to approve the Testament of Diogenes, who willed his Friend to Bury him with a Staff in his Hand to Fright away the Crows. No! I am for an Epitaph, and such an Epitaph as may show to my Friends, how much I can value a Wife that loves me; and indeed the Driginal of Epitaphs is owing to this Loving Temper— For the first Epitaph The first Epitaph which was put upon Tombs, was that of the Fair Rachel. which was put upon Tombs, was that of the Fair Rachel, as is partly remarked from Scripture, (for 'tis said, Rachel died, and was Buried in the way to Ephrath, and jacob set a Pillar upon her Grave) and Boohartus assures us it was a Pyramid which jacob erected, sustained upon a dozen precious Stones, with this Inscription— Here lies Fair Rachel It shows the great Care jacob took to preserve her Memory. Composed of nothing but Beauty and Love. A Grave is but a plain Suit, but a Rich Monument is one Embroidered, and therefore in the erecting such a noble Pillar as this, we see the great care jacob had to preserve the Memory of his dear Rachel; and I hope none will think me either Vain or Prodigal, if I endeavour (so far as I am able) to imitate such a kind Husband; however a Marble Tomb is the only Legacy I bequeath to myself, and my ground Bedfellow; and I expect we ha' A Marble Tomb is the Legacy I bequeath to myself. Justice done us. Not that I so much insist upon the Epitaph of my own Writing; for if my Friends please, they may scratch it out, and Grave in the room of it these Words, viz. To these whom Death again did Wed, Their Grave's their second Marriagebed; For tho' the Hand of Fate could Force 'Twixt Soul and Body a Divorce, It could not sunder Man and Wife When they both lived but one Life. Peace good Reader, do not Weep; Peace, the Lovers are asleep. They, sweet Turtles, folded lie In the last knot Love could tie; And tho' they lie as they were Dead, Their Pillow Stone, their Sheets of Lead; Pillow hard, and Sheets not warm, Love made the Bed, they'll take no harm; Let them Sleep, let them Sleep on, Till this Stormy Night be gone, And th'Eternal Morrow dawn, Then the Curtains will be drawn, And they wake into that Light Whose Day shall never end in Night. I'm so desirous of having this Tomb (and Epitaph) erected as a Memorial of our happy Marriage, that had I Moneys to spare, I'd see it done in my Life time, A good Memory the best Monument. hereby to prevent the negligence of Heirs, and to remind me of my own Mortality— But after all the care we can take to preserve the Ashes of our Dead Friends; it must be acknowledged, That a good Memory is the best Monument; My Debts & Legacies being first paid the rest of my Estate I give to my Executor. others are subject to casualty, and we know that the Pyramids themselves, doting with Age, have forgotten the names of their Founders—. Thus having given instructions about my Funeral and Grave, etc. and bequeathed what Legacies I think sit, all the rest of my Estate, both Personal and Real, (my Debts and Funeral Expenses being first paid) I do hereby give, to my Executor, who your Ladyship will know by the following Character, He's a Person truly Religious—, sincere in his Conversation—, wise in his own The Character of my Executor. Business—, loving to my Relations—, very Charitable—, and I'm sure will accomplish the whole intent of my Testament—. These are the Legacies I have bequeathed to my Friends, which some that have missed of their Expectation may perhaps say are like those in the Spanish Friar, where Sir Flash, having left many Legacies, and his Executor ask where Of a Man who bequeathed more than he was worth. he should have 'em to pay, he answered, Even where he pleased, for he was better able to find 'em than himself—. But whoever thinks so with respect to me, will find themselves mistaken, for as great a straight, as Valeria's Jointure has put me to, my Death will soon open a way to an Estate, (besides the Reversions, which in time may double what I now enjoy, (that will not only satisfy my few Creditors, but more than pay all the Legacies I have here bequeathed—. And therefore— But I shall tyre you with the Repetition of an odd Will, which I had not inserted but to humble those that desire my Death. This is my last Will till I make another. Having given your Ladyship a Breviate of my last Will, I'll return again to my dead Body (for I'm still supposing myself unburied.) My Will being read to my friends, and all things agreed upon in order to my Funeral, next see the greedy Nurses sighting for my Shirt and clothes, My greedy Nurses fight for my Shirt and clothes, and Relations scuffling for what's left. and my hasty Relations scuffling for what's left. Keep the King's Peace! as soon as Phil. is Dead They for his Money quarrel round his Bed. Fight Nurse, fight Lads, Sirs make a Ring about, Even let 'em have fair Play, and Cuff it out. Having lain the time I desired, there's no fear of my living again (as my There's no fear of my living again. My Friends have now leave to bury me. Mother did) then honest GEORGE, Nail me down, and bury me, for the Mourners are come (the Claret is drunk) and here stands Azariah Reynholds ready to dress out the funeral Procession; and that nothing may be wanting on this sad occasion, here's Weep Dev'ral (my old Servant) coming with the Pall, the Bier and the six Bearers to carry me to Church, and from thence to the Grave. Azariah Reynholds stands ready to dress out the Funeral. See where my Friends surround my private Urn, Where all my kind Relations fond Mourn, And When the solemn Bell does sadly call, Weeping Dev'ral comes with the Fall, Bier, and Bearers. The drooping Pomp attends my Funeral. Now I from Fortune's store can only have A narrow Coffin, and a scanty Grave. However, I am as Rich in my Coffin as a dead Monarch—, Death I'm as Rich in my Coffin as a dead Monarch. A small parcel of Earth will contain th●se who asp●re to the pocession of the whole World. makes us equal with Kings—. In the Grave the Spade may challenge equality with the Sceptre— A winding Sheet, Coffin and Grave, is all that the Greatest Possess when they leave the World— Philip King of Macedon walking by the Seaside, got a fall, and after he was risen, perceiving the Impression of his Body upon the Sand— Good God said he, what a small parcel of Earth will contain us, who aspire to the possession of the whole World—. This great Monarch, after many and great Victories, at length he fell not only into his Bed, but into his Tomb, contented with a small Cousin; Peter Alphonsus reports that several Philosophers flocked together, and variously discanted upon the King's Death, one there was that said, Behold now four Yards of Ground is enough for him whom the spacious Earth could not comprehend before—. Several Philosophers discanting upon the Death of the great Alexander. Another added, Yesterday could Alexander save whom he pleased from Death, to Day he cannot free himself—. Another viewing the Golden Coffin; Yesterday, said he, Alexander heaped up a Treasure of Gold; now Gold makes a Treasure of Alexander—. Thus miserable and wretched is Man (the very greatest of Men) in their last Exit—; I might prove it by more Instances; but for Brevity sake I'll name no more than the Bier of Ablavius, Constantine's Speech to Ablavius concerning his Riches. who being an insatiable devourer of Gold, Constantine the Great, takes him by the Hand, and said, Ablavius, Tho' thou hadst all the Riches in the World, yet after thou art dead, a Place, or Chest no bigger than this which I have here marked out, must contain thee; if so large a piece of Ground do come to thy Lot—. Constantine was a Prophet; for Ablavius being cut in bits (the Saladine had nothing but a black Shirt to attend him to the Grave. next Hour) had not a piece left big enough to be buried: The great Saladine observing this, ordered that before his Corpse a Black Cloth should be carried on the top of a Spear, and this proclaimed (with sound of Trumpet, in the midst of his Army) Saladine Conqueror of the East had nothing left him but this black Shirt to attend him to the Grave. The Brags of Life are but a Nine Days Wonder; And after Death the Fumes that spring From private Bodies make as big a Thunder, As those which rise from a huge King. Only the Chronicle is lost; and yet Better by Worms be all once spent, Than to have Hellish Moths still gnaw and fret, Most Kings have Died a violent Death. Thy Name in Books which may not rend.— Herbert. The highest place is most obnoxious to Variation, the Sun is never so near Caesar's chair of State was his Deathbed. a declension as in the Vertical Meridian. May I not say many, yea most that have been Sceptered in the World, have been wrapped out of it violently, as if they perished by Fassination from the many ambitious Eyes that dart Crassus could scarce obtain a Shroud to cover his Nakedness. upon 'em—. julius Caesar, that he may be woefully miserable, his Chair of State shall be his Deathbed; where he feels no fewer than 23 Wounds, and sees Brutus among the Conspirators—. Crassus, for all his Bags, shall be slain, and scarce obtain a shroud to cover his Nakedness; and so shall the valiant Pompey, Surnamed the Great, who tho' he got an old Shirt for a winding-Sheet, Deaths of Roman Emperors. yet he could not be supplied with Funeral-fire enough to consume his Body—. Lamentable was the Death of Mark Anthony, and many other Emperors among the Romans—. Lewis the gentle, afflicted with Amurath's Grave. 3 Rebel Sons, grieves to Death, and has now no more to possess than just his length and breadth in the Earth; and we find Charles the Great, Bajazet had scarce a Coffin to bury him. without Love or Honour, House or Bread, at his End—. I might name many others; if you peruse Turkey a little, you shall find the mighty Amurath thrown down from the top of Victory, and a Grave is now all his Riches—. You may see the renowned Bajazet, who had hovered aloft like a Royal Eagle, mewed up in an Iron Cage; and the way to Darius and Alexander were both snatched away by unnatural Deaths. go out of the World was so blocked up to him, that he was forced to beat out his Brains against the Grates, to invent a Death which was followed with so mean a Funeral, that he had scarce a Coffin to bury him, and but two Persons to carry him to his Grave—. And what better Fate had Darius, and Alexander, (Heads of the Second and Third Monarchy) for see how they knocked one against another, and both snatched away unnaturally; I. Dunton is as frail and mortal as the greatest King alive. and how little do they now possess, of those many Kingdoms they were striving for?— I abound too much in these Examples, yet I must not pass by the Monarches of the World, without their due Observance; for tho' Kings be no Examples for private Men, as they be Kings; yet (as they are Men) they be, especially as they are mortal Men, and must die like others; Whilst I'm viewing the Graves of Rich Men, I forget that I'm carrying to my own. and therefore I hold it no Presumption to say, I am as frail and mortal as the greatest King alive. Thus have I proved that Death makes us equal with Kings, and that I'm as Rich in my Coffin as a dead Monarch—. But whilst I'm viewing the Graves of these great Men, I shall forget I'm going to my own; so 'tis time now (the Sermon being ended) to suppose me carrying to the new Burying-place, where being brought to my Grave, (I I'm now brought to my own Grave. call it mine as I have paid for it) the Parson declares, Forasmuch as it hath pleased Almighty God, of his great Mercy, to take unto himself the Soul of our dear Brother, here departed, we therefore commit his Body to the Ground; Earth to Earth, Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust, in sure The words used at the Burial of the Dead. and certain Hope of the Resurrection to Eternal Life—. The Church in her Funerals of the Dead, used to sing Psalms, and to give Thanks for the delivery of the Soul from the Evils of this Life. I think The Church in her Funerals of the Dead, used to Sing Psalms, and to give Thanks for the Delivery of the Soul from the Evils of this Life. this a seasonable Devotion; for Phil. now is cured of all Diseases, and lies lovingly in the Bosom of his Mother Earth, where my divided Parts (in a few Years) will revel in their loosened Motions, which had before been crowded together in my sickly Composure; and thus you see (in my fleeting Life and Burial) that Our Entrance and our Exit seem to meet, Our Swaddling Bands almost our Winding-Sheet; Poor Man! from Mother Earth does just arise, Then looks abroad, returns again, and Dies. Some Sixty Years, perhaps, with much ado, Phil. lies lovingly in the Bosom of his Mother Earth. He has prolonged his tedious Life unto; Then under Griefs, and Cares, he sinks away, His Carcase mouldering into native Clay. And now (methinks) I see the Bearers laying my Corpse as near to The Bearers laying my Corpse as near to the Bones of Iris as possible. the Bones of Iris as possible; and I suppose your Ladyship won't blame me for this part of my Will, for Dr. Brown applauds those Tempers that desire to Sleep in the Urns of their Fathers, and strive to go the nearest way to Corruption— 'Twas the late Request of a great Divine, to lie by his Wife in Shoreditch, and for that Reason he was Buoyed there— Sr. Nathaniel Barnardiston in his last Will, desires his Executors, that the See knowing our Friends in Heaven. p. 54. Bones of his father might be digged out of the Earth (where they were Buried) and laid by his own Body in a new Vault he ordered them to Erect for the same purpose; that tho' he could not Live with his Father as Sir Nathaniel Barnardiston and the Lady I.