ΗΣΥΧΙΑ ΧΡΙΣΤΙΑΝΟΥ, OR A CHRISTIAN'S ACQUIESCENCE In all the Products of DIVINE PROVIDENCE: Opened In a Sermon, Preached at Cottesbrook in Northamptonshire April the 16. 1664. At the Interment of the Right Honourable, and eminently Pious Lady, the Lady ELIZABETH LANGHAM Wife to Sir JAMES LANGHAM Kt. By Simon Ford B. D. and Minister of God's Word in Northampton.  Salu. de Gub. Dei L. 1. Religiosi hoc cunctis beatiores sunt, quia & habent quae volunt, & meliora quam quae habent, omnino habere non possunt. At turpia atque obscoena sectantes; etsi juxta opinionem suam beati sunt, quia adipiscuntur quod volunt, re tamen ipsa beati non sunt, quia quod volunt, nolle debuerant. 
LONDON, Printed by R. D. for John Baker at the Peacock in St. Paul's Churchyard. 1665.   

 blazon or coat of arms of Elizabeth Langham 
ELIZABETHA Ferdinandi & Lucia Comitum. Huntingdoniae Filia Ja Langham Eg. A●●r. A●er. & Desiderium  HONORANTES ME HONORABO NEC SINET ESSE FEROS   

Imprimatur.  
Tho. Grigg R. T. D. Humfr. Ep. Lond. a sac. dom. Ex Aed. Lond. Oct. 15. 1664.   

TO THE RIGHT WORSHIPFUL Sir JAMES LANGHAM KNIGT.  
Honoured Sir,  
I Have at length surrendered into your hands to dispose of at your pleasure, the Sermon and Narrative, which you have long called for (to use Quintilians' phrase) quotidiano convitio, with an importunity reflecting a continual reproach upon my slow dispatch: which (though I confess it hath withal something of natural in it, yet) principally owns itself to a desire I had (wherein I knew also I corresponded with yours) that the Character of your dear Lady might be perfected by all possible accessions of Intelligence for the view of Posterity to which I understood you designed it. For although it requires not much accurateness (as the 
Sen. de Tranq.  Philosopher says) scribere in Diem; yet aeternitati pingere, to raise a Monument for Ages had need be a work of some Time. I know not, nor shall I much concern myself in the future Fate of my mean scribles; Had I the confidence to think, they have any thing of that Genius which the Poet says, gives eternity to 
Victurus Genium debet habere liber.  men's Writings, I assure you I would willingly contribute the utmost of it to Embalm the memory of a Personage so worthy to live in the remembrance of latest Posterity: but having much more reason to fear they will prove but short-lived, I doubt, when I have done my utmost, I shall only prove guilty of hindering her of the service some better pen might have done her.  
Indeed, she was so excellent a Piece as required the Pencil of the most exact Apelles living to express her to the Life: it being impossible to conceive, much less to delineate her rare perfections, without wronging them, by any Idea, but that of a most complete virtue. She was one, that might be thought to have been born on purpose for the Correction of the Age she lived in: but that these two things seem to argue the contrary; the one that she herself studied so much to hid herself from its Notice; and the other, that she died so early, as not to allow it the advantage of making a full improvement of her example.  
But why do I presume to inform you, who too well understand it, how to rate your own Loss, and teach your grief how much it hath to plead for the justification of its excesses? I wish, rather, that it were within my power to contribute any thing of aid to that Reason, and Grace, which (althongh you are much Master of them both at all other times, yet) I fear, in this Conflict, may be engaged in an unequal encounter. I know the just standard of all Grief is judged to be its Commensurateness to the Cause, 
— Flagrantior aequo  
Non debet dolor esse viri, nec vulnere major. 
Juv. sat. 13.   and I confess, I could allow yours, by that proportion, something of extraordinary, even the utmost of what Religion will indulge to the very infirmities of mortality under the greatest of Creature-Losses. But I desire you, withal, to remember, that it will not be safe to give the justest Affection the Temptation of its utmost Liberty, in which the facility of exceeding may entice it beyond its bounds. I hope, you will take heed that you be not found inter exempla eorum quos dolor vicit (as the proud Stoic (for all his 
Sen. Epist. 63.  professed Apathy) complains of himself) an Instance of the Conquests of sorrow: but rather (as Tertullian says of Job) of the number of those who do, Dei Feretrum de Diabolo extruere, 
Tertul. de Pat.  by a magnanimous Patience furnish God's Triumphs over the Tempter, who is never in more likelihood of obtaining a Victory, than when he can draw in our Reason (as he did Jonah's Jonah 4. 9) to undertake the Patronage of our Passions.  
I know, you look upon yourself as obliged to be a true mourner for so deserving a Wife, because you were a true Lover of her: and you cannot but send now and then a deep sigh after her, as tokens of your continued affection to her. In this respect, 
Mittamus donae spiritualia conjugi tuae, tu imitationem, & ego laudem. Aug. Cornel.  let me bespeak you as St. Austin doth Carnelius; I think it meet, saith he, that both you and I send tokens indeed, but spiritual ones, of our affection to your deceased Lady; on your part Imitation; on mine, Commendation. Thus Herald Yea, rather, (say I) let both you, and I, (Sir) join both these together, in reference to yours; both commend her virtues, and imitate them; yea most really commend them, by imitating them.  
To which purpose, I desire (for her sake, as being conscious that nothing but her name can entitle it to such an Honour) that this small labour of mine may be admitted into your Closet; wherein, if the Narrative do you the unkindness now and then to renew your Tears, I hope the Sermon so near it, may contribute towards the drying them again: and let them both testify, how willing I am to endeavour something at least (though I am sensible how little I have effected therein) which may witness to times to come how much I am,  
Honoured Sir, Your most affectionate Servant in the work of the Lord Jesus. Simon Ford. Northampton Octob. 20. 1664.   

TO THE MOST HONOURABLE The Lady LUCY Countess of HUNTINGDON, And HENRY Lord LOUGHBROUGH His Majesty's Lieutenant of the County of Leicester. All increase of Honour and Happiness.  
THis Sermon and Narrative (Right Honourable) which I here present you withal, though they mainly impute the adventure of their publication to the importunate Affection of a dear Husband to his deceased Ladies memory, yet I dare not altogether acquit my self of the guilt thereof; at least so far, as the easiness of consent will render me criminal. For, I must confess, that I was apt to by't with some greediness at the Occasion thereby offered me, of giving the world a public Testimony of the honour I own to both the Families to which this Excellent Personage concern in them stood Related; both than whence she was Descended, an that, whereinto she was by marriage Engrafted.  
And being thus, betwixt importunity and inclination, prevailed withal to run this risk I hope, I have in the reason's 〈◊〉 both, given a general account 〈◊〉 the fitness of my entituling you to the Patronage of them.  
But withal (Right Honourable) there is something also of peculiar in the claim which on your Honour's behalf may be made unto them.  
For you (Madam) as you blessed the world with the Subject of the Narrative from your Womb: so, you furnished me also with the Argument of the Sermon from your mouth, in a Text, which (among other expressions savouring of a well seasoned spirit) dropped from your lips at the arrival of the sad tidings of your dear Daughter's departure. And I the rather chose to make it the Subject of my Discourse upon that sad Occasion, because your noble Example in the often practise of the Lesson contained in it, accommodated me with a notable Instance of its practicableness: 
Q. sextius habet quod & ostendat tibi beatae vitae magnitudinem, & desparationem ejus non faciet, Ep. 64.  it being a great advantage to the ingratiating of any Duty, when we can by some great example, deliver it (as Seneca speaks in another case) from the suspicion of being impossible.  
I have formerly admired at the Temper of that noble and learned Roman Lady, Cornelia 
Nunquam' ego me felicem non dixerim, quae Gracchoes pepererim. Cicero de Consol.  the Daughter of the great Scipio, and Mother of the Gracchis, of whom Tully reports, that when she had lost her Son Caius, a very hopeful Gentleman, in his very prime, and in him, her twelfth Child, she broke out into this gallant Expression, that she would nevertheless always esteem herself an happy woman, in that she had had the honour to be the Mother of such Children. But I have of late learned to lessen this wonder, having seen her herein out-shined by one no less noble and learned than she, and that is yourself; who, in much a parallel case, have demeaned yourself with a far greater, because a truly Christian, Fortitude.  
And indeed (Madam) if ever any Mother had reason to take Comfort from such a Consideration, you have, in that though you have survived divers of your Children, yet have you withal had the happiness to see them all signally virtuous even beyond their years, and consequently, also the Argument of an ample Assurance of their eternal felicity, in their early maturity and fitness for it.  
In which respect, how can it indeed be other than an infinite satisfaction to you, that in sending so many Children to the place of happiness before you, you are (as it were) glorified by piece meal: and instead of planting Families from your bowels on earth, have contributed towards the planting of Colonies in Heaven; instead of recruiting the Forces of the Church Militant, have furnished the Trophies of the Church Triumphant, and (according to the judgement of some Divines of Note) supplied the vacant seats of so many of the Apostate Angels with Saints descendant from you?  
The usual distastes taken at this kind of Providence, (whether from the uncomely 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 it is thought to make in nature, which seems (according to the Proverb) to design the wearing out of the eldest first; or from the disappointment of the common expectation, that our liberi shall be posteri, our Children live to shut our eyes and receive our last breath, and dying commands, and keep up our Names, and inherit our Estates and Honours when we are gone; (a kind of supplemental and subsidiary immortality which propagation in all species of Creatures seems to aim at, and (in a sort) promise as part of amends for the Death of Individuals) and whatever it is of the like nature which heightens vulgar passions) are all such low and pitiful excuses of impatience, and implicit blasphemies against the great Sovereign of the World; that I cannot suspect the Heroical generosity of your spirit, needs the assistance of any Considerations (which yet both Morality and Christianity afford in great plenty) to be suggested by me for the removal of them. For you have made it sufficiently evident to all that know you, that you are a person who do (as the Philosopher saith) fortius amare, love your dearest temporal comforts more valiantly than so; as experimenting the sweet only and not the soft impressions of that most powerful Affection.  
And therefore (without enlarging this Epistle into another Lecture of Christian submission to, and Acquiescence in Divine Providence) I only tender that of the following Sermon to your hands, not so much in the nature of a Persuasive to your Duty, as the Product of your Example.  
And you (My Lord) by the dear affection which you have born to all the surviving Branches of that Noble Family, and to this excellent Lady in particular, ever since the decease of your noble Brother and their Father the late Earl of Huntingdon, have rendered yourself so much more than an Uncle to them, that I fear I had not done you right, had I not given your Name the very place that the Natural Father's, had he lived, might have claimed in this Dedication.  
And I am withal the more hardened to this adventure, (which otherwise the little acquaintance I have with your Lordship might render presumptuous) by the remembrance that when your Lordship rendered yourself the principal attendant of these sacred Relics to their Dormitory (though the great haste of your affairs then enforced you to call for the Sermon before the day appointed, and necessitated the delivery of it with some disadvantage by the surprise; yet) your goodness was pleased to give an ample testimony of your acceptance of my endeavours therein, as having not only in some proportion discharged my Duty to the Living, but also done something of Justice to the Dead. And therefore, I hope, that what was then honoured with your acceptance, when (in that discomposure) it had no higher ambition than to obtain your pardon, may now, having gained by a review something of more orderly composure (though it yet fall much beneath the excellency of the Subject) aspire to your Patronage also.  
To conclude, I shall ease both your Honours of the trouble this tedious Epistle hath given you, when I have offered up a short Prayer on the behalf of all the surviving Relations of this excellent Lady; viz. That God will enable them by his Grace to improve this sad Providence to their utmost advantage, which will be best done by copying out her Virtues in their own practice; considering, That Domestical examples of eminent Goodness, as they reflect an honourable lustre upon the Families from which they are extracted, (Saints adding a greater glory to any Pedigree than Princes) so ought they, into them especially who are nearest of Relation, to insinuate the most ardent and affectionate desires of Imitation: as those, which through proximity of blood, have the assistance of something of natural to endear them to the Affections; the help of frequent and familiar converse to imprint them in the memory; and lastly, the Evidence gathered from constant observation, to justify to the Judgement the reality of that Beauty which appears in them in all Dresses, against the suspicions of Auxiliary tinctures, wherewith our uncharitableness usually burdens the most resplendent virtues of those that are mere Strangers to us.  
And, for a close, may the God of all Grace so bless them with an increase of all gracious qualities, that they may all rise up into the like reputation of singulat Instances and Examples of Christian Perfection with Her that is gone before them; and yet manage their growth so thriftily for us, that by a precocious maturity, they may not precipitate their removal from us; that this profligate Age may be the longer blessed with such living Convictions and Reproofs of its desperate viciousness; and themselves enjoy the more ample opportunity of advancing the Comfort of their Friends, and their own Reward.  
These Requests, as there is none who prefers them on your hehalf with more zealous affection, so, I dare confidently affirm, there is none that shall find himself more obliged to be thankful for the Answer of them, than  
(Right Honourable) Your most humble servant in the work of the Lord Jesus Simon Ford. Northampton, Oct. 20. 1664.   

ΗΣΥΧΙΑ ΧΡΙΣΤΙΑΝΟΥ OR, A CHRISTIAN'S ACQUIESCENCE In all the Products of DIVINE PROVIDENCE, etc.  Acts 21. 14. And when he would not be persuaded, we ceased, saying, The will of the Lord be done. 
THis Text, as it relates to 
The Coherence of the Text.  the History whereof it is parcel, contains the reception given by the Christians at Caesarea to that peremptory denial which they received from St. Paul to their importunate dissuasion of him from going to Jerusalem: where one Agabus a Prophet (the same in likelihood, whose true Prediction of a Famine in the days of Claudius Caesar is mentioned, Acts 11. 28.) had foretold, that he should run an hazard of his Liberty (at least) if not of his Life also, consequently; seeing so eminent a Propagator and Propugner of Christianity as he, being once in his Enemy's hands, could not probably expect less from them, than utmost extremities. This denial you have recorded, v. 13. He answered, what mean ye to weep and break my heart? for I am ready not only to be bound, but to die at Jerusalem for the name of the Lord Jesus. His Answer speaks him Man, and Christian: As a Man, he shows himself moved with their Affections; but as a Christian he declares himself not to be removed from his Resolutions; He hath an heart so much flesh, as to be affected tenderly with their kindness, but so much flint, or steel rather, as to receive no impression from their Counsel. For, the first words of my Text tell you, that he would not be persuaded. And herefore seeing he would not, the Brethren (as passionate as they were in their importunities) had grace enough to conquer nature, and persuade themselves to cease their suit: as apprehending an intimation of Gods will to the contrary of what they so earnestly desired, from the impregnableness of that heart, which they saw held out with so noble a resolution against the batteries of so many united prayers and tears. They are loath to contest any farther, where they see God and Grace of a Party against them; and therefore they raise the siege, cease their solicitations, and unanimously say, The will of the Lord be done.  
A short Text, beloved, but that 
A brief Descant on the Text.  which contains a long Lesson, to be studied and practised the longest day of your lives: an easy Text, but comprehending an hard Task, one of the hardest in all the compass of Christianity, viz. the most high and heroical duty of a full, absolute and perpetual resignation of ourselves, and all our concernments to the sovereign pleasure of Almighty God.  
Indeed, every word in the Text 
iscite habere n cord quod nis homo habet in lin●. Quod vult us hoc agate. Ipsa lingua popularis est le●umque sed doctrina salutatis. In Ps. 32.  is practically hard, but one, and that is [saying] which is so easy that St. Austin told his people long since, that these Forms, The Will of the Lord be done, and let the Lord do his pleasure, etc. are lingua popularis, common discourse; wherefore he adviseth them to learn to get this lesson by heart, which every one was able to say by rote, and then they should find, Doctrina salutaris, an wholesome and saving Doctrine contained in it.  
1. And first, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, is an hard word to be cordially pronounced by sinful flesh and blood. Man in his lapsed estate is loath to own any Lord over him, Psal. 12. 4. what they conceit they are, Jer. 2. 31. every one would fain be; 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, a Lord to himself, independent even upon God himself, so as to need to come no more at him, as there the Phrase is. And that this Lesson is of no mean difficulty, appears, in that God near eighty times in the Scripture, tells men he will be at extraordinary pains to learn it them, (sometimes by mercies, and otherwhiles by Judgements) in this common Phrase, Ye shall know that I am the Lord.  
2. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, the Will of this Lord, is yet an harder word to be practically conned. Generally, men are enemies to Arbitrary Power, and Government by will, even in God himself. Let him rule by known Laws, and Precedents only, (provided that withal he be responsible to the High Court of humane Reason for what he doth, and admit every man's particular Reason to be of the Quorum, and sit as Judge in the Court) upon these conditions, it may be, he may be received as a Titular Lord among the Sons of Men. But so to own him as a Lord, as to leave him free to do what he pleaseth in Heaven and Earth, and in all deep places, (even in Hell itself) Psal. 135. 6. to have all the world at his sole beck, without suffering any one to reply against him, Rom. 9 20. to have as absolute an unaccountable power over all things as the Potter hath over the clay, v. 21. this is an had saying, (as they say in another case John. 6. 60.) and who can endure to hear it?  
3. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, Let this absolute will be done, is not one jot easier for man's heart to utter. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, may possibly go down with us. God's will, when it is done, and no man can help it, necessity will enfore men to swallow, after a Fashion: because it is in vain to attempt to  yesterday, to render factum, infectum; what is done, not to have been done. But Friends, this will not serve, there is more in this word than so. This 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, imports our free and voluntary Vote, both of consent when it is to be done, and of approbation and applause when it is done. Now surely, this is hard. To give God our Fiat beforehand, to the doing of that will of his, which it may be tends to the undoing of ourselves: and to subscribe to it when done, as done to our minds; yea, so done, as it could not be better done; and this not 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, out of constraint, but 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, willingly; not as a man bestows his Goods upon the Waves in a Storm, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, with an unwilling will, but as a man parts with his money for a good purchase; to acquiesce, as satisfied in it: not with a canina patientia, (as Tertullian, and Bernard call it) a Dog's patience, a patience perforce, but with a patientia Christiana, a true Christian patience, grounded upon choice; in this sense, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, (though Englished is Greek still to most men, and non potest legi, an hard chapter, and few can read it.  
4. Lastly, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, We ceased, comes behind none of the rest for difficulty. To calm all our passions, and the expressions of them in whatever kind; and be still, (as God bids the tumultuous World, Ps. 46. 10. and Christ the tempestuous Sea, Mark 4. 39;) to take up our Cross cheerfully and make no words of it, how uneasy soever it sit; not to deprecate the least circumstance of that Providence which grates most close upon our dearest Interests and Concernments; and in Thought, Speech, and Behaviour, to show that our spirits enjoy a perfect calm, not so much as the least wrinkle of a wave remaining upon them; where is the man that will be persuaded, that this Yoke is easy, and this Burden light? Mat. 11. 30.  
And yet as hard a Lesson as this is, the Disciples in the Text had learned it; and, I hope, ere these Sands be spent, so will You too, at least, as to your judgements and Consciences, (for God alone can disciple Passions,) so that you shall be convinced, that these Brethren said well, and did better; and therein confess, that you are bound to say, and do so too, echoing from your hearts and lives to every providence of God, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, The Will of the Lord be done.  
The words offer themselves to 
The Parts of the Text.  be handled in a double capacity.  

1. In the Matter  
2. In the Form of them.   
First, The Matter of them is the carriage of these Christians of Caesaria upon the occasion ; which farther may be subdivided into  

I. Dictum, what they said, to wit, The will of the Lord be done.  
II. Factum, What they did in conformity to this saying, they Ceased, that is, fotbore to solicit their suit any further.   
Secondly, the Form of them; and that consists in the Historical Relation of both (by the appointment of God's Spirit) from the Pen of St. Luke, who himself, (as appears by the Relation itself running in the Plural, We ceased,) was pars magna, had a great share in all the passages of this part of St. Paul's Story.  
These two parts we will handle 
The first Part handled. I. The Matter of the Text. 1. Its first Branch the Dictum.  distinctly; beginning with  
I. The Matter, or substance of the Text: wherein, first comes to hand,  
1. The Dictum, What these Brethren said, Fiat voluntas Domini. The Will of the Lord be done. And this learns us this Observation,  
That, When Gods revealed will and ours so clash and enterfere, 
1. Observation.  that both of them cannot be done, it is a necessary piece of Christian duty for us to veil our wills to Gods.  
Say not, this is false Logic, to infer a general Rule from a particular Example. For that is not a particular example, which though particular persons only be concerned in, yet bears a conformity with a Principle universally owned by Christians, and recorded as congruous to that Principle by the appointment of the Holy Ghost, for the imitation of others. These brethren's practice was produced by this Principle; and therefore warrantably may this Principle be concluded from their practice.  
To the more clear handling of 
Explained.  this Point, it will be needful (according to the intimation given you therein,) to distinguish of the will of God, under the different considerations of secret and revealed. The secret will of God is a Rule, by which he alone acts: the revealed will of God is that that we are to manage ourselves by: Secret things belong (only) to God; but those things that are revealed, belong to us and to our children. Deut. 29. 29. The secret will of God therefore, as, and whiles it continues locked up in the Cabinet of his own breast, to which he alone keeps the Key, (upon that very account, because we neither do, nor can know it,) obligeth not us farther, than as it stands in a capacity to be revealed; and in this capacity, it requires from us a general, implicit, hypothetical, and dispositive submission only, (i. e. an holy disposition, inclination, and purpose of heart to submit to it) whenever it shall come to be signified, and revealed. But the will of God once actually revealed, requires a particular, express, actual, and positive submission of us. The secret will of God, whiles such, may be lawfully prayed against, and acted against: otherwise, all Prayers must be sinful, which God thinks not fit to grant, and all courses of humane providence unlawful, which prove unsuccessful; an assertion so absurd, that no sober Christian will own it. Yea, more, the will of God, even when expressed and signified to us, (that, I mean, which concerns the inflicting any evil upon us or ours) if it be expressed only conditionally, or, (though it may be delivered in absolute terms, yet) may according to the Tenor of the Scripture be warrantably supposed to imply a Condition; we may both pray against, and by all other pious and prudent courses 
2 Sam. 12. 22. Jon. 3. 8, 9 Is. 38. 1, 2.  labour to prevent. Of which we have at least three known Instances in the Scripture; in the several Cases of David, Hezekiah, and the King of Nineveh. And the reason hereof is, because in such Cases, the will of God revealed, being not peremptory and absolute, is fulfilled on the one hand even by its frustration upon the performance of the Conditions, upon which it was suspended, as it would on the other, by taking place, according to the commination, in case the Conditions supposed be not performed. So David, and the King of Nineveh both argue; For who can tell whether God will be merciful? etc. And in this manner, it is probable, the Brethren in the Text understood the Prophecy of Agabus, labouring to prevent it, whiles they saw no cause to conclude it absolute, and irrevocable; and till they perceived by the evident hand of God upon St. Paul's heart, that he himself had in all likelihood defeated their importunities, in order to the completing of his own will.  
It remains then, that the will of 
Lomb d. 45. Il. dis: 14.  God, to which ours must submit, is his will revealed, according to the nature, and measure of that revelation.  
The revealed will of God (according to the Schools) contains his precepts, his prohibitions (under 
Praecipit, & prohibet, permittit, consulit implet.  which I suppose they include also his promises and threaten annexed to them) his permissions, his counsels, and his performances. In reference to all which, our duty is thus to be distributed; We must do what he bids, forbear what he forbids, follow what he adviseth, bear with what he permitteth, and bear what he inflicteth, without the least opposition or reluctancy from our wills: or in case any such arise in our hearts through passion or temptation, our wills must then be denied, and not dandled; humbled, not honoured; mortified, not gratified.  
St. Bernard expresseth this subjection 
Serm. de subjectione voluntatis.  of our Wills to the Will of God in three particulars, We must (saith he)  
1. Velle omnino quod certum est Deum velle, absolutely and entirely will what we certainly know God wills; not opposing our nay to his yea.  
2. Nolle omnino, & execrariquod certum est Deum nolle, absolutely nill and execrate what God nills and dislikes; not opposing our yea to his nay.  
3. Neque velle ex toto, neque penitus non velle quod incertum est utrum Deus velit aut nolit: to be indifferent, or (at least) very moderate, not peremptory and eager in those things concerning which the Will of God is dubious and uncertain; but to suspend our yea and nay till God have expressed his.  
And then are we, in any of these out of order, as St. Austin says, 
Ad suam voluntatem flectere Deum, non suam corrigere ad Deum In Ps. 32.  when we rather labour to bend Gods will to ours, than amend ours by his.  
I intent not here to treat of subjection to the Will of God in its latitude, but to confine myself to that, in God's revealed Will, which both the Text and this sad occasion leads me unto, the providential part of it relating to such Issues and Events wherein we are concerned, whether in our persons and interests; and therefore are endangered to temptations of reluctancy from our particular dissatisfactions and displeasures. It is this will of providence that the Brethren in the Text strike sail to in this Christian expression, The will of the Lord be done, q. d. If God will have it so, that no entreaties shall prevail to keep so dear an Apostle and eminent instrument of God's glory and the Churches good from honds and imprisonment, than so be it. Let Paul be bound, and our wills too bound up from obstructing it; that God may have the liberty of his will: let our prayers and tears be frustrated, rather than his pleasure and determination be defeated. The Lord it seems will have it so, and we will have it as he will. And in the same frame do we find good old Eli, when God sent him that thundering threatening by Samuel, It is the Lord, saith he, let him do what seemeth him good, 1 Sam. 3. 18. And David when he fled from Jerusalem to avoid that dangerous Rebellion raised by his Son Absalon, whiles he yet knew not the Lord's pleasure concerning the event, is in utrumque paratus: If the Lord will permit me to find favour in his eyes, he will bring me back again; but if he say thus, I have no delight in thee, here am I, let him do as seemeth good to him, 2 Sam. 15. 25, 26. And thus our Saviour in the Garden, wherein (according to St. Augustine's notion) voluntatem suam figuravit & nostram, he exhibited 
Ibidem.  as it were in a Table together his will and ours, the will of Nature and the will of Grace, after he had expressed an human sinless infirmity in startling at so grievous a suffering, makes a gracious surrender of his Will to his Fathers, saying, not my will, but thine be done.  
Thus, you see, do the Saints of God use to submit to the revealed will of Providence, antecedenter, even before it is done, by consenting that it be done; yea, as in the instance of David but now mentioned, before he hath so much as re vealed what he will do; so preparing 
Is. 40. 3, 4.  the way of the Lord by complanation of every mountain that may retard him.  
And a like submission do they yield to the same will of providence, consequenter, after it is done, by way of approbation; as being highly satisfied in this, that he hath done whatsoever he pleased. Thus holy Job falls to the ground, and adores that providence, which had reduced him from the Throne to the Dunghill, Job 1. 20. 
Non petimus ut Deus faciat quod vult, sed ut nos facere possimus, quod Deus vult. Serm. de Orat. Dom.   
And in both these, their practice suits their prayers, who are taught to pray in definitely, Thy will be done Mat. 6. 10. In which Petition, though Cyprian be of the mind, that we only beg grace to yield active obedience to God's will enjoined, yet even that includes grace also to give passive obedience to his will inflicted; patience being no less a duty in this, than performance in that. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, (as once Epictetus said) contain the sum of Moral Philosophy, to bear what God lays on us, & to forbear what he forbids us to do And there is a great deal of Christianity in them too: For, the first Commandment requiring us to own him for our God, 
Verbis reliquit Deos, re sustulit. De Nat. Deor.  we must not, as Tully says of Epicurus, give him a Name without a thing: or, (in the language of a better Author, Tit. 1. 16) Profess we know, and honour him, and yet in works deny him, which we shall certainly do, if we subtract from him the one half, and that the chiefest of that homage which we own him, our submission to his just and necessary severities.  
And now that what hath been 
Argued.  said, may not seem an unequal yoke, or unreasonable Task to you, I shall endeavour to satisfy your Judgements concerning it by these Reasons.  
1. On God's part, and here Reason tells us,  
1. That God will have his will on us, as well as of us, whether we will or no. For who hath resisted his will? Rom. 9 19 and who ever hardened himself against God, and prospered? Job 9 4. The very Heathens had this notion of Fate (which some (with great likelihood of truth) think, signified no more to the nicest of them that maintained it, however their opinion were exposed by their Adversaries, than the power of an omnipotent will in its unavoidable and  effects) that it always dragged those against their wills, who would not be led with their wills to submit unto it;  
Ducunt volentem Fata, nolentem trahunt. 
Seneca Trag. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 Epict. c. 77. Edit. Roterd. Better read by Lipsius in his Notes on Seneca Ep. 107. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 Lact. de vero cultu.  Whence Cleanthes, (for to him Simplicius assigns that saying delivered in jambick verse at the end of Epictetus) took up that noble Resolution of following, wherever his God and his Fate led him; as thinking it more eligible to obey with his good will, than to be hurried against it. It is true, the irresistableness of such events as God assigns us, is a reason for submission much below a Christian; for (as Lactantio antius says) nulla laus est non facere quod non possis) it is no commendation to a man not to do, what if he would he cannot, and so to submit to that providence which he cannot resist: yet, because even Christians sometimes act below Christianity and humanity too, I thought it not amiss to suggest this low consideration here, as that, which, if it will not purchase them the praise of doing well, yet may serve to keep them from the guilt of doing ill, kicking against the pricks of providence, and attempting a bootless and hurtful resistance against an  will. But,  
Secondly, that that carries a more generous veyn of Reason in it, is,  
2. That could we hinder God of his will, yet it is most just and equal that we should yield it him voluntarily, upon the account of his deep Wisdom, great Goodness, spotless Justice, and absolute Sovereignty: considering, that he that is infinitely wise can commit no error; he that is infinitely good can do no evil; he that is in infinitely just can offer no wrong; and he that is an absolute Lord, and unlimited Sovereign, needs ask no leave in whatsoever he pleaseth to do. Now, God is so wise, that the Scripture tells us he is only wise, and all creatures fools to him, Rom. 16. 17. all his works are done in wisdom, infinite, incomprehensible wisdom, Ps. 104. 24. so good, that it assures us there is none (as he is good, absolutely, originally, independently, and immutably) good but he, Mat. 19 17. All the Earth is full of his goodness, Ps. 33. 5. There is no unrighteousness in him, John. 7. 18. He is righteous in all his ways, Ps. 145. 17. And though all the World sift and scan his actions never so much, they will be able to find nothing after him, to quarrel him justly for, Eccles. 7. 14. and therefore we shall but exalt our folly, and render it more conspicuous, Prov. 14. 29. and declare our sin, Is. 3. 9 and show our taking pleasure in unrighteousness, 2 Thes. 2. 12. if we set up our foolish, evil, and unjust wills, in opposition against him.  
Wilt thou quarrel him, because his wisdom is not concordant with humane maxims, his goodness is not measured by humane measures, and his justice not directed and governed by humane laws? Consider then in the last place, that it is (as Tertullian says,) a most foolish 
Stultissimi, qui de humanis divina praejudicant. Adu. Marc. lib. 2.  thing to prejudge God's affairs by humane Rules. Because he is an absolute Sovereign over all the World; he doth what he pleaseth in the Army of Heaven, and among the Inbahitants of the Earth, and none can stay his hand, or say unto him, what dost thou? as the greatest Monarch, at that day in the World, confesseth, Dan. 4. 35. Now it is proper to an absolute Sovereign, to give Laws to all, and receive them from none: yea, to be as unaccountable as the Potter is to the clay, to all under his Dominion, Rom. 9 21. and therefore not to be commanded to yield an answer to any one's cavils concerning the work of his hands, as both the Context, the Chaldee Paraphrast, the Arabic Version, and St. Jerome will have us understand that Text, which some modern Divines take for an high strain of Divine condescension to the force of Prayer, Is. 45. 11. It is hardly possible (saith St. Austin) but in 
Aliquid proprium velle difficile est ut tibi non contingat, sed statim cogita, illum supra te, te infra illum, illum creatorem, te creaturam, illum omnipotentem, te infirmum, corrigens te & subjungens voluntati ejus, etc. Aug. in Ps. 32. ubi supra.  something or other every man should incline to his own private will; but then he ought presently to think, that God is the Sovereign, he the subject; God the Creator, he the creature; God Omnipotent, he impotent; and then he will see cause to correct himself, and say, yet not as I will, Lord, but as thou wilt.  
To sum up this Paragraph then. If the will of man shall take upon it to prescribe to the will of God, either Man must pretend to more Reason, or more Right to govern the World than Herald To pretend to more Reason, must imply a fond blasphemous conceit, that he hath either skill to do it more wisely, or goodness to do it more obligingly, or justice to do it more equally than God: And, to plead more Right, implies no less a blasphemous absurdity; For who hath more right to dispose of the Creature, than he that made it? Now, he made us, not we ourselves, Ps. 100 3. Of him, and from him, are all things, Rom. 11. 36. and therefore in reason (as follows) they should be to him. All the World was created for his pleasure, Rev. 4. 11. and undoubtedly (therefore) he hath right to dispose of it at his pleasure. The Father is the most proper Governor of the Child he hath begotten, and the Workman Master of the Manufacture that he hath made. How absurd then is it for us, that are 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, God's offspring, Act. 17. 28. and 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, his Workmanship, 
Quorsum tandem prosiliet vestra arrogantia ut non sinatis me— in officina mea dominari? Calv. in Is. 45.  Eph. 2. 10. not to suffer the Father of our beings to govern in his own Family, and the great Architect of all the World, to be Master in his own Shop? as a learned Commentator descants on that Text of Isaiah but now quoted.  
2. And Secondly, on our part, it is infinitely for our advantage to be managed by the will of God, beyong what it would be to be left to our own, and that in four particulars.  
1. This only can effectually quiet us, Ps. 119. 165. Great peace have they that love thy Law, and nothing shall offend them, says the Psalmist. All our disturbances (as St. Bernard descants upon that 
Vnde scandala, unde turbatio, nisi quod propriam sequimur voluntatem? etc. Bern. Serm. de sub. vol.  Text) arises from this, that men will not be governed by God's Law, but their own wills. Man's will, if left to its own dispose, will never be at rest. It's own desires (like Actaeon's Dogs in the Fable) will worry, disquiet, and distract it continually. And this (1,) partly from the dubiousness and hesitancy incident to it in its choice, whence, men that may have what they will, cannot tell many times what to choose, of all that variety which distracts their desires. The rational appetite is as much at a loss, de magno tollere 
Horace.  acervo, to choose among many objects, as the bodily appetite is (in a dubia coena) to pitch upon what Dish it will feed on in a great Feast. (2.) And partly from the unconstancy and fickleness of it, which causeth it so frequently to alter its choice. The sick will of 
Mutationibus ut remediis uti. Sen. de Tranq. An.  man (as the Moralist expresses it) doth, as the will of the sick man, think changes its cure. So prone are we always to fly from ourselves, (says old Lucretius) that is, 
Hoc se quisque modo semper fugit.  dislike our present condition; though, had we never so much choice before us, we cannot tell how to mend it: So that it must needs be as much trouble to a man to fix such a Mercurial faculty; as, the Nurse hath, that is to please that Child with Baubles, that dislikes old, and likes new every quarter of an hour. (3.) And partly from its greediness, arising from its vastness, and (in a sort) infiniteness of capacity: which nothing moderate will satisfy in any kind, while there is any thing beyond it desirable, or but appearing so to be: 
Crescit indulgens sibi dirus hydrops. Hor. Ode.  Like an hydropical thirst, that (as the Poet tells us) by its very satisfactions is rendered more insatiable; and (as the Moralist hath it) Incipit semper a fine, finds the satisfaction of one desire the production of another. Whence the same Moralist tells, that Attalus compared 
Senec. Ep. 73. & 72.  the greediness of appetite in Man, to that of a Dog, that as soon as he hath greedily swallowed one bit that is fling to him, in spem futuri hiat, he is ready, and gapes for another.  
So that in all these respects, it is most for our ease and quiet to be determined, and limited in our desires by a superior will, especially a will of so much wisdom, goodness, and Justice, as I have before told you, Gods is. And submission to this alone, can fix, settle, and satisfy us.  
2. This only can truly better and improve us: I mean, contribute to us a true, inward, and gracious excellency of spirit; and heal the sinful distempers which naturally we groan under. Our viciousness of nature and life, whence is it, but from our own wills? whence the Apostle describing our natural depravedness, Eph. 2. 2. ascribes it, in a great measure, to our 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, the irregular appetites we are subject unto. When God gave the first Man his will, that liberty served him for no further use than to enslave himself, by debasing the 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, or governing faculty of his Soul to a sensual, brutish appetite: so that he whom God made upright, made himself crooked and deformed, by seeking out many inventions, Eccles. 7. 29. Now, contraria, contrariis, say Physicians. Diseases are cured by contraries. Wherefore, if our own wills have depraved us, the only way to cure this depravedness, is to reduce them to subjection, and conformity to the will of God. God's will (saith the Apostle) is a good, and perfect will, Rom. 12. 3. and therefore our perfection must be to stand complete in all the will of God, Col. 4. 12. For (according to the Philosopher's Rule, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 
Arist. Top. L 3.  〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉,) there being such an infinite goodness in God's will; to be most like it, must be, to be best.  
3. This only can save us from eternal ruin and destruction. A man never more speedily and surely damns himself, than when God gives him up to his own hearts lusts, Psal. 81. 12. when God threatens to let sinners alone, Hos. 4. 17. he threatens all evil to them compendiously. For, 1. How often, if left to ourselves, do we wish and pursue those things most passionately, which are most prejudicial to us? so that it is a sore suspicion, that any thing is nought for us when our own appetites greedily desire it. And if God would study a close, quick, and certain way of being revenged upon a man, he need but open his stores to him, and give him the liberty of choosing for himself.  
Evertere domos totas, optantibus ipsis, Dii faciles. 
Juven. sat. 10.  says an Heathen. An easy God stands his Creature in no other stead, than to undo him with his own consent. Were it not better then, for a man to be crossed in his will, by Gods, (as we do our children when they cry for knives or other hurtful things) than to be let alone to be ruined by his own?  
2. How often do we deprecate, and fly from those things, which are (of all others) most beneficial to us? Like Infants that refuse wholesome food and Medicines, because they are not sweetened to their . And so do we destroy ourselves by flying the wholesome austerities of Religion, merely because ascetical godliness, is too sour and ungrateful to flesh and blood? so also do we, by all means, eat affliction, 
Job. 36. 21.  and choose sin rather than it, though to our utter ruin, barely because, for the present, it is not 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, but 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, not a matter of joy but of grief, Heb. 12. 11. Generally men go to Hell, because they will go to Heaven their own way, not Gods. Which made St. Bernard say, Cesset voluntas propria, & infernum 
De Res. Domini, Serm. 2.  non erit: that there would be no Hell, were it not for men's own wills. Though no man hath a will to be damned, yet every man's own will damns him.  
Is it not therefore a thousand times better for us to deny our own wills herein also, and submit to Gods; who by those things that do not please us, doth preserve us from utter ruin and destruction; and if he should do any other than displease us, must be enforced to destroy us by humouring us; as that Chirurgeon doth, who is loath to search a dangerous wound to the bottom; or cut out of the quick flesh a cancerous substance, for fear of offending and disquieting his Patient? When we need it, it is the greatest act of Divine indignation that he can show towards us, to forbear severity; so St. Austin. And on the other side, Blessed is he whom God correcteth, and teacheth him out of his Law, saith the Psalmist, 
Cum parcit Deus, plus irascittur. In Ps. 65.  For thereby he saves his children from the destruction that attends the wicked, as follows Psal. 94. 12, 13. upon which notion Tertullian, very elegantly, and devoutly 
Decet gratulari & gaudere Divinae dignatione castigation is. O beatum illum servum cujus emendationi Dominus instat, cui dignatur irasci, etc. De patiented.  descants in this manner. Happy is that Servant whom his Heavenly Master is at such pains to amend; whom he will condescend to be offended withal; whom by mildness he doth not beguile to his destruction. And therefore we ought to rejoice in, and congratulate the high vouchsafement of divine correction.  
4. This only can Crown us eternally in Heaven, For who (among men) rewards his Servant for doing 
Heb. 5. 9 Si pro arbitrio suo servi dominis obtemperant, ne in iis quidem in quibus obtemperant, obsequuntur. Gub. D. L. 3.  his own pleasure? It is obedience only, that God Crowns. Christ is the Author of Eternal life to them, (and them only) that obey him. Now (as Salvian says) if a man do his Master's will, according to his own pleasure, though he do his commands, he doth not obey them. Besides, it is absurd to think that God should reward any other than he approves. Now he approves not any one that doth not please him; else, in approving him, he would condemn himself. Will you know now who pleaseth God? St. Austin tells you, Ille placet 
Aug. ubi supra, in Ps. 32.  Deo (says he) cui placet Deus, that man pleaseth God, who is not displeased with him; as acquiescing and resting satisfied and contented in his pleasure. After we have done the will of God (saith the Apostle to the Hebrews) we need to have patience to bear it too, before we receive the promises, Heb. 10. 36. He that thinks to get to Heaven without an entire resignation of himself to Gods will; had need provide an Heaven of his own, and a Ladder of his own too to get thither. For there is no room for him in God's Heaven, nor any possibility for him to obtain it, that will not commit himself to his conduct, and enter that way which he hath appointed him.  
3. And thirdly, there is also high Reason for this Truth, on the part of the whole Creation of God: which Gods will alone preserves in being, and peace; whereas our wills would hurry it into ruin and destruction, by perpetual wars and confusions: Meum and Tuum (we say) are the greatest make-bates and sow-strifes in the World. And how comes this to pass? The fault is not in propriety: for that is the end of strife, when every one enjoys his own. But it lies in this, that every man will be the Judge of what is his, and what another man's; measuring out propriety by his own will. Whence it is, that men generally think all their own, that (quocunque modo) they can get; and nothing another's, but what they cannot get from him. Which Alexander the Great spoke out plain (when, to a City that offered to compound with him, upon terms of dividing their Goods and territories betwixt him and them; 
Eo proposito veni in Asiam, non ut id acciperem quod de dissetis, sed ut id haberetis quod reliquissem. Q. Curt.  he answered) That he came not into Asia to receive what men would give him, but to assign them what he should think fit to leave them. And hence grow all wars saith St. James chap. 4. 1. because men will share the world among them according to their own lusts. Now the only way to end them, and preserve the world in Peace, is for God to interpose his Arbitration. The which he doth, partly by Law, and partly by Power. It is then best with the whole world, when men will stand to the decisions of God's Law, or will of Precept, in these differences. For certainly (although some Atheists 
Totam de Diis opinionem fictum a sapientilus Reip. causa, etc. Tull. de Nat. De.  strain the notion too far, (as he whom Tully brings in, asserting, that all Religion was invented by Statesmen for politic ends; of whose mind I doubt there are still more than a good many) yet) it is an unquestionable Truth, that Religion hath a great influence upon the peaceable Government of Kingdoms, nor can any Body Politic be well governed without it: seeing no other ties can be sufficient to keep any man within bounds, that hath no principle of Conscience to oblige him, longer, than till he hath power enough, and opportunity offered to disengage himself. Whereas, when the Law of God joins with the Law of man, such a one as is truly awed thereby, dares not do any unjust action, though he could, and were sure he had power enough to secure him therein from humane Jurisdiction.  
But because there are some who have no sense of Religion at all, (and so will not stand to God's Arbitration by Law) or if they have, yet are apt to interpret God's Law for their own advantage; therefore (to keep the world in being) God is fain to deal with these men by an Arbitration of Power, which (will they, nill they) they cannot 
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, etc. Hom. Il. Θ.  evade. Thus Homer describes his Jupiter with a pair of golden balances in his hand, weighing out the Fates of Armies and Nations; to intimate that God alone determines the great controversies of the world by his  providence, according to his own will; and by the changes and vicissitudes of Affairs, continues the course of Nature, in the channel wherein it hath run from the Creation. Thus when any part of this great body, hath grown unwieldy, by attracting too much nutriment to itself, he hath substracted from it, to give to others, what was expedient; cantoning great Monarchies, and distributing them into more moderate Principalities; and when he hath seen it needful (on the other side) strengthening weak members by accessions contributed from adjacent parts, hath enabled them to support themselves. And so in private concernments, he raiseth one Family out of the ruins of another, takes away providentially Laban's wealth, and gives it to Jacob, Gen. 31. 9 removes one generation, that another may stand 
Eccles. 1. 4.  up in its stead; and so provides for all by succession; for whom, if they should all exist together, the whole World would not suffice (as the proud King says of the dust of Samaria, in reference to his numerous Army, 1 King. 20. 10.) to afford every one an handful. And so is the World maintained, as the River is, by gaining on one bank, what it loseth on another: as the Moralist observes, that by these contrarieties 
Natura hoc, quod vides, regnum mutationibus temperate & contrarits rerum aeternitas constat. Sen. Ep. 107.  of Providence the duration of this great Frame is preserved. Whereas if these Scales could be wrested out of God's hand, and Men had them in their own; there would be no end of quarrels betwixt them, but in a fatal ruin of them all, by means of mutual rapines and bloodsheds,  
— suoque  
Marte cadent subito per mutua vulnera fratres.  Ou. Met. 
And now, Brethren, I would fain persuade myself, that by what hath been said, your Judgements are 
Applied.  convinced of this truth. But that I am afraid, unruly Passions will not suffer them (especially in your particular concernments) to pronounce according to their convictions. Reason is always more easily managed than Passion; Man, than the beast in Man. The Law of the Members, as the blessed Apostle complains, is hardly brought into subjection to the Law of the Mind, Rom. 7. 23. whence it comes to pass, that though we know this Doctrine to be true, and will assent to it in Thesi, in general; yet in Hypothesi, (when it comes to be reduced to every Man's particular) there can hardly a Man be found that doth not persuade himself, his Case doth not fall under this Rule, nor ought he to be governed by it. I complain of myself, (Christians) as well as of you. And Tertullian did so before me, who 
Confiteor satis temerè me, si non impudenter de patientia, componere ausum, cui praeftandae omninc id●●eus non sum.— Ne dicta factis deficient ibus erubescant De Patient.  makes this ingenuous confession in the presence of God, in the very entrance of his excellent Book, De Patientia. That he had somewhat imprudently, and in a manner impudently, undertaken to Treat of a Duty, which he was not able to practise: in so much, that he was afraid, lest his lines should blush at the disagreement that was betwixt them and his Life. Indeed, we may, all of us, if we will be ingenuous, take up the same confession, in reference to the subject of this Doctrine. We can (all of us) say, We must submit to Gods will; and (every one of us) find reasons to persuade our Brethren unto it; but, whenever Gods will crosseth us in our particular Interests, how few of us are there, of whom, that may not be said truly, which Eliphaz charges on Job, Chap. 4. 5. Now it is come upon thee, and thou faintest, it toucheth thee, and thou art troubled. If God take a way a Neighbour's Wife, Child, Estate, we can presently say (and no words are more common in our mouths, than these) that, seeing God pleaseth to have it so, he must submit to, and acquiesce in it. But when it is our own case, we must have a dispensation for our impatience, our immoderate grief, our murmuring, our discontented 
Omnes cum valemus sana consilia aegrotis damus, etc. Ter.  speeches and carriages. So much harder is it to take good counsel, than to give it. Now in such cases, it is plain, that our Passions usurp the Throne of Reason. And therefore, I pray, give me leave, after all these Demonstrations, with which I have endeavoured to satisfy your Judgements; to descend to some moving considerations to make impression upon your Affections themselves; that by making a Party for God among them, I may, (by their help, once raised) be the better able to reduce those others to obedience that stand in Rebellion against him. And, because there is no passion that hath a greater influence upon us, to recover us from our sinful extravagancies, than shame of the absurdities, that attend them; (for which reason Scripture so frequently makes it a companion of Repentance,) I shall endeavour to stir up in you that just abhorrency and detestation of this sinful distemper, as may provoke an holy and ingenuous indignation against it. Now there are two things in this sinful opposition and resistance of heart against the will of God, which we may justly be ashamed of.  
(1.) That it debaseth us below those, with whom we account it the greatest disparagement to be ranked and mustered. There is no Name of greater disgrace among Christians, than an Heathen: and therefore to be accounted as an Heathen, is used by our Saviour to express the highest brand of infamy that Christianity can mark the greatest offender withal, Mat. 18. 17. So that, certainly, there can be nothing in the World, which a Christian hath more cause to blush at, than what is condemned by Heathens themselves. Now, in the point in hand, it is amazing to think, what an height some Heathens have arrived to, beyond most of us that call our selus Christians. As you must needs say, when you shall read in Epictetus, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, etc. That a Man ought so far 
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 Epict. Ench. c. 13.  to renounce his own will, that he must not so much as seek, or desire to have things fall out as he will: but be willing to have them fall out as they do: and, that Men come into this World, 
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. cap. 24. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, etc.  as Actors upon a Stage, who are not to choose the parts they will Act, but only to take care to Act that part decently, which is assigned them; and that Men ought to demean themselves in the World, as well-bred Persons at a Feast, who carve decently to themselves of the Dish that is set before them, but call not for that which is taken off, or set by. That thus we ought to carry ourselves towards Wives, Children, Honours, Estates,; use them moderately, whiles God vouchsafes the enjoyment of them, but if he deny them to us, or take them from us, not to be too solicitous after them. That a Man thus affected, 
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. cap. 21.  is sit to be a Guest at the Table of the Gods; but he that can advance so high, as to despise all these, (even when he hath them) is, in a sort, a sharer with them in their Throne and Sovereignty: as also, That the chief Principle of Religion is, to have a right opinion of the Gods, as being most good and most just, and administering all affairs accordingly; that Man is appointed to obey and acquiesce in all that they do, 
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, etc. C. 38. Cap. 15.  and to follow willingly their conduct, as grounded on the supreme Reason: for, otherwise, Men will measure their Religion by their advantages, and love their God, or hate him, as they apprehend him the cause of good or evil to them: and that Men must not say, when any enjoyment is taken from them, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, I have lost it; but, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, I have restored it to the right owner and proprietor thereof; restored a dead Wife, or Child, or Friend, a wasted Estate, etc. and whiles they enjoy any thing, must look on it, as a 
Permits ipsis expendere numinibus, quid conveniat nobis; rebusque sit utile nostris: Nam pro jucundis, aptissima quaeque dabunt Dii. Charior est illis, homo, quam sibi. Juv. Sat. 10.  Traveller on his Inn, as his own Lodging, but another's House: To add to these, that of the Heathen-Poet (and he none of the best neither) That Men must leave it to the Gods to choose for them, who, because they love Man better than he can himself, will choose what is most for his profit, though they deny him what is for his pleasure: and that of Seneca, 
Magnus est animus qui se Deo tradidit; pusillus & degener qui obluctatur. Sen. Epist. 107.  That it is the property of a great, and noble Soul, to resign himself entirely to God; and that none but a low, and degenerous Spirit will struggle with him. To which, in the last place, take that high Speech of one Demetrius (recorded by the same Seneca, from his own Mouth, as he says) That he had only one thing to complain of 
Hoc unum, inquit, Dii immortales, de vobis queri possum quod non antè mihi voluntatem vestram notam fecistis. Prior enim ad ista venissem, ad quae nunc vocatus ad. sum.— Maluissem offerre quam tradere. Quid opus fuit auferre? accipere potuistis. Sed ne nunc quidem auferetis, quia nihil eripitur nisi retinenti. Nihil cogor, nihil patior invitus: nec servio Deo, sed assentio. Sen. de Provide.  in the usage he had received from the Gods; That when they designed the taking of his Earthly comforts from him, they did not acquaint him with what they meant to call for beforehand. For, (saith he) I would have prevented your calling me to such a condition, by offering myself to it. I would have tendered what you would have had, as a present, not paid it as a Tax. What need had you to take from me, what you needed but to have accepted? Nor indeed shall you now properly take from me any thing; seeing that cannot be properly taken away, that is not detained. I suffer no compulsion at all from you, I suffer nothing against my will. I do not so much submit to the Gods, as assent and vote with them. I confess this last Speech savours somewhat of the high Stoical Rant; (as divers other passages in Seneca both his own, and those quoted with commendation from others of his sect;) and therefore every expression in it is not to be in strictness and propriety of language imitated or approved. But however in the high Rhetoric thereof, we may see what an Idea even an Heathen fancy conceives of that profession which man ought to attain unto, (for the Stoics, I suppose, when they speak these things of themselves, speak their Judgements (at least) of what they design, or are convinced they ought to design the attainment of in their own practice) and thence infer; that, certainly, we are not able to answer it to God, our own Conscience, or our solemn profession of Christianity, if we come so vastly short of those men's, (whether aims and designs, or) avowed principles, whom we count it the greatest disgrace to be leveled withal. And we may make use of these, and an 100 more like Instances from the Heathens that knew not God, to shame ourselves, for our nonproficiency in a Lesson; which even out of the very ruins and rubbish of fallen nature, those Philosophers were able to read so clearly (at least,) if we will not allow them to have reduced it to practice in their lives and conversations.  
But if withal, we shall be so charitable to them, as to believe they (for the main) practised according to their speeches in this kind; (and why should we not vouchsafe them so much of our charity (at least) as to allow them to be honest men, against most of whom we have little evidence to judge them other, but from the pens of their Adversaries?) then, the shame of being, not out-worded only, but outlived also, by the men that we represent to ourselves under so odious a Character, cannot but  our faces, and our own confusion from so just a conviction, cannot but cover us as with a mantle, when we consider that we come short of them, whom we ought so far to exceed, that a 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, a bare precedency or going before them (it seems by our Saviour's Question) will not serve our turns, except we advance to a 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 to excel them so far, as to run them out of distance, and carry the prize from them, Mat. 5. 47.  
But if this consideration will not shame us into a better temper, consider we in the next place, that to run counter thus to the will of God, is  
2. That, that is a real contradiction to the confessed principles and practices of Christianity, and (by consequence) fastens on us the reproach of being false to our own avowed Religion. For tell me (thou that callest thyself Christian) what is Christianity, but a Doctrine that teacheth conformity to Christ? And how art thou conformable to Christ, when he professeth so often, that he had no will of his own, but only his Father's will that sent him? who in his greatest Agonies surrendered himself up to his Father's will with an absolute renunciation of his own? Mat. 26. 39 How canst thou be a Christian, that art yet to learn the very A B C of Christianity, self-denial, and taking up the Cross (Mat. 16. 24.) duties so inconsistent with this maintaining a contest betwixt our wills and Gods; that the feet of the Antipodes will sooner meet, than it and they?  
Thou therefore, that art of this Character, (though thou call thyself Christian never so much) know that Christianity disclaims, and Christ disowns thee.  
Thou callest God thy Father, be ashamed of thy Impudence, who handlest him rather like a child under correction, than a Father. Thou callest him Master. How incongruously and incoherently with thy practice; who, whilst thou callest him so, art disputing and contending who shall be more Master, thou or he?  
Thou addressest thyself to him (in thy solemn prayers at least) and sayest, sanctificetur nomen tuum, adveniat regnum tuum, fiat voluntas tua; and art thou not ashamed of thy gross hypocrisy, when (notwithstanding thy seeming devotion) thy heart gives thy tongue the lie, and secretly says [My name, my Kingdom, my will] instead of Gods? But, possibly thou mayest profess to be so modest, as to allow God two of these, the Name and the Kingdom; and thou only stickest at that hard word, Thy will. Thou art for the sanctification of his Name, and the coming of his Kingdom; but thou wouldst fain obtain thy will. Nay, but, thou foolish man, what shall God do with the Name or the Kingdom, if thou have the will? what a poor name will be left him in the world, if he serve only as an Instrument for man to work his own ends by? He that is the principal in any action, carries the Name of it. And what a poor Kingdom, (indeed a mere titular, and arbitrary sovereignty) will he have; if he have his power measured out to him by the arbitrary instructions he receives from time to time from thy will? so that by the granting thee thy will, instead of a Name and a Kingdom, he leaves himself nothing, but the Name of a Kingdom. Nay, indeed, to what purpose is it for thee to pray to him at all, if thou take thyself to be thus 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉? For what a vain thing is it to ask that of God, which, but from thy allowance, he hath no power to give? Besides, how pellucid is that hypocrisy, which pretends in all humble and submissive manner to beg of God; when (thy will depriving him of all power to deny thee) a royal stile would better befit thee,  
Hoc volo, sic jubeo, stet pro rattone voluntas? speak out man, and tell God, (in plain English) that when thou sayest I beg, and I beseech, and I entreat, thou wilt be understood to say, I straight will and command: bid him deny thee at his peril, thou wilt un-god him if he do, nisi Deus homini placuerit non erit Deus, (as Tertullian says) tell him thou art 
Tert. Apol.  resolved to own no God any longer than he shall please thee; such language is like thyself, fit for a sovereign will to deliver itself in. And indeed, this is the genuine language of every humane will, which lifts itself into competition with Gods, so pregnant with blasphemies is it.  
Thou pretendest to love God; a sorry pretence it is, and nothing else, whiles thou art continually misinterpreting his actions, and 
Qui satis diligunt now cito offenduntur. Salu. Ep. 1.  picking quarrels at him. He loves but poorly (says Salvian) whom every trifle will offend. Thou lovest him, thou sayest. But wherefore dost thou love him? Because he gratifies thee in what thou desirest. 
Sic prata, & pecudes dillgimus. Tully.  So thou lovest thy Horse when he paceth to thy mind, and thy field, when it yields fruit to thy mind, says the Orator: this is (as he says) mercatura, non amicitia, trading, not love. Thou lovest him, thou sayest, how long will that love last? till he displeaseth thee next. Thou lovest him, but tanquam osurus, as one from whom the next occasion thou takest to pick a quarrel at, will alienate thee again. Away with this boys-play, Christians; thus children are won with an apple, and 
jusulsus puer, amas patrem si blanditur, odio habes, quod te flagellat: quasi non & blandiens & flagellans haereditatem paret. Aug. in Ps. 32.  lost with a nut, as the Proverb saith. A simple child indeed, (saith St. Austin) that lovest thy heavenly Father when he dandles thee, and hatest him when he corrects thee, not considering that whether he dandle or correct thee, he provides a portion for thee!  
Thou stilest thyself (it may be) not an ordinary lover, but a friend of God, and pretendest more communion and fellowship with him than others have. Thou deceivest thyself grossly, friend. For friendship 
Idem velle & idem nolle, perfecta est amicitiam. Tnlly.  (the Orator will tell thee) cannot consist, but in an entire union of wills: so there may be (wilt thou say) if God will reduce his will to mine, or compound the matter at least; in such things and such God to have his will, and in other things to allow me my will. But stay, proud Creature, God and man are never so friends, as to become fellows. Abraham, to be sure, was God's Friend, Isay 41. 8. and yet he knew his distance, as appears in that humble conference, Gen. 18. 27, 30. when a superior vouchsafes to become a friend, he expects for his condescension, to be observed and complied withal from him whom he obligeth. This cultura potentis amici, husbanding of a potent friendship, is no easy matter. And it principally consists in (that, which thou art most averse to) the perfect melting the inferiors will into that of his superior friend. He that claims to be God's friend, must in many cases, either quit his will, or his friend.  
Thou claimest salvation by Christ. How vainly, and incongruously to the whole Oeconomy of that great work, as contrived and effected by him; see in these two things.  
1. In general, Christ did, doth, will do nothing in that great work for any man, but according to the will of God. Lo, I come, saith he, to do thy will, O God; thy Law is within my heart, Ps. 40. 8. Heb. 10. 9 and he professes, he came to do, not his own will, (much less any other persons) but the will of him that sent him, Joh. 6. 38.  
2. In special, All the offices of Christ, wherein he works out our salvation, are managed according to his Fathers will. As a Priest, he sacrificed his will to his Father, before he offered his blood, Mat. 26. 39, 42. As a Prophet, he spoke, not of himself, but the words that he spoke, the Father gave him in Commandment, and as the Father said unto him, so he spoke, Joh. 12. 49, 50. As a King, he derives his Authority from him that said unto him, sit thou at my right hand, Ps. 110. 1. And he received his Kingdom by way of petition from his Father: Ask of me, and I will give thee the Heathen for thine Inheritance, Ps. 2. 8. God set him as his King upon his holy hill, v. 6. made him Lord and Christ, Acts 2. 36. And answerably, the saving influence of all his Offices is dispensed in such a manner; as renders it utterly impossible for any man to have benefit by them, except upon condition of an entire resignation of his own will to the will of God. The price of our Redemption, which he paid for us, as Priest, hath bought us wholly out of our own power, and made us entirely Gods peculiar. 1. Cor. 6. 19, 
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. Tit. 2. 14.  20. And in suffering for us, he hath obliged us to imitate and resemble him in his Death: exemplifying it in the crucifixion of our inordinate affections and lusts, Gal. 5. 24. The Doctrine, he hath revealed to us, as the great Prophet of the Church (in the whole scope and drift of it) tends to nothing else, but the modelling and moulding our hearts and lives according to the declared will of God. The power he exerciseth over us as King, is erected to no other purpose, but to make us a willing people, in all points of Christian obedience, Ps. 110. 3. The grace that he bestows upon us, what is it, but the reparation of God's Image in us; one main part whereof, consists in the conformity of our wills to his? The Holy Spirit which he bestows upon us, what is He to do, but to lead us in all dutiful obedience as the sons of God, Rom. 8. 14. and to teach us what to pray for as we ought, by making intercession for us, i e. by exciting holy desires in us, according to the will of God? v. 26, 27. The Covenant of grace, which he by his mediation hath established and ratified, betwixt God and us; when the Apostle expounds it, what doth he mention, as one of the main Articles in it, but this; that God will put his Laws into our minds, and write them in our hearts? i. e. reduce our wills to a perfect conformity to his own, Heb. 8. 10?  
So that, from all these instances, it is evident, that to advance our wills into competition with Gods, & not entirely to conform them to his, destroys the whole frame of our salvation wrought by Christ; so that it must be as inconsistent a thing to hope to be saved by Christ, and yet to design the reservation of our own wills to ourselves, as to expect the House stand firm, when we dig up the foundation that bears the whole building.  
And now, let me ask thee, thou peevish, passionate, self-willed Creature, what canst thou so much as pretend to free thee from the shame of so many absurd, self-condemning inconsistencies, and contradictory absurdities? 
Object.   
Object. Wilt thou say, thou art willing to submit thy will to Gods, so far as thou canst in reason be satified concerning it? But whiles thy Reason dissents, thy will (that is managed according to that which Reason dictates) cannot consent. Such and such particulars in the government of the world, and the managery of thine own private concerns, thou canst not but think, might have been ordered better otherwise: & thou hopest God will not be angry with thee, if thou reason the case with him, as Jeremy did chap. 12. 1. in order to thine own satisfaction.  
Generously said, and much like a 
Answ.  Man! but (I must tell thee) too little savouring of a Christian Thou wouldst have God satisfy thy Reason, what Reason dost thou mean? thy carnal Reason? That must not be satisfied, but subdued, and every 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, every 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, the sublime notions, and acute argumentations of it, must be reduced into captivity to the obedience of Christ, 2 Cor. 10. 5. meanest thou thy renewed, sanctified Reason? The very genuine property thereof, is, to be satisfied in every thing God doth (eo nomine) upon no other ground but this, that he did it, Ps. 30. 9 The notions that it hath of God's wisdom, goodness, justice, sovereignty, etc. (before 
Sit pro omnibus rationibus, actor Deus. Salu. de Gub. Dei, L. 3.  mentioned) are to it instead of all Reasons to sway it into an humble subjection, yea, prostration to his will and pleasure.  
Again, Thou wilt have thy Reason satisfied. But when will that be? That Reason which Gods pleasure will not satisfy, nothing else will satisfy; for, besides the pride which naturally men take in censuring, (especially their betters) which alone would produce innumerable cavils; (so that the great Creator of the world (as Tertullian says to Marcian) would be able to do nothing, that would not yield matter of censure to these 
Quid faceret Creator ne a Marcionitis reprehenderetur. Tert. Adu. Marc. L. 2.  censores divinitatis; but upon every turn they would presume to tell him, sic non debnit Deus, & sic magis debuit, so he should not have done, and so he might have done better:) I say, besides the pride that humane Reason would take in cavilling, the self-love also that is naturally in every man, would (after God had offered the utmost satisfaction) prompt him to hold the conclusion pertinaciously, when beaten by the strongest conviction out of both the premises, applauding his own sophistry above Divine demonstration.  
Lastly, Thou wouldst bedealt with as a man, and have thy Reason satisfied. And shall God have done, when he hath satisfied thee? will he not find all the world alike desirous of satisfaction with thee? And is there not as much reason for every one to desire it as for any one? For, what can be urged, why thou shouldest obtain it, which may not as well be pleaded for all the men in the world? If then the Creator of the world, shall be obliged to satisfy all mankind in all that he doth, what an impossible task would this prove? Do not men's Judgements differ as much as their Faces? and will not that that will satisfy one upon that account, dissatisfie thousands?  
So, that still thou art absurd in thy Demands, and instead of being answered by Reason, deservest (as Job did when he was much in thy strain) to be answered out of a whirlwind, Job. 38. 1.  
But, thou wilt say, it may be, it 
Object.  is but a small thing that I desire to be gratified in. I am contented to leave the main government of the world to God; and not only so, but my own particular concerns, as to the substance: and all that I would have submitted to my will, amounts to no more than the alteration of a few circumstances. Losses, I could submit to, but this pincheth me; that they befall me in such an enjoyment, which I could worst spare, in such a manner, such a measure, such a time, by such instruments: And would it not be a small matter for God to gratify me in these petty things?  
Mistake not thyself, friend, in 
Answ.  calling this a small matter. No;  
Magnapetis Phaethon,— (proud Creature) these are great things, far greater than thou apprehendest. 'Twas a great offer that Herod made the Daughter of his Minion Herodias, when he bade 
Mar. 6. 23.  her ask to the half of his Kingdom. But thy demands herein to thy God, are greater than his offer. For thou askest not half only, but the far better half of God's Kingdom. For although circumstances in a metaphysical consideration, be but small things, the mere garments, or (less it may be) trim of an action: yet in a moral consideration, these garments are more worth than the body, these trim than the stuff. For the circumstances here, make a thing what it is. Such an action, as God cloaths it with circumstances, is just and good; altar the circumstances, thou alterest the nature of it: as he circumstantiates it, it is the Physic of thy Soul wisely compounded for thy cure; let thy private will be but admitted to leave out or alter one scruple of the Ingredients, and this Physic will become thy Poison.  
Besides; be thy Demands, as thou fanciest, but small, yet still they are demands; and therefore (in this respect) great matters, because upon the refusal of them, thou resolvest (it seems) to hold out the Fort of thy Heart in Rebellion against thy Maker. The smaller the Terms are in this case, the greater thy disloyalty, who upon such small terms suspendest, yea deniest thy Allegiance to thy Lord and Sovereign. Know therefore (for a close of this point) that thou art absurdly impertinent in all thy pretensions against the equity of this Duty, the resignation of thy will universally to the will of God. For herein Heathens themselves condemn thee; thine own avowed principles of Christianity confute thee; yea, thy own Reasons and Arguments to the contrary, militate against thee. And therefore thou hast nothing more to do (if thou wilt not do amiss) but to lie down 
Jer. 3. 25.  in thy shame, and repent thee (with holy Job, after a like saucy debate with his Maker) in dust and 
Job. 40. 4, 5. 42. 3, 6.  ashes, acknowledging, that thou hast meddled with what thou understoodest not, and therefore wilt proceed no farther, but quietly lay thy hand on thy mouth, and (with the brethren in the Text) 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, rest satisfied, and give his Will no farther interruption or disturbance; which brings my discourse and awakens your attention to the second considerable in the matter of my Text, which comes now to hand.  
2. The Factum, or what these 
2. The second Branch the Factum.  brethren did, in pursuance of what they said, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, we ceased. The word in the Original, is of a great latitude. Ordinarily it is used to express a quiet, silent, calm, and peaceable deportment, without the least commotion in ones self, or disturbance of others. When Wars and Tumults are ended in a Nation, that no person contrives or attempts new broils, they are by the Greek Historians, generally said, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. And in this notion, it may well suit here. Whiles man desires one thing, and God designs another, there is, as it were a war (at least contest) betwixt God and him, whose will shall prevail; but when we resign our wills, and entirely rest in his; then we do yield him the Victory, and are at Peace with him. But there is more in it than so. For a conquered Nation, may be at peace, and free from creating any more broils; not from any satisfaction in their condition, but from-conviction of the bootlessness of stirring any more to alter it. And therefore the Etymologists find something also in this word, that imports an inward complacency and pleasedness of spirit in that condition, wherein a man is thus quiet and peaceable. For they tell us, it comes from 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, that signifies inward 
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, quasi 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.  satisfaction, delight and pleasure, so that the Lesson which it learns us in this latitude, is  
That he that duly submits to Gods 
2. Observation.  will, doth with unspeakable calmness, tranquillity, and satisfaction of mind, acquiesce therein.  
A truly noble, and Christianly 
It's Explication, and Evidence.  Heroical frame of spirit this Doctrine expresseth; which (according to the former explication of the word) includes two things, to be endeavoured and laboured after by all Christians.  
1. An inward serenity and clearness of mind, that (like a calm after a storm) doth motos compònere fluct us, lay all the waves that rumpled 
Virg.  and ruffled a man's soul, whether from dissatisfaction of judgement, or disorder of affections. So that instead of tumultuating thoughts, and tempestuous passions, there is, in the Soul of man so quieted (what the Evangelist tells us Christ's increpation reduced the winds and sea unto, Mat. 8. 26.) 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, a great calm. And this, to make it the more plain to you, I shall show in parts.  
1. A man's Judgement is reconciled to think well of the do of God, which before (possibly) he proudly and peremptorily censured and condemned; and he is satisfied in them, as most just and good: whence the man is highly pleased in what God hath done; as concluding, that had it been left to himself to order, he knew not how to have mended it in the least circumstance! Thus did Hezekiah 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, Good, faith he, is the word of the Lord which thou hast spoken; and 'tis remarkable, that this word which he owns as so good, was a severe threatening of the Prophet Isaiah from God, that was to befall his Kingdom and posterity: and yet, he is reconciled to it, in his Judgement. And he repeats it again (with the reason of his acquiescence in it with so high a satisfaction.) For he said moreover, there shall be peace and truth in my days, Is. 38. 8. or (as it is rendered in the parallel place, 2 Kin. 20. 19) Is it not good, if peace and truth be in my days? q. d. However, the Judgements threatened be severe to my posterity, in whom I am deeply concerned, yet there is more mercy in it than I could have expected, seeing God hath lengthened out the tranquillity of his Church and people during my time. I am (holy Prophet) conscious of an offence (brought home to me by thy ministry) which deserved a worse Judgement; and therefore, I am highly pleased that God hath so mitigated his severity. I could not with reason have wished a more moderate correction. Thus did David 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, when he cries out, it is good for me that I have been afflicted, q. d. I would not for all the world have been otherwise dealt with, than God hath dealt with me, in these my sad and doleful afflictions, and persecutions from Saul: and he gives a reason of it too, because it learned him God's statutes, Ps. 119. 71. and again he speaks his high approbation of God's severities, v. 75. I know, O Lord, that thy Judgements are right, and that in much faithfulness thou hast afflicted me, thou hast discharged the part of a trusty & faithful friend, in all that thou hast inflicted upon me. I know I had been worse if I had fared better. Had God gratified my humour, he had falsified his Trust, his Covenant, wherein he stands engaged to me, to give grace and glory, and detain no good thing from me, Ps. 84. 14. 34. 10. Will you see (yet) an higher approbation given to God in his severest Providences? Look on Job then: who when God had made him poor to a Proverb, and that by several gradations and successive advances of afflicting providences, and those arriving at his knowledge by several frighted Messengers one after another, (which is among men accounted the greatest addition of torture that can be, to destroy a man gradually, that he may sentire se mori, be sensible of every approach of death distinctly) yet he falls on his face and worships the Lord, and says, The Lord hath given, the Lord hath taken (he acknowledgeth the justice of his proceed) he had done him no wrong, to call for his own back again: (and he proceeds) I must have left them shortly, for I must have returned naked to the Earth (my Mother whence I was taken) and God hath but taken them from me a little sooner, Blessed be the name of the Lord. This last now, is an high word, to bless God for such losses, shows the judgement to be satisfied in the inflicting of them, as in the greatest of Mercies. Methinks I hear him descanting upon this plainsong thus, Blessed be God that hath taken so effectual a course (to wean me from the world, and to bring me to an entire acquiescence in himself, for my only portion) as this, the leaving me nothing else to rival him in my affections. Blessed be that sharp affliction, which instead of letting out my heart blood, hath only lanced an Imposthume. Blessed be the name of the Lord that hath taken from me the rack, and strappado of my anxious thoughts, the fuel of my lusts, the snares of my heart, the canker of my graces, the matter of my temptations, the clog of my holy affections, the thief of my devotions, the bar and wall of partition betwixt my soul, and its full, entire, and satisfactory communion with God. Thus high goes the satisfaction of the judgement, in this 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, or calm serenity of Soul, acquiescing in Gods will.  
2 And the Affections in this case are not behind hand; being (not only from a strong tide of opposition to the will of God (it may be) reduced to a dead water; but) by a contrary Tide (occasioned by the moving of God's holy spirit upon them) turned back, and made to run in the same stream with it, neither do they (as they say some swift Rivers do, that passing through great Lakes keep their own waters unmixed) reserve any thing of their own; but mingle themselves entirely with that Ocean of infinite perfections into which they are swallowed. So, that let God do what he will, such a soul loves him entirely, desires him affectionately, trusts and hopes in him securely, delights in him satisfactorily; and (on the other side) grieves for nothing but offending him, fears nothing but that it may offend him again, is angry at nothing but its own foolish prejudices, and hard thoughts of him, for which it could even tear itself piece-meal, out of a just indignation; befooling and be-beasting itself, for tumultuating against him, Ps. 73. 22. etc. And hence ariseth that strange 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, or Christian Epicurism, (if I may so call it) wherein the ravished Soul can do (that which Epicurus only vaunted of) cry out even in Phalaris his Bull, Quam dulce! O how sweet and pleasant, and delicious are the greatest afflictions! so the Apostle James, Count it all joy when ye fall into divers temptations: and the other Apostle speaks of it as a thing of common experience; both his own, I take pleasure, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, find high complacency and satisfaction in varieties of grievous sufferings, 2 Cor. 12. 10. and his brethren's also, as he witnesseth, Rom. 5. 3. We (not I only, but I, and my fellow-Christians) 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, glory, crow, and triumph in tribulations. Thus serene and calm is the Soul, when it satisfactorily rests in Gods will.  
2. It implies also an outward testification of this inward serenity and calmness of mind, and that in all our carriages and deportments. A man's very countenance witnesseth the complacency of the heart in Gods good pleasure. It doth not fall and lower, with cain's, out of wrath, and high indignation against God, Gen. 4. 5. No fire of anger sparkles in the eyes; no wrinkles of care, solicitousness and forethought furrow the brows; no melancholy paleness, or vexing leanness disfigures the cheeks: but the merry heart (as Solomon says) makes a cheerful countenance, Prov. 15. 13. and the light and health that is in that (Job. 29. 24. Ps. 42. 9) speaks the sound and healthy constitution of the Soul that shines through it. For Index animae vultus; the face is the minds interpreter.  
The Tongue, is not only bound to the good behaviour, as to all expressions of discontent and displeasure, as david's was, Ps. 39 9 but contrarily, enlarged, and set at liberty to sound forth the high praises of God, and bless him (as Job) in the greatest afflictions, in every thing giving thanks, 1 Thes. 5. 18. and glorifying him even in the Fires, Is. 24. 5.  
Lastly, the very gestures, carriages, and deportments of the whole body, testify that the spirit is lightsome, debonair, and free from all such black and cloudy thoughts as usually derive an unpleasing gloominess, and lowering sullenness into the whole conversation. So David, when God had declared his Will in reference to his Child, by and by altars the whole Garb of his conversation, washeth his , and anoints himself, and changeth bis apparel, and eats and drinks as formerly, 2 Sam. 12. 20.  
You will say, this is an high 
Application.  pitch of perfection indeed, and very desirable, but yet such, as it may be questionable, whether it be possible to be attained, and so consistent either with nature or duty? For, is it naturally possible so totally to cast off humanity, whiles we live here below, as not to be affected with any the sinless softnesses, and imbecilities of it? And did our Saviour himself so far comply with them, as frequently to express a sense of humane infirmities? Besides, it being not only lawful, but a duty in us, to fear when God threatens, and grieve when he smites; does not this carriage seem to import a stoical Apathy, betwixt which and Christian Patience there is a confessed Antipathy? Nay, lastly, where the affliction is extraordinarily oppressing, how extremely difficult is it for the most resolved Saint so to mortify the very excesses incident to lapsed nature, as to keep within any distance in this holy race to those high examples but now mentioned; so that in us to be contented to fall beneath them seems a becoming humility?  
I Answer, that, notwithstanding whatever in this kind is or may be objected, that which I have been speaking of, is secure from danger. For,  
1. As to the sinless resentments of nature, I grant it neither possible nor lawful wholly to put them off, and therefore require not of any man so to do; only I forbidden them to obstruct any operation of Grace, which if they do, they cease to be sinless.  
2. A due sensibleness of Gods afflicting hand, if joined (as it ought to be) with a due consideration of our own deserts, is not only consistent with, but also highly conducing to that highest degree of Acquiescence in Divine Providence which I am treating of, and so militates for my Hypothesis; and  
Lastly, The total mortification of the sinful redundancies of natural passion, though confessed to be extremely difficult, is also confessedly a Duty, and (by consequence) gradually attainable: and so, seeing in the Saints mentioned it appears a perfection actually acquired, we are not to impute it to special privilege that they acquired it, but to God's blessing upon their holy endeavours; and make their examples a spur to our industry, accounting whatever dissuades us from it, nothing else but sluggishness in an humble disguise. And therefore dishearten not thy endeavours by forcasting impossibilities. For, as Epictetus encourageth 
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, etc. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 Ench. C. 75.  the young Candidate of his Philosophy, whom he had startled with the eminent example of Socrates, by telling him, that in the practice of the principles he lays down, Socrates became what he was, and that though he be not yet a Socrates, yet by aiming and designing to become a Socrates, and living answerably to those aims, he might in time arrive at the same perfection with him: so do I encourage thee, Despair not of reaching to the high perfections of Job, David, Hezechiah, and other eminent Saints; for thou mayest in time come to be such an one as they were, if thou wilt live and do as becomes one who intends to be so.  
My next business, therefore, shall 
Directions.  be to give thee such Directions, by the practice whereof thou mayest advance towards, and in time arrive at this noble pitch.  
1. First, then, thou must Love God sincerely, not only for what thou receivest and expectest from him, but also, and principally, for what thou seest and accordingly adorest in him. And labour to improve the Love thou hast for him into an intimate acquaintance and friendship with him. For hereby thou wilt grow so far satisfied in him, that thou wilt be assured he neither can nor will order any thing that befalls thee otherwise than may stand with thy best advantage; thy heart will rest securely in him; and thou wilt not find a place in thy bosom for suspicion or censure of any thing he doth; yea, thou wilt be studious to please and approve thyself to him in all things; and think nothing thou hast too dear for him to dispose of at his pleasure, which he will vouchsafe to call for or make use of; but rather, (as we use to express ourselves to our intimate friends when they have occasion for any thing in our possession) thou wilt tell him from thy heart, that thou art hearty glad thou hadst it for him.  
2. Interpret God's providences candidly. Take every thing from 
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. Epict. C. 65.  him by the best Handle. If any better construction than other can be made of his deal, take hold of that, and therewithal silence thy passionate prejudices and mis-representations that art apt to misled thee. What a false glass is to a beautiful face, and the moved water to a straight staff, that is prejudicated opinion to the best of God's Actions. There is a rare Beauty in all Providences as God order them, Eccles. 3. 11. do you but hang them in a good light, and wipe your eyes from all infectious tinctures of prepossession, and they will appear no less amiable to you, than they are in themselves.  
3. Desire moderately, For what we have an immoderate appetite unto, as the Israelites to flesh, Num. 11. 13. and an inordinate longing for, as Rachel for Children, Gen. 30. 1. we are apt to over-expect: what we over-expect; if we attain it, we are prone to overlove, and if we miss of attaining it, or lose it again when attained, to over-grieve. And then do our discontents advance themselves upon our disappointments, and an hundred to one, if (while in our unbounded passions, we fling about us like enraged beasts) we dash not some dirt in the face of God the Author, as well as on the persons and things which he makes use of as the Instruments of our Defeats. No man knows what a black train of daring impieties may be at the heels of any inordinate desire; even such, as if he were told of before, that is most favourable to himself, when transported to them, he would bless himself from the very thought of them.  
4. Maintain a noble and heroical Faith in God, both concerning the affairs of this life, so far as they fall under Divine Promises, and those of the Life to come. And because the security you have for both is not alike, you must principally fix your confidence in that which relates to your Souls and their concernments; and then having raised a well grounded assurance concerning them, you will the more easily quench those sparks of unbelief which are apt to disquiet you in reference to affairs of an inferior nature. For he that can deposit his soul with God, being assured (with the blessed Apostle, 2 Tim. 1. 12.) that he will 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, keep that important pledge faithfully; will easily trust and acquiesce in him for all other things. For will any man distrust him for Counters, whom he entrusts with Gold and Pearls? And hence it will follow, that the more nobly and generously your Faith in all things rests in God, the more full and clear will your satisfactions be concerning him in all his deal; so that you will not be easily shaken in your expectations from him, or debauched into misconstructions of him; yea, love, joy, and delight in him, will act as high as our Faith, even in defiance of all appearing contradictions and impossibilities. So was it with the Church, Hab. 3. 17, 18. Although the Figtree shall not blossom, neither shall fruit be in the Vine, the labour of the Olive shall fail, and the fields shall yield no meat, the flock shall be cut off from the fold, and there shall be no heard in the stalls: yet will I rejoice in the Lord, and joy in the God of my salvation.  
5. Remember what you have received from God gratefully, and compare it with what you want, or lose; which if you do, you will find (upon account) a thousand mercies, it may be, to one or two in considerable crosses. What the Moralist tells us is the too common fault of Ambition, that, non respicit, it looks with envy at those few that are before, but never looks back with gratitude at those many that in the Prince's favour come behind; thou mayest observe to be the fault of thy discontent, it doth not respicere, not look back upon the many mercies bestowed, or the many other crosses escaped, but only forward, upon that one mercy or cross, which it desires or eschews Can we keep an exact account of the various deal of God with us all our life long, and confront his afflicting with his obliging providences, we should find abundance of cause to acknowledge even the most miserable term of life, to be fuller of mercies than miseries; as the Poet tells us, that whoso compares the fair and foul days of a year together, — Inveniet plures solibus esse dies, 
Ovid.  will find the fair days to exceed in number. Set the one against the other (as Solomon says of the days of adversity and prosperity, Eccles. 7. 14.) and thou wilt find nothing after him to carp or quarrel at. He that will give God thanks for what he hath taken, must (according to Jobs order) first consider what he hath given, Job. 1. 21.  
6. State your own condition justly, not measuring it by Fantasy, but right Reason. Opinion makes most men miserable, who would not be so, did they not conceive themselves to be so. Whence Epictetus 
Tam miser est quisque quam credit. Sen. Ep. 78. Ench. cap. 5.  (often before mentioned) adviseth us to say to all the most frightful evils, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, thou that appearest so scaring a thing, art not the evil indeed that thou seemost to be; but the spectrum, the phantosm, the apparition thereof. It is true, (which the Stoic will not allow) that sickness, poverty, disgrace, loss of Friends, pain and death, are not, as he says, mere Phantosms of evil, for they are really and indeed evil: but thus far his words have an undoubted truth in them, that our opinion makes them greater evils by far than they be, the shape in which our abused fantasy beholds them is 
— Vera major Imago,  far biggar and more dismal, than that which properly belongs to them. But here is the misery; we by our fantasies dress the evils we have to do with (like whifflers) in the most terrible visors that may be, and then, forgetting that they are the creatures of our own imagination, we suffer ourselves to be affrighted with them.  
Yea, commonly, we commit a grosser absurdity than this is, whiles we suffer ourselves to be abused into sad disorders and distempers of spirit, by the mere opinions of others. How easy a thing it is to 
Nemo aliorum sensu miser est, sed suo. Salu. de G. D. 1.  make a melancholy man sick indeed, by confidently persuading him that he is so, experience hath evidenced in divers instances. And the like fallacy, is ordinarily put upon us by the vulgar opinion of those things which befall us, which makes us think worse of what we undergo, than our own reason (yea or sense) otherwise, would pronounce. Now, in all such cases, we must strip all those affrighting evils which so disturb us, of whatever, opinion (our own or others) hath clothed them withal; and after so doing, judge of them by the dictates of sound Reason informed from the Scripture. And then, that providence of God towards us which in a disguise looked like a Devil, when stripped of it, will appear a good Angel; and instead of running from its gripes, we shall run into its embraces.  
7. Mind your work that God hath laid out for you to do, seriously and industriously. For, what one says of Love, is true of discontent and dissatisfaction in God's proceceding; it is otiosorum negotium, the 
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, Diog. apud Laert. L. 6.  business of unbusied souls, who have the more leisure to mind their wants and losses, because they make holiday from their work. Whereas he that minds his great business of Eternity seriously, will rub through with mean accommodations here, and be so solicitous to prevent the loss of his own Soul, that no other loss will much affect him.  
8. Hold the scales even, in these 4 Comparisons.  
1. Betwixt God and your selves, I mean not only in his infinite wisdom laid against your folly, his infinite justice against your fond and unjust partiality, his infinite goodness against your badness, his infinite greatness against your meanness: but also in the collation of his deal with your own deservings. A judgement duly poised, will always find sin outweigh suffering: and instead of upbraiding God with its merits, find cause in abundance to deprecate its demerits. He that imputes sin to himself will not dare, whatever he suffer, to impute the least hard or 
Patienter obimus quod nobis impatamus. De Pat.  injurious dealing to God: but will patiently bear what he can find none so justly to blame for as himself, as says Tertullian. Considering that whatever a sinner suffers, that 
Facile est qutcquid in praesenti saeculo neccat; issued grave quoth in aternitate jugulabit. L. 2. Salvad Ecl. La.  is less than Hell, is so much less than he deserves: so easy a burden is that which hurts us only in this world, in comparison with that which will damn us to Eternity, that is, suffering than sin! There is not a more quieting consideration in the world, than this duly applied; that, (as one well says) whatever, 
Nontam miseri quam mali G. D. L 1.  and how great soever our miseries are, our sins are greater.  
2. Betwixt yourselves and others, whether compared as men, or as Christians. He that compares himself as a man with other men, will find this allay to his sufferings, that he suffered nothing but in company, nothing, but what is 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, 
Ferre quam sortem patiuntur omnes, Nemo recusat. Sen. in Troad. Queri, quod spargaris in publico ridiculum. Sen. Ep. 107.  common to humanity, 10. 13. And an Heathen will tell him then, that no man's shoulders are too good to be laid under a common burden. And another will acquaint him, that it is ridiculous for any one to complain that he is dashed with dirt in a public Road, where all Travellers must look to far alike.  
But if we compare ourselves with others, as Christians (except pride and self-conceitedness do miserably delude us) it will be a great abatement to our vexation, that we shall find abundance of better men than ourselves faring worse, and the greatest Saints oftentimes the greatest sufferers.  
3. Betwixt the happiness which you enjoy in God, and that which in other things you are either denied or deprived of. When Hannah complains to Elkanah her Husband of her barrenness, he thinks it a sufficient consideration to qualify her discontent, that she enjoyed in him a mercy better than ten sons, 1 Sam. 1. 8. And may not thy God with much more reason stop thy quarrelling mouth, when thou complainest of thy losses in Creature-comforts, with a question of a like nature, Am not I better to thee than ten, yea, than ten thousand such children, Wives, Friends, Estates? He that, notwithstanding all his losses, hath a God still, may assure himself that (to allude to the Poet's consolation of his cheated 
— Nec, tam tenuis census tibi contigat, ut mediocris Jacturae te mergat onus.— Juv. sat. 13. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉  friend) he is too rich to be undone, though the whole Creation fail him at once. He that can say with David, thou art my portion, O Lord, Ps. 119. 57 will have cause to say with Jacob too. I have enough, yea, I have all, Gen. 33. 11. and (by consequence) will not think it reasonable to be over-troubled at what his God takes from him, be it what it will, while, 
Non est ablatus qui dedit, quamuis ablatum faerit quod dedit. In Ps. 32.  though (as Saint Austin saith) he hath taken away his gifts, he hath not taken away the Giver. Upon which consideration, the Psalmist plucks up his spirits, and recovers himself out of a deep and dangerous discontent, Ps. 73. 25. etc. and comforted himself in a woeful extremity, 1. Sam. 30. 6. In a word, the least advantage that can be made of this meditation, cannot be less than the suppressing unruly passion for a while, upon this consideration, that to give it the bridle upon any other loss is the ready way to endanger the loss of him (as to the sense of his favour) who is infinitely better than all things else.  
4. And lastly, betwixt that which you hope to enjoy hereafter, and the utwost of what you can endure here. And in this comparison, the Apostle holding the balance of the Sanctuary, hath alteady turned the scale to your hands in that notable Text, Rom. 8. 18. I reckon (saith he) that the sufferings of this life (indefinitely) are not worthy to be compared with the glory that shall be revealed. And again, 2 Cor. 4. 17. 
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.  Our light affliction, which is but for a moment, worketh for us an hyperhyperbolical and eternal weight of glory. Where he lays a feather in one scale, and a mountain in the other, yea,— Pelion Ossae, heaps Mountain upon Mountain, hyperbole upon hyperbole, to set out the vast disproportion betwixt our greatest possible afflictions, and our far greater certain expectations.  
In a word (to shut up this Point) consider, that he that is the 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, who appoints the work, and gives the rewards of Patience; that great God, (who (as Tertullian 
De Patientia.  says) is idoneus Patientiae sequester, the fittest Trustee in the world with whom to deposit the Prizes which that noble Grace runs for) sees and observes, how you run this Race that is now set before you, Heb. 12. 1. and will, if you acquit yourselves gallantly, honour you here, as well as crown you hereafter; as appears from the second general Part of my Text which comes now to challenge a brief dispatch, viz.  
II. The Form, which consists in 
The second general Part of the Text.  the historical narration, upon sacred Record, of what these Brethren said and did, under so great a Trial. Whence we learn two things by way of Corollary.  
1. That we had need to take heed 
Corollary 1.  that in our Afflictions we do not, under the observation of God's critical eye (who gave order to his Penman Saint Luke to record this passage, and thereby records himself an exact observer how his Saints bear Crosses) mis-behave ourselves any way; whether in heart, by pride, discontent, displeasure, and secret murmur against him or his proceed; or in language, whiles such expressions slip through the 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 (as Homer calls it) that fence of teeth, within which our Tongue is by nature entrenched, as travel without the Pass of Reason, and Religion; such as bewray our own irregular Passions, or provoke other men's; or in carriage and demeanour, behaving ourselves like a wild Bull in a Net, Is. 51. 20. or as the troubled Sea that casteth up mire and dirt, Is. 57 20. or rather like the raging Daemoniack, Mar. 9 18. but in a calm, sedate, and submissive manner govern our thoughts, words, and actions, as those who in Christian patience possess our own souls, having not surrendered them to any inordinate passion, Luke 21. 19 and are able to manage that unruly beast, which if he can fling us, will trample us under his feet.  
2. And secondly, That it cannot 
Corollary 2.  but be wellpleasing to God, if we also make the like observations of the gallant speeches and actions of his heroical Saints in the like occurrences, or otherwise. For, surely, he that not only observed himself, but also took order to transmit to posterity what these Christians said and did in so notable an exigence, herein gives us an example beyond exception. And it may be of singular use to us to follow it, upon a double account.  
Partly, that we may ourselves be excited to an holy emulation, and striving to imitate to them, as concluding that possible to be done again, which hath been done already, Heb. 6. 12. and 13. 7. yea and straining our utmost abilities to exceed them; to attempt to write fairer than the fairest copy set us by them, and (as those who run in a Race) strive most of all to conquer those who have won former prizes.  
And partly, that we may declare and publish to the glory of God and the excitation of others, their virtues and graces, when any opportunity of doing good thereby is offered unto us.  
And thus, you see, I have improved my Text (by a just consequence) to serve me instead of an Apology for my next and last undertaking, to wit, the presenting you with such observables concerning the Life and Death of this precious elect Lady, whom we are now met to Inter, as I have been able by utmost enquiry to gather up from those who have known her down-sitting and uprising for many years together; and some of them curious observers of her, as a choice Piece, from her Cradle to her Grave. And I the rather credit the particulars, partly, because I know the Relators to be so judicious, as to be able to make their observations with due discretion; and so conscientious withal, as not to dare willingly to abuse me and the world with an officious falsehood; and partly, because those things which I have learned from them, do so exactly correspond with that Idea of her, which (from some personal knowledge) I had before conceived in my own breast.  
I know, (as Saint Austin in another case saith) that this precious Saint now in bliss, laudes nec quaerit nec curat humanas, neither needs nor 
August. Epis. Cornel.  regards humane praises; yea, and I knew, that her singular modesty (while she lived) seemed to carry on a constant Plot by way of prevention, against the service I am about to do her, in a studied concealment of her great worth. But yet, seeing God hath not suffered it altogether to escape the notice of those that conversed with her (being not pleased, it seems, that so noble a Soul, though desiring it never so much, should travel through the world incognito) I account it my duty to follow his providence therein, and publish that to others, for a more universal benefit, which he, for their particular advantage, was pleased to make some privy unto. And especially having so clear a warrant for what I do, from his own word, HONORANTES ME HONORABO (which, from his mouth, this Ladies noble Ancestors have transcribed into their hereditary Coat of Arms) those that honour me, I will honour, 1 Sam. 2. 30. Whom, therefore, he hath said he will honour, we have cause to conclude it will be acceptable to him, if we honour them too.  
And in the first place, I think it 
A Narratixe of divers particulars of note in this excellent Lady's Life and Death.  fit my Account of her should begin from the very beginning of that happy Race which she hath now finished. I know it belongs to the Herald, not the Preacher, to search Pedigrees; and I know moreover, that it is the least of commendations, which yet is all that some have to commend them, to be nobly descended. I am of his mind that said, 
— Genus, & proavos, & quae non fecimus ipsi,  
Vix ea nostra voco,  Ovid Met. that honour descending from Ancestors can hardly be called Ours; and of the Moralists, who tells us, that 
Seneca Ep. 44.  Nemo in nostram gloriam vixit, nec quod ante nos fuit, nostrum est: that true honour is contemporary to him that hath it, not to be born in one age, and worn in another. But yet, as a sparkling Diamond shines with more advantage, when set in Gold; so do personal virtues receive much external additament of lustre, when the person in whom they are, is, ex meliore luto, of a more noble extraction. And indeed men generally love to trace famous Rivers to their Fountains, which Heathen Antiquity always honoured with a kind of Divinity, for blessing the world with so plentiful and lasting a succession of beneficial streams.  
The descent, therefore, of this precious Lady was from an eminently noble Family, the House of Huntingdon; the Earldom whereof hath continued so long in the name of HASTINGS, that by mere Age it hath worn out most of those that preceded in the Catalogue of English Earls; and now, in the Person of her hopeful Brother, sets its foot upon the seaventh Round from the very Top of that scale of Honour. And yet this humble Lady, whiles she lived, made so little reckoning thereof, that she was never known either in word or carriage to show any elation of spirit upon that account, which would have tempted many others, to divers disdainful and insolent extravagancies. Nor was she ever observed discontentedly to behold herself exceeded by the affected pomps of Equipage and Retinue of divers inferior to her in Quality; as desiring not to contend with any in so extravagant a vanity, as that, which besides its offensiveness to others, would be needlessly burdensome to her Husband. Yea, when her Husband sometimes modestly excused the tenuity of the condition she had espoused (by marrying where she found an Heir in being to a great part of the Estate) in comparison of what she descended from; she would interrupt that discourse with professing the high satisfaction she took to find herself in such a state of life, wherein she had both liberty and assistance to all works of severe Piety, and withal, the addition of an honourable and comfortable worldly competency. The consideration whereof hath prevailed with me to pass over this head with so slight a touch. And yet I could not but touch it, partly, for the lasting honour of that noble Family, to which it may be some accession, to have yielded the world so eminent an example of all manner of virtue; and partly, that in so notable an Instance, this dreggy age of ours (base enough indeed of itself, but withal, too much soured into a contempt of nobility by the scandalous debaucheries of too many nobilia portenta, (as Valerius Maximus calls the degenerous Issue of the famous old Romans) whose noble extractions serve for nothing else, but to make their vices more notable) may be convinced, that, at least, some noble ones are called, 1 Cor. 1. 26. and that virtue and grace may be grafted on a stock of Honour; the same person being (as St. Austin said of Demetrias) both nobilis genere, 
Epist. ad Prob. & Julian.  and nobilior sanctitate, ennobled by the first birth, but more by the second; having both that nobility that is 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, & that which is 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, that blood in the veins which is extracted from many noble and Princely Families, and that grace in the heart, which is no less than semen Dei, the seed of God received from the regeneration of the Holy Ghost.  
Her Education, (under which I comprise the greatest part of her time, for she was not much above a year a Wife) was in a School, or rather Academy of Learning, and Nursery of Virtue; I mean, the constant inspection and converse of her watchful Mother, the now Countess of Huntingdon, from whose great Parts and Graces, she received in her soul that vis plastica which form her into so eminent, a both Woman and Christian. Under her, she enjoyed an education (for the most part) in a religious retiredness, which she hath often blessed God for, as that which not only secured her from the knowledge of any vice by domestical example (no such 
— Citius nos corrumpunt vitiorum exempla domesticae. Juv. Sat.  thing daring to show itself under that noble Lady's Government) but also removed her from the very news of what evils were acted abroad; so that she had the happiness, Neque Pelopidarum facta, neque nomen audire, to be ignorant of the viciousness of other great personages, even by hearsay.  
And as for those Principles that might qualify her for a virtuous life; as she had the opportunity of learning them from the practices of those she conversed withal, so also (and chief thence) from the grave instructions of her said Lady-Mother; who, that the whole compass of her duty might be the more firmly impressed into memory, took the pains to digest all the parts of it into Verse, whereby she both consecrated an excellent vein of Poetry of her own, and in the most facile manner insinuated them into the hearts and heads of both her, and her Lady-Sisters.  
Whence it is the less to be wondered at, that she found her comfort in all of them to grow with their years; but especially in this Lady, who had a Soul so pliable and ductile to receive the impressions of so excellent a stamp, as appeared by the proportionable improvements which she attained in every stage of her Life, as we come now to relate.  
And first, For her Childhood, (though I know Tully is reported to have said, that it is the most difficult 
Est res diffieilis laudare puerum, etc. In fragm.  undertaking in all Oratory to commend a child, because the most that can be said in such a case, is rather, spes than res, matter of future expectation, than present existence; yet) I shall tell you those realities even of that tender Age, as had something of rare excellency in them, besides the presage of what they promised for the future. It is noted as a rare thing in young Timothy, by Saint Paul himself, that 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 from a very suckling, he had known the holy Scriptures, 2 Tim. 3. 15. and from that precocious piety it is no wonder if we hear of certain 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 prophetical predections that ushered him into the world's observation as he grew up, 1 Tim. 1. 18. ghesses (it is likely) what so pregnant a Child would grow to in time. Nor was it less noted in this excellent Lady, how early the seeds of true piety and devotion put forth, not only into blade, but blossom also and fruit: insomuch, that 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 too, such impressions of the fear of God possessed her heart, as made her a diligent performer of Religious Duties, and a strict observer of the Lords Day, to a degree of exactness beyond most persons, and yet not beyond the Rule; Is. 58. 13. insomuch that she would neither discourse, nor willingly hear others discoursing of any common or ordinary matters on that day. And as she grew into more capacity, so to this negative strictness, she added a positive conformity to the rules of severest godliness in this particular; not only hearing the word preached, but digesting it by meditation and conference into her daily conversation; being no less studious, on that day especially, to learn the mysteries of practical godliness, than in those of the rest of the week, to furnish herself with what other knowledge tended to a civil accomplishment.  
She was also from her Infancy very conscientiously dutiful and obedient to her Parents, even to the very smallest punctilios wherein she had the least intimation of their pleasure. Insomuch that her Lady-Mother upon a special occasion, perceiving her, from the misapprehension of an advice she gave her, more affected than she desired; was fain to expound herself to her, and give her a Key wherewith to uncypher her bosom for the future, by telling her, that sundry things which she had spoken to her, were never intended as peremptory commands, but only as advices and counsels, which, in things of indifferency must not be over-strained, which considered, gains a sufficient credit to that which I have been credibly informed, that her Lady-Mother hath been heard to say, that she was the child that never offended her in her life.  
As she grew up, she was observed to be of a precise justice, and exactness to her word; which that she might the better be, (seeing it is seldom known that they that observe not what they speak, are very observant of what they speak) she was very circumspect in, and very sparing and thrifty of discourse; a quality, that undoubtedly kept her from much sin (which the wise man tells us wanteth not in multitude of words, Prov. 10. 19) and contributed much to her perfection, which the Apostle James tells us, doth much consist in the Government of that unruly member, the tongue, Jam. 3. 2. I have read in Saint Austin, of a passage quoted from Tully, wherein he commends 
Nullum unquam verbum, quod revocare vellet, emisit. Aug. Ep. 7. Marc.  one that he knew, for never having spoken any thing which he wished unspoken, upon which the Father descants thus. It may, saith he, be understood in a more or less favourable sense: for (as he goes on) a fool may be capable of this commendation, who, though he speaks many things fit to be recalled, yet understands not so well what he says, as to recall any thing: but (saith he) if it be taken in the most favourable sense, concerning one that, knowing what he says, says nothing that he wishes unsaid afterwards, it agrees to none so well as to those who spoke by divine Inspiration. For my part (he proceeds) this is far from being my commendation. For, angit me plane Horatiana sententia nescit vox missa reverti: it is my trouble, that wishing will not render many of my words unuttered. I am sure most of us have cause to partake with that good Father in his Confession. But as for this exact Lady, she took the readiest course to arrive at Tully's character in the best sense, by doing what Seneca adviseth, 
Minimum cum aliis loqui, multum cum seipso. Epist. 105.  speaking much with herself, but little with others. Insomuch that a noble person of a very discerning Judgement, and no less severe a Piety, who had the advantage of being a witness to almost all her Life, hath been heard to say, that she believed such a person (naming her) had the least account to give for words of any one that she knew. And yet did she not bind her tongue thus to the behaviour for want of abilities to discourse, or matter to discourse of. For she was of great intellectual accomplishments, and those improved by much secular learning, as sufficed to enable her to converse that way with persons of eminent scholarship.  
A greeably to this Government of her tongue, she was exceedingly modest, and becomingly grave in her whole behaviour; not from any natural heaviness of constitution, or affectation of morose and reserved virtue; but from a just apprehension how unagreeable to an exact strictness of Life (which she designed) and how unconducing to the reputation of her Sex a too sanguine conversation is often found. And that she was not cynically averse to a decent and convenient degree of affability and courtesy (a virtue which was also very conspicuous in her) it appeared, in that she was wont to receive the visits of the meanest of her Neighbours with wonderful kindness, and converse with them with a great deal of becoming condescension: to which, as any of them appeared to her to savour more of godliness than others, she could (upon occasion) add a fit proportion of familiarity. For very careful she was to admit none into her bosom, but such as by critical observation she found to answer that character of worth by which she first valued herself, and then chose her intimates, not Greatness but Goodness.  
Her Courtesy, as I have intimated, she extended to all sorts of persons; even to those whom we commonly browbeat, and look down upon with a supercilious loftiness of countenance (those, I mean, whose necessities made them petitioners to her bounty) for even those she treated with great affability. So that what was said once of Titus the Roman Emperor, was true 
Sucton. in Tito.  of her, Neminem a se tristem dimisit, that no person departed out of her presence discontented. Yea, even those whom she denied her Alms (and some persons in want are not meet objects for a discreet charity) she would so handsomely reprove for not using their abilities of body to get more creditable Bread, that they seemed no less satisfied in her Counsel, than they would have been  her Alms.  
Her inviting countenance did so embolden the Poor to implore her Patronage, her compassionate heart rendered her so sensible of their conditions, and her prudence so enabled her to manage their Causes, that as she was most frequently employed in many of their important addresses to several of her Relations upon whom they depended; so she followed their suits in such a manner, that most anend she proved successful, as meeting with such a blessing of God upon her charitable endeavours, as the justice of the causes in which she engaged might warrant her to expect.  
Yea, her very Servants had a share in the obligingness of her conversation. For though she well understood her own Quality, and could keep them at convenient distance, yet she attempered her carriage, even to them, with so much mildness, that she was never observed to drop an hasty or passionate expression to any of them, though much provoked thereunto.  
Of so innocent a deportment she was (even from a child) that one of capacity enough to observe, and integrity enough to vindicate the relation from the least suspicion of flattery, gives her this character that during ten years' abode in her Mother's Family, she could never observe any intemperate word or action; or any thing, which if all the world had been acquainted with, would have in the least tended to her just diminution or disparagement.  
She much studied the gratifying the Tempers, and contenting the dispositions and propensions of those she conversed with, in all lawful ways: insomuch, that she hath been often observed to deny herself for the pleasing of others, according to that Apostolical Rule, Rom. 15. 2. And this disposition rendered her, even in matters of Argument, which (as I told you before) she wanted not ability to manage, not obstinately tenacious of her own opinion, but obligingly compliant to the Judgement of others, where the conscience of duty required not the contrary; that thereby she might render herself, offensive to none, but as far as might be, profitable to all. A quality thus, the more observable, because not ordinary in others, who being owners of great parts, commonly affect a dictatorship in discourse. So true is it, that  
Qui volet Ingenio cedere, rarus erit! These qualities rendered her of an excellent composure for a friend. And accordingly, an excellent friend she was. She did not (as was before noted) rashly admit any to the honour of her bosom acquaintance; but when once she had lodged any persons there, she was candidly free and open in communicating what her Judgement (which was always riper than her years) suggested to be most for the advantage of their particular soul-concerns, advice, comfort, or reproof. For which last, she always reserved a liberty even towards her choicest and most intimate friends; (and most indeed towards them) but managed it, constantly, with abundance of winning meekness and tenderness. And so severely conscientious was she in the discharge of this friendly office, (for such indeed it is, whatever men ordinarily think of it, and the neglect of it, where it needs, an act of hatred, Levit. 19 17.) that having frequent occasions to receive visits from, and return them to persons of her acquaintance, that made the reverend names of [Jesus! and Lord!] interjections in their ordinary discourse (a thing which to me seems too near of kin to that taking the name of God in vain, which the very letter of the third Commandment forbids) that she made it a Case of Conscience, whether she did not highly neglect her duty in not reproving them.  
And that she might not appear more rigidly to others in this kind, than she was to herself, her own life was a comment upon the Apostles 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, Eph. 5. 15. so exactly she walked, that she took care to avoid not only what she condemned, but what she did but suspect in others conversation. Insomuch, that her conscience would not permit her to pardon herself, what her charity taught her to indulge in others.  
And indeed, she was always of a very nice and delicate conscience, sensible of the smallest and lightest sin, or but probable appearance of it. The skin of that Sybarite whom Seneca mentions, 
De Ira lib. 2.  who complained he was sorely hurt with lying upon doubled rose leaves, was not more tender than her conscience was. Of which (though out of place) take these two Instances of many that might be given, that she was known once in her younger years to address herself to her Governess with tears, entreating her pardon for that in her very childhood she was conscious she had been defective in affection to her, for she thought, that then she did not love her. A fault (I doubt) which others that are far more guilty of it, are less troubled for. Another time in her maturer Age, when she had mildly enough threatened a child over whom she had some inspection committed to her, that if she did not such a thing she would not love her; she presently recalled that as an hard word, saying, Alas! God deals not so with us, notwithstanding our continual disobediences.  
But, to return (whence we digressed) to her character as an accomplished Friend. One eminent property of true friendship was very conspicuous in her; (and the more, considering what is commonly imputed to her Sex) that she was most careful to lock up her friends secrets in her own breast, and to conceal their infirmities. Those whom upon a Christian account she made her friends, she loved very affectionately, or (in the Apostles phrase rather) with a pure heart, and 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, with the utmost stress of zealous fervency; nor could she endure to be accounted tepid and indifferent in her love towards them.  
And yet in all this ardency of true affection she still observed her constant wont of being sparing in verbal expressions of the esteem and value she had for her friends; and that, out of scruple, lest she should incur the danger of flattering them, or at least seeming to do so. Yea, she was wont (sorely against her natural genius and disposition) sometimes to curb and restrain the overflowing kindness of her carriage and deportment, out of a conscientious fear, lest she should thereby gain the applause of others; being more afraid to be too well spoken of, than most persons are of deserving to hear ill.  
As a friend, she observed, that exchange of kindness is the fuel that feeds the flame of mutual affection, and keeps it from burning dimly or going out, and therefore was a great nourisher of gratitude; accounting it the greatest solcism in friendship, to be suspicious in receiving, or parsimonious in returning kindness. And therefore what of this nature she received, she would not (though sometimes possibly there were probable ground so to do) interpret amiss, as professing she abhorred the suspicion of a design in kindness, as the bane of gratitude. And in her returns, she was always nobly obliging, as studying rather to stand in her friends Books a Creditor than a Debtor.  
I mentioned her Devotion before, as an early blossom. But I must tell you now, that it had not the usual fate of such precocious blossoms, to be blasted and drop off before it arrived at maturity. For as she grew in years, she grew also in acquaintance and communion with God, and kept a constant correspondence, and intelligence with the Court of Heaven. Which Heavenly Trade she followed so close, that her Lady-Mother, whiles she was under her Government, observing how she laboured at it more than her constitution of body would well bear; and being afraid, lest by overstraining the bow to reach the mark she aimed at, she would endanger the breaking it; once in a friendly manner told her, that if she intended to hold on that course, she was not fit to live in this world. To which the humble Lady (reflecting probably upon herself that Term of unfitness to live, in another notion than it was meant) answered with much meekness, No, indeed, Madam, I confess, I am not.  
After she was married, she abated not of her Devotion; and thereby rendered herself a singular instance of exception, to the difference the Apostle puts between a Wife and a Virgin, (and which Romanists make so much use of to advance a vowed Virginity, an invention of theirs, above marriage, an institution of God) 1 Cor. 7. 34. you may the better judge of her Devotions by the proportion of time which she assigned them every day. I am credibly informed that her constant retirements to that purpose were proportionably to daniel's, thrice a day, Dan. 6. 10. And, since the decease of her precious Sister-in-Law (whose 
Dr. Langham's Wife.  great worth deserves a far more honourable remembrance, than upon this occasional mention can be allowed) dying some weeks before her; (as if she had taken the Alarm to prepare for her own dissolution shortly to follow from that providence) she more than doubled that proportion even to David's seven times a day, Ps. 119. 164.  
In mentioning her Devotions. I mean not only secret prayer and meditation, but also constant reading and study of the Scriptures, which was always a considerable part of the employment that filled up her daily hours of retirement; together with something or other of the writings of some learned practical Divines, with which her Closet was well furnished. I might reckon also as a part of her daily task, the reading over one Sermon a day, most days, out of her note-books, (for she constantly penned the Sermons she heard) and I could wish that other great Sermon writers, would herein follow her example, and not turn their notes to wast-paper so soon as they filled their books, as 'tis to be feared too many do. By which practice of hers, (learned from the mention of the like in the Life of the Young Lord Harrington) by frequent inculcation, she fixed in her memory all that she had heard, and had it in a readiness for the direction of her conversation, when ever she had need to make use of it.  
And now, it is possible that some persons that knew her not, upon the mention of so great a daily task of Closet Religion (comparing her with other Ladies of that Quality) may be solicitous to know, what time she could allow for the trimming and adorning her Body; or, it may be, may suspect her to have been some strange deformed Piece, who being fallen out with her Glass, for telling too much truth, had neglected all care of auxiliary handsomeness as mere lost labour; and addicted herself to the beautifying of her Soul, out of despair of ever rendering her body tolerably handsome or beautiful. To satisfy therefore all those who, may be concerned in this matter, I must tell them, that, as her Person was such, as to a middle and decent Pitch, and just proportion of all Parts, wanted not a Face, whose amiable lineaments might by the ordinary Artifices of that kind, have been advanced to the Reputation of a Beauty, had she thought fit to have made use of them: So she neglected not to bestow upon it so much time and pains, after the necessary occasions of her Soul, first attended, as decency required