— desire both to be Buried with their Father. long as he would have desired, yet he designed their Bodies should lie together till the Resurrection— The Lady I.— made the same Request, with respect to her Worthy Father; and her Funeral Sermon tells us, They lay down alike in the Dust. Neither is this fond Love any great Rarity, for we read, that in some Part of the Indies, a Father of a Family being Dead, the Law of the Country ordains, that he be put in an Equipage for the other World; and that such things as had been most dear unto him should be Burned with him. The best beloved of his Wives Dresseth In the Indies the Wives will be Burnt with their Husbands. herself more Richly, and with more care for Death, than she had done for her Wedding-Feast, the whole Kindred in Festival Garments, Conduct her Solemnly to the Flaming-Pile, and there she suffers herself to be Burnt with Ceremony with her Husband— I am more desirous to be Buried with Iris, than these Indians were to be Burnt with their Husbands, and I hope we shall rest in the same Grave till the Resurrection— Here we must rest; and where else should we rest? Is not a Mans own House (to Sleep in) best? If this be all our House; they are to blame, That Brag of the Great Houses whence they came. What is my Father's House? And what am I? My Father's House is Earth, where I must lie: And I, a Worm; no Man, that fit no Room, Till (like a Worm) I crawl into my Tomb: This is my dwelling, this is my truest Home, A House of Clay, best sits a Guest of Lome; Nay, 'tis my House, for I perceive, I have In all my Life, ne'er dwelled out of a Grave. The Womb was (first) my Grave; whence since I risen, My Body (Grave like) doth my Soul enclose. That Body (like a Corpse with Sheets over spread) Dying each Night, lies Buried in my Bed; O'er which, my spreading Testers large extent, Born with Carved Antiques makes my Monument, And o'er my Head (perchance) such things may stand, When I am quite run out in Dust and Sand. My close-low-Builded Chamber, to my Eye, Shows like a little Chapel; where I lie. While at my Window, pretty Birds do Ring My Knell, and with their Notes, my Obiits Sing. Thus when the Day's vain Toil, my Soul hath wearied, I, in my Body, Bed, and House, lie Buried. Then have I little cause to fear my Tomb, When this (wherein I live) my Grave's become. So that a Grave, and six Foot of Ground, is all I can call my own; some ●ome Athenian-Friend ●ay perhaps scatter ●me Lines ●n my Hearse, and Mourning ●ay attend ●y Funeral, ●ut nothing will tarry with me ●t my Grave. Athenian-Friend perhaps on my Hearse will scatter some Lines, and strew the Cloth with Rhyme, Painting (perchance) may Gild some Flag or Banner, and Stick it on my Coffin, Music may Sing my Dirge, and tell the Mourners I loved that Art, but when all is over, nothing will tarry with me but my Grave—— And 'tis most just; for here I did receive them, I found them when I came, and here I leave them. Neither the Things I want, and others have Accompany their Owners to the Grave, Will Beauty go? Will Strength in Death appear? Will Honour or Proud Riches tarry there? They all say no; for let grim Death draw near, Beauty looks Pale, and Strength doth faint for Fear. There's little Wealth or Pride in naked Bones, And Honour sits on Cushions, not cold Stones. Nay ask our Friends, that when we are in Health, Would Die for Love of us (or for our Wealth) Mark what they set their Hands to; view it well, [Your Friend till Death] but once dead, Far you well. So that we are scarce sure of a Grave, or were we sure of that, 'tis all 〈◊〉 Grave is ●ll that we ●an call our ●wn. we can call our own, for observe of a Man new Dead; this was his Wife (says one) that was his Land— This was his Brother— That was He is a Wretch that won't part with the world when it lies in his way to Heaven. his Building— This was his Garden— And thus they talk awhile of what WAS HIS— but if we go to the Churchyard, where his Body lies, 'tis said, this IS HIS GRAVE, and not his Friends; so that when we are Dead, we are sure of something, but 'tis only a Grave. Then what a Wretch is he, that won't part with the World, when it lies in his way to Heaven, for he can neither carry it with him, or use above six foot on't when he is Dead, or scarce so much, for the Chemistry of Cardan Miser's gripe at all the World, but it slips through their Fingers, and leaves nothing but Dust. found but six Dunces of Dust in the Ashes of a Calcined Body— We brought nothing into this World, and can carry nothing out; but Worldlings ne'er consider this, and therefore like Men that clasp at Spirits, they catch nothing but Air; they gripe at all the World to satisfy their Avarice, but it slips through their Fingers, and leaves nothing but Dust. But as great a Vanity as this is, we find Covetousness to be the only Sin, grows young, as Men grow old. Old Men have their Coverousness natural to 'em, their Blood is caked and cold, and Nature as it grows again toward Old Men have their Covetousness Natural to 'em Earth, is fashioned for the journey, dull and heavy— The nearer Death we grow in Years, the more scraping we are; and this Sneaking-Vice Drowns not till we Sink; and I don't wonder at it, for Dying-men will grasp at all they see; while they see any thing, but when their Senses fail, Covetousness is the only Sin grows Young as Men grow Old. then Farewell Riches, the World's too heavy, than they let it fall. Tho' we were misery all our Days, yet when we expire, we spread our Palms, and let the World slip by; but when every thing else is gone, the Grave remains: And in this Cell I shall lie hid (with Iris) till the Resurrection. Lie still where thou art John, for th' quiet o'th'Nation, Nor canst thou stir more, without flat Conjuration. Being now laid to sleep with my Dear,— a Marble-Tomb was to be our Blankets, (for Tombs are the clothes of the Dead) but we shall get Iris and Phil. being laid to sleep, they want the Marble for their Blankets. no Cold if we wait for ' 'em. However, as I lived and died in a Cell, so to show I'd be still Incognito, I'll here Write my Epitaph, and then, (as one expresses it) If no Man goes to Bed till he Dies, nor ' wakes till the Resurrection— Goodnight t'ye here, and Good-morrow hereafter. Dunton's Epitaph on himself. HEre lies his Dust, who chief aimed to know Dunton's Epitaph on himself. Himself; and chose to Live Incognito: He was so great a Master of that Art, He understands it now in every Part; But tho' 'twas Solitude he did so prize, He has it least, whilst in this Cell he lies; For whilst deprived, my dearest Life, of thee, The World was all an Hermitage to me; But mixed with Iris, nought can lonesome be My Name inquire not, for thou must not know, For Phil. desired, when he from hence did go, That he might always lie Incognito. Thus Man goeth to his long home, and the Mourners go about the Man goes to his long home. streets— Ring the Bells,— for Dunton is Dead and Buried, that is, as Mr. Uincent's Friends make a PULPIT of his Grave, (for on his Tombstone are Ring the Bells for Dunton is Dead and Buried. these Words, Immortal Souls to benefit and save, I thus have made a Pulpit of my Grave. So I have endeavoured to make An Essay on my own Funeral, which I have been only burying myself in Effigy. being a Representation of what will be done when I'm Dead, (whereas I'm yet alive) 'tis excusable if I have followed their Examples who fill their Maps with Fancies of their own Brains—, But tho' I have been only burying myself in Effigy; yet having a longing desire to be happy with Iris (which When I die in earnest, I hope the thoughts of my Death & Funeral will be no more terrible to me than 'tis now in Speculation. I can't be but by dying) 'tis not matter how soon my Dying Solemnity were over; and when I come to die in earnest, I hope the thoughts of my Death and Funeral will be no more terrible to me then 'tis now in Speculation. 'Twas said Philostratus lived Seven Years in his own Tomb, that he might be acquainted with it. That Death may become thus Familiar to me, I'll walk every Day with joseph a turn or two in my Garden with Death, and (with Herbet) as often dress out my own Hearse—. I would be so well acquainted with Death as (impatiently) to desire it; not that I would die of an Apoplexy, by a private Stab, or any sudden Death—. From sudden Philostratus lived 7 Years in his Tomb. Death good Lord deliver me; for whenever I die, I would have so much notice, that I may leave nothing behind me that I should take to Heaven with me; not that I would be delivered from sudden Death, in respect of itself; Of sudden Death. for I care not how short my passage be, so it be safe. Never any weary Traveller complained that he came too soon to his Journeys end; but I would not have a sudden Death, so as to be surprised beforo I'm summoned: However The Divine Herbert dressed out his own Hearse. die I would, and as pleasant a sight as Valeria may think my funeral, I did not care how soon she saw it as here described, for then she'll have more (I can't say enough) of the World, and I'm sick on't, and would fain change I would leave nothing behind me that I should take to Heaven with me. it for Heaven—. 'Tis true the Manor of Sampsil is a fine sight, but he that looks up to Heaven will not care for the World—. Oh how amiable are thy Tabernacles O Lord of Hosts! One Day in thy Courts is better than a Thousand; I had rather be a Doorkeeper in the House of God, than live any longer in this vile World; there's nothing in it but Vanity, Disappointments, and black Ingratitude; then oh that I was stripped into a naked Spirit; and set My Passionate Desire to be stripped into a naked Spirit. ashore in a better World!— Why ling'rest thou, bright Lamp of Heaven? Why Do thy Steeds tread so slowly on? must I Be forced to live, when I desire to die? Lash thou those lazy jades, drive with full speed, And end my slow paced Days, that I may feed With joy on him, for whom my Heart doth Bleed. Post, blessed jesus! Come Lord, flee away, And turn this Night into the brightest Day, By thine approach; come, Lord, and do not stay. Take thou Doves Wings, or give Doves Wings to me, That I may leave this World, and come to thee, And ever in thy glorious Presence be. I like not this bile World, it is mere Dross; Thou only art pure Gold, then sure 'tis loss, To be without the Throne t'enjoy a Cross. What tho' I must pass through the Gates of Death? It is to come to thee that gav'st me Breath; And thou art better (Lord) than Dunghill Earth. When shall I come? Lord, tell me, tell me when; What must I tarry Threestore Years and Ten? My thirsty Soul cannot hold out till then. Come, dearest Saviour, come, unlock this Cage Of sinful Flesh, lovingly stop the Rage Of my Desires; and thou my Pilgrimage. Thus have I finished the Essay on my own Funeral, and have proved (to I have now finished the Essay on my Funeral. your Ladyship) that my Cell being an Emblem of Death, is the fittest place to prepare for Heaven. To get ready for Death and the Grave, is a matter of great Consequence, and no place so fit for it as a Cell, where there's no interruption—. I don't wonder that every Man commends Timon for his No place so fit to prepare for Death as a Cell. hating of Men; for we find so much danger in being in Company, that even Adam could not live one Day in it, and live Innocent; the first News we hear of him, after Eve was Associate to him, was that he had forfeited his Native Purity; for having met with a Female, she straight seduced him; Adam could not live one day in Company & live innocent. And what follows? Why now, he must return to that ground out of which he was taken—. Then being born to die— I love my Cell, as 'twill transmit me to the Darkness, and Oblivion of the Grave, and remind me of my own Funeral.—. Neither is this describing my own Funeral without a Precedent; for we read of several that have Buried themselves in Effigy, Being born to die I love my Cell. and have learned to die at their own Funerals. The Emperor Adrian entr'd into his Empire by the Port of his Tomb, he Celebrates himself his own Funerals, and is led in Triumph to his Sepuchre. Several that have buried themselves in Effigy. Now w● the People's Expectation high, For wont Pomp, and glittering Chivalry: But lo! their Emperor doth invite 'em all, Not to a Show, but to his Funeral. This was self Victory, and deserveth more Than all the Conquests he had won before. The Emperor Adrian Celebrates himself his own Funeral. Proud Spirits, be ye Spectators of this Funeral Pomp, which this great Monarch Adrian Celebrates to Day: He invites the Heaven and the Earth to his Exequys, since in their view he accompanies his Portrayed Skeleton unto the Tomb, his Body conducts thither its Shadow, the Original the painted Figure, Charles the 5th, Maximilian, the Emperor of the East, and several others have done the like. till a Metamorphosis be made both of one and the other— Oh glorious Action! where Garlands of Cypress dispute the Pre-eminence with Laurel and Palm! But Adrian is not the only Person that has been buried in effigy, for Charles the Fifth, long before the Resignation of his Empire, caused a Sepulchre to be made him, with all its funeral Furniture, which was privately carried about with him wherever he went. Maximilian the Emperor did the same, and would often follow his Coffin to the Grave in a Solemn Manner. We also read that john Patriarch of Alexandria, while he was Living, and in Health, caused his Monument to be Built. but not to be Finished, for this Reason, that upon solemn Days, when he performed Divine-Service, he might be put in mind by some of the Clergy in these Words— Sir your Monument is yet unfinished, command it to be finished, for to Morrow you're to Celebrate your own Funeral. When the Emperrour of the East was newly chosen, no Person had Liberty to speak to him before the Stone-Cutter had showed him several sorts of Marble, Genebald, Bp of Laudanum, lay in a Bed made like a Coffin. The Study of Virtue is the best Preparation for Death. and asked him of which his Majesty would be pleased to have his Monument made. And many others in perfect Health, have thus attended their own Funerals— Genebald, Bp. of Laudanum, lay in a Bed made like a Coffin, for 7 Years together; and ●da, a Woman of great Piety, long before her Death, caused her Coffin to be made, which twice a Day she filled with Bread and Meat, and gave to the Poor. And certainly the Study of Virtue is the best Preparation for Death. But we need not look into Ancient Times for Persons that have provided for their own funerals, when our present Age abounds with so many Instances of this Nature— I shall first Instance in the Reverend Mr. Baxter, (who Dates most of his Books from the Brink of the Grave). Being in Mr. Baxter drew up his own Funeral Sermon. my Quarters, (says this Pious Divine) far from home, but so extreme Languishing, by the sudden loss of about a Gallon of Blood, and having no Acquaintance about me, nor any Book but my Bible, and Living in continual Expectation of Death, I bent my Thoughts on my everlasting Rest; and because my Memory through extreme Weakness was imperfect, I took my Pen; In his Book called The Saints everlasting Rest. and began to draw up my own funeral Sermon, or some Helps for my own Meditations of Heaven, to sweeten both the rest of my Life, and my Death— I could next tell your Ladyship of a Gentleman, who Marked all his Plate with a Death's-head— My own Mother would often visit that Grave where she desired to the Buried— Mr. Thorp being in Debt, Other late Instances of Pious-men, who have kept their Coffins by ' 'em. retreats to the Mint, where he falls to Writing a Poem on himself, which he calls a Living-Clegy, and invites all his Creditors to his Funeral, to lament his Death. I have no Reason to do this, for I have taken that care, that if any come to my Funeral that I'm obliged to, they may have Cause rather to lament the loss of my Life, than any thing they can lose by me— Mr. Stephens of Lothbury, kept his Coffin by him several Years— Mrs. Parry of Monmouth, did the same— and so did Mrs. Collins, till Mr. Thorp's Living-Esegy. her Husband was Buried in it— I don't pretend to live up to these Examples, but I've already purchased a ●rave, and in these Sheets I'm following my Hearse to it, and I hope this Essay on my Funeral, will remind Mr. Stephens kept a Memento of Death in his own House. me of Death, when I'm most Tempted to forget it; but that I may not, I shall every Day myself make funeral Processions, I mean, visit in Meditation every Hour my Grave. There is no fooling with Life when 'tis once turned beyond Thirty, and therefore I would now D●lly Celebrate my own Funeral, and invite to my Exequys Ambition, Avarice, and all other I would now daily Celebrate my own Funeral. Passions wherewith I may be attainted, to the end that I may be a Conqueror even by my own proper Defeat: For when a Man yields to the Meditation of Death; then Reason commands Sense; all obey to this Apprehension of Frailty. Pleasures by little and little abandon us, the Sweets of Life seem Sour, and we can find no other quiet, but in the Hope Before Death and the Funeral, no Man is Happy. of that glorious Life to come. 'Twas the Saying of a great Man, Before Death and the funeral, no Man is happy. But that I may Die in Peace, 'tis requisite that I Die daily. Philip of Macedon, gave a Boy a Pension every Morning, to say to him—. Philip remember thou art a Man. My Purse won't allow of a Daily Monitor, but I hope this Essay on my Why God would have me ignorant of my last Hour. funeral will serve me as well to bear Death in Mind, as if Philp's-Deaths-Dead were set before me— But God would have me ignorant of my last Hour, that suspecting it always, I might always be ready; and where can I get ready, if not in a Cell, where are few Temptations to Sin and Vanity? And therefore I'll never leave it, but like the silly-Grashopper, Live and Die, (and perhaps be Buried) in the same Ground— But however my Body is disposed of, I shall still be Your Friend INCOGNITO. The Lady's Answer to my Eight Letter. Sir, I Can easily believe you are the First that ever Writ an Essay upon their own Funeral, for our Dissolution is no inviting Subject; it has but a Melancholy Aspect, even when 'tis looked upon as the only Remedy of the Afflicted. But, How bitter are the Thoughts of Death to those that Live at Ease? Which if you Consider, you may well conclude, had Valeria's Kindness been such as you would have had it, you had ne'er enjoyed the Blessing you do now, of Contemplating the Miseries of this Life; till in Ransacking your Memory for all that could possibly any more afflict or torment you, you light upon Death as the last and most dreadful of all terrible Things; which being once fixed in your Mind, sets you out of the reach of all Temptations. In this she makes it appear, she loves you as well at least, if not better, than her own Soul, that she affords you a Happiness she denies herself; and chooses to leave you to the full Enjoyment of it, without robbing you of the least Share. But if you are Serious in the Thoughts of Death, 'twill do you more good than all her Smiles, however you may prise ' 'em. The Gentleman that thought he was as good as Dead when his Money was gone, might have some cause to think himself really Dead, though he walked about, perceiving the Fear every one's Countenance discovered at the sight of him, the Case of most Persons in his Circumstance; therefore never be surprised at his having more Brains than he could be quiet with, for were your Case his in one respect, it might be so perhaps in the other; every one is not able to hear the Contempt of the World. Tho' if well considered, when we answer the Designs of Providence, it should be all one to us, whether we stand for a Penny or a Crown; for in God's Account we are equally as useful and acceptable: And I am persuaded, there has been many great Saints, very little seen or known in the World, and whose only Share in it has been but Obscurity and Contempt; and truly speaking, what are we the better for so large a share of earthly Enjoyments, that shall both disorder our Minds and Bodies that we can't discern our true Interest, but place our Happiness in catching at departing shadows, while we forget we are all born subjects of Death, and begin to die from the first moment of our Life. And 'tis no matter how soon one is discharged of a Debt one must certainly pay. And were our Life never so long, to think in time we should have enough of living, is a great mistake; for at Fourscore Years and we shall think our lives short, and our past Enjoyments extremely imperfect; and any one that dies at Twenty can do no more: That in general, Death is saluted with the same shy Air, whenever he claims the debt they are not willing to pay; as well those he has long forborn, as those he deals with more severely. Yet methinks aged. Person's Experience, and some sort of good Nature and Compassion, might prevail with 'em willingly to make room for others; that by their Death's young Persons, to whom they leave their Places, may have the opportunity of making the same Experiment they have done of the Emptiness of all humane joys, which is best known and believed by dear bought Experience, and never till then can they be freed from the Tyranny of Vain-hopes and wild Ambition, the Disease of Youth. I confess I can't but wonder at the vain curiosity of the Philosophers, who set themselves so much to know exactly, in the last Minute of their Life, what Being Death has, which is none at all. The most that can be seen of Death is by its Operation on our Bodies in this Life; our total Dissolution is but the last stroke, not much differing from the rest, nor perhaps the most painful; we know enough of it to make us hate the thoughts of it, as of a Molancholy Subject; and if ever we are brought to love it, 'tis certain it must be by looking beyond it. For 'tis to the consideration of that happy change of Life, to which Death brings us, that we are obliged for all our Ease and Comfort in this Life, and from the hopes that in Death, the Soul shall be set at Liberty, and be triumphant over that Enemy which had so long insulted, and with the sight and feeling of his Tyranny kept it in bondage and slavish fear. There's nothing in this World that is not under his Dominion; his Character is stamped on every thing, which makes 'em change, corrupt, and die, that we are tired with such perpetual Alterations; tho'it should sometimes supply the place of a comfort to one that has no better; for if a mere change will mend their Condition, they are sure of that Relief, since nothing remains in the same state, all tends to a Dissolution; the Heavens wax old as doth a Garment, and shall be changed; nay, Death itself must shortly yield to Destruction; and till then, the worst it can do is but to change us for the better. 'Tis much to be admired, there should be any Pretenders to the making a Divorce between Death and Sin, that the same Persons that abhor the Sight o● Thoughts of Death, should take Sin into their Embraces; for what's so sure to let in Death as Sin? For 'tis not only the Wages of Sin but its natural Issue; and one may say, 'tis the only good thing Sin ever brought forth; for we have many Advantages by Death, since every degree of Death, in the Body, adds to the Life and Vigour of any Soul that is not already dead in Sin; and in the total Dissolution of the Body, the Soul is freed from any more sinning, and all the sufferings of this Life; a Condition much to be desired, by all but those that are so blind to take their Misery for their Happiness, and door upon this present Life; and such there are, and ever was, of whom St. Austin in amazement speaks, when he says, At what cost and labour do Men endeavour to prolong their Labours, and by how many frights to fly Death, to the end they may be able to fear it for the longer time. 'Tis true, since Death was at first laid on Man as a penalty, it must be allowed to be that which Nature in itself abhors; but God, whose very Punishments are the effects of his Mercy and Goodness, has ordained it to be the means to procure our Happiness, both to wean our Affections from too much love of this Life, and also to bring us to the possession of a better; which if truly understood, would more than overcome our natural aversion; it would make us long to be dissolved, at least willing to die at our appointed time; for those that believe, and hope for a glorious Resurrection, should they regret in Death the loss of their Bodies, 'twould look like the impertinent Folly of one that should lament the loss of the Egg that was become a Chicken; for sure it is, for us to desire to be always what we are, is to oppose the perfection of our Natures, and speaks us degenerated to the lowest degree of Brutality. Can we obtain a true Judgement of ourselves, we should (like the Man you mention) think it more Eligible to end than begin our Life again; and 'tis a great sign we have never laboured for Heaven and Happiness, when we are not weary enough to wish for Rest, but like Children that pass their Day in trifling Follies are never weary, but must be forced to Bed, or else deluded to it by a false hope; some such deceits are found for cheating Men as much as Children, and often sends 'em to rest before they think on't; tho' were they not as insensible as Death itself can make 'em, they could scarce think of any thing else amongst the many Monitors the World affords us; but yet I wonder how you can think it an easy matter to humble the preposterous Pride of Man; 'tis not the sight of a Funeral can do it, nor yet your humbling Verses; he carefully secures his Pride from all Assaults while he lives, and charges it to carry it to his Grave, so dearly he loves it as his best Companion, without which, all worldly Enjoyments would be insipid, and give him more pain than pleasure, for Pride is the chief Ingredient in all our Pleasures to make 'em desirable; and for that reason they do well to keep the thoughts of Death at an humble distance from their Pride, for Death's the greatest Enemy it can encounter, which first or last will get the Victory; for how many Persons are in Mourning half their Life time for the Death of Pride? Those who lament the loss of Youth, the loss of Beauty, or of Grandeur, 'tis all but Funeral sorrow for the loss of Pride, the dear Companion of Beauty, Youth and Grandeur, which is gone before 'em; but if that will satisfy 'em, they shall soon follow. This we must needs observe in the Death of our Friends and Relations, who once enjoyed this Life as much as we do, yet could not baffle Death, but were forced to yield to his Summons, which are so Arbitrary, we have no Rule to take our Measures by to prevent surprise; 'tis therefore best to be always ready to entertain Death's Harbingers, and make every thing our Monitor, and almost all we see and converse with, are naturally disposed to do us that courtesy, would we give leave; for there is so much truth in what you call an Active Death, that more of Death than Life appears in the imperfection of all humane Actions. For Example, Your ringing your Passing-Bell—, your laying yourself out—, speaking your last Words—, describing your Looks—, and your Spouses Sentiments upon your Death and sight of you— are very like the Dream of those that are under the Image and Similitude of Death, and probably like Dreams may come to pass by contraries: For the Circumstances of your Death may differ so much from what you make account of, that it may not permit you to Pray that Prayer you have prepared for obtaining the blessing to see and know again your Spouse in Heaven; but let not this fright you, for you may yet have this comfort, If it is none of the Joys that belongs to Heaven, you'll be happy without it; but if it is the common Blessing belongs to all beautified Spirits, you'll not want it. Nor can I see the least reason to count our Death, because 'tis strange, a dismal and mysterious Change; for what should we fear, since there's no being unhappy in God's Hands? Had he never discovered to us the Joys of another Life, we have tasted so much of his Goodness in this, as may well assure us there is nothing to expect but Happiness wherever he sends us, for Death, Sin and Misery, was no portion of his providing, 'twas of our own procuring by Rebelion; therefore 'tis no matter what we are, nor whether we go, if we can leave Sin behind us. How Beautiful were we made at first, to enjoy an earthly Paradise, till Rebellion and Sin changed all into misery and deformity? But now how glorious shall we be made at the Resurrection, to fit us for a heavenly Life, where we are out of all possibility of any change, for we are in no danger to forfeit that Life, since all the Conditions we hold it by are already fulfilled for us? You may well think what a bright and serene Morning the Resurrection will make, and long for it at a great rate, therefore to be provided for your happy Change is your chief care; when you are once about to die, you won't stay to be asked the least Question about your Funeral, or disposing your Estate, for you have not only made your Will, but ordered every Circumstance of your funeral. The Care and Fondness you show for your Epitaph, and the rich Monument you bequeath yourself, may very justly be imputed to your loving temper; for had Iris been still alive, you had never had such hot Thoughts and Concern for your cold Grave, where you are laid in your Imagination with a Pleasure not inferior to Kings; and to assert your title to that Privilege, can prove yourself as frail and mortal as the greatest Monarch alive. But tho' you might think it necessary to make some Friendship and Acquaintance with Death before you fall into his Hands, I can't see so much use of the Contemplation of your Funeral; for to me 'tis a care I shall never charge my Thoughts with, but as I live and die Incognito, so I would be buried; and so would you, I'm persuaded, were it not to show your Friends how much you valued a Wife that loved you; but having such a Precedent as jacob, you can't be thought vain or prodigal, if like him you erect a Monument in Memory of your fair Wife and happy Marriage; for 'tis an imperfect Felicity, according to the World, that is but little known or talked of. I am secured from mistaking the Person of your Executor by the Character you give him, there are so few comes near that resemblance; from whom you may well promise yourself a speedy performance of your Will. But how sluggish must that Virtue be, that such an Encomium as you have made upon the Fidelity of a Friend in that occasion, could not animate with Life and Spirits to put every thing in execution for the Love and Honour of his deceased Friend? I can't disapprove your Sentiment, that 'tis the truest Charity to your Presumptive Heir, rather to leave him a necessary Instruction to Reflect upon and do him good, than your Estate, that will do him harm; and the Character you give the Person you leave it to, will extremely justify your choice. Your other Legacies are very generous; and in particular to me, who have done nothing for you equal to so kind a Concern; but it seems to be your design to exceed all Persons Deserts. I wish that be all; for your leaving the Athenians and me Mourning, looks as if you were resolved to engross to yourself the sole advantage of living and dying Incognito; and had sound out the way to discover us to the World; for now we are not known but guessed at; for wherever Wit and Modesty appears in one Person, he is presently suspected for one of the Athenians, and perhaps some Woman may be supposed to be the honourable Lady, if she is once discovered to abound in her own Sense, which are marks so near the Truth, there needs no more than putting on Mourning for a Friend, when all the Town knows you are dead, to make a perfect discovery of those Persons who had lived till then unknown; but I'm more inclined to impute it to the great ●aste you made to have all your Business and dying Solemnity over, tha● you might the sooner satisfy your longing desire to be happy with I●is; which may very well excuse your oversight of the danger your Kindness exposed us to. But I am to seek for the Reason of your giving so much for the Preaching your Funeral Sermon, when you have but two Virtues to be commended, and which in reality are none; for what Virtue is there in abhorring Covetousness and Backbiting, when all your Sufferings are owing to those two Vices? 'Tis but too Natural, and far from a Virtue, to hate your Enemies, which they both are, for the one keeps you from paying your Debts, the other makes you pass for a Hypocrite: However the Minister is not to deserve his Legacy for the Commendations he gives you, but you are satisfied if a Sermon is Preached for the Benefit of your surviving Friends, which is all it can pretend to, when 'tis the best performed; nor is any thing more designed in the Highest Eulogiums that are given to any Persons Virtues, 'tis but to recommend 'em to our Imitation with the more advantage; and as Humble and Modest as it looks in many Persons that decline the having funeral Sermons for fear there should be some mistaken Honour paid to their reputed Virtues, I see but little Reason for it: If in our Life-time We must let our Light shine, that Men may see our good Works, notwithstanding the Danger it may prove to our ●ailty, then why at our Funerals may not God have the Glory of our good Works, and our Friends the Benefit of having our Virtue proposed to their Imitation, with all the just Praise it deserves, for the better prevailing? And as it is the most proper occasion for Instruction, 'tis pity any Consideration should disappoint it. I am of Opinion you might have spared your Ring and Inscription to Valeria, for should she follow your Counsel, it would deprive her of all the Satisfaction she should take in her jointure, when it fell to her, for at present 'tis only the Hopes of it that makes her cheerfully undergo all the Misfortunes relating to herself, and her Dear Spouse, whose Absence she is forced to bear, having no means to redress this Ill but by a greater, for she likes her jointure just as it is, and had rather endure any Misery, than ever consent to make it better or worse. Knowing this as you do, let me tell you 'tis a little unkind, to order the cutting down the Woods, which will not only alter but deform the Beauty of it, and she may come to repent all the Sorrows she has endured for the Love of it. But perhaps you'll say, you are as scrupulous of paying your Debts, a● she of not breaking her Vow, and she can't in Conscience but commend you for it; all this alleged of both sides, it seems to put it more in her Power than yours to procure a Remedy, and 'tis a little strange; since, She adheres so strictly to her Church, as not willing to have a Grave out of their Bosom, she should not have the Benefit of their Counsel in that difficult Affair, but is left to herself to suffer so much Misery, for want of a right judgement, in the Case of a rash and unlawful Vow; therefore you need take no more concern, if things remain in the same State they are now, till you Die; you can't oblige her more, than to leave her to her jointure. You are very kind to your Summer friends, and give 'em great Gifts, were they not accompanied with so many Reproaches; all thing considered, you have no such Reason, 'tis possible to make so good a use of their Ingratitude as may turn more 〈◊〉 Advantage, than all the Services of your tried Friends; for they are 〈◊〉 only Persons can teach us to abhor in ourselves, what we see so odious 〈◊〉 them; for to reflect upon our own Ingratitude to God, how humble and modest should it make us in exacting Gratitude to us poor sinful Mor●, who never think how much we are indebted to God's Favour and Goo●, for all the means he gives us of helping others; and we ought to estee● the Services we do 'em, as special Blessings Heaven bestows upon us, and reckon 'em as good Offices which those Persons have done us, in procuring us those Favours; nor can their want of Ackowledgment do us the least Injury, for if you look into yourself, to see with what Mind you served 'em, and find you had no Worldly respects in it, but was carried to it by a Ch●itable sense of their Wants, and respect to your Duty, they then by there Ingratitude, turn you over to God for your Reward; and how much better is that then the best of their Acknowledgements; but if your sole aim had been to 〈◊〉 'em to you, that they might repay you in the same Coin▪ how well you deserve to lose so vain a Reward; but should it have been a fawning and pretended Affection that deluded you, (a Misfortune Men of your Loving and Charitable Temper are most liable 〈◊〉) you have ample amends made you, by showing you the World is ●l'd with false Appearances, and 'tis a Folly to rely on humane Com●ts, for Change of fortune changes friends, for the most part: All you ha●e to regret is, that your Pains and Cost should be so far lost, as that the Kindness you intended should be turned to an Injury, by making 'em Guilty of so black a Crime; yet could you once put 'em into possession of the good Qualities you Bequeath 'em, many might have cause to thank you, and none will ever after be troubled with your 〈◊〉. But what ever your Thoughts are, in my Opinion you have less reason to expect all should approve, than to be surprised that some should blame the Publishing your private Case; who ever appeals to the World, must resolve to stand the shock of many a harsh Judgement; and tho' it looks like Vindicating ourselves, the Event makes it quite another thing; ' t●s much more like a Design to find out an infallible way to be truly humbled for all our Faults and Frailties, they will find so many Chastilers amongst the Rash, the Envious, and the Impertinent, as will make 'em know themselves; but if you yourself judge you have done well in Publishing your Case, as also your Friends who know your Reasons for so doing, what need you heed the Judgement of those who can only judge by the Success, not knowing, but guessing at your Motives for it. But if some Persons shall declaim against the Pains you▪ have taken to Bury yourself, and say, 'tis a meet Whim, they must then look upon the Precedents you have brought of so many great and good Men, that have thought it necessary to fortify 'em against the Fear of Death, which the soft Pleasures of their Condition is apt to represent as the greatest of all Evils. But this is not your Case, you are sick of this Life, and are impatient for a Change; but for all that▪ in this treacherous and deceitful World, you think 'tis good to be provided of a funeral Essay, to remind you of Death, lest some t●e or other▪ you may be Tempted to forget it; as you see others, who are so taken up with observing your Faults after you are Dead and Buried in your Cell, which in Charity they ought to cover, but true Mortification is insensible, which Happiness I wish yo●— Wh● a● your &c. FINIS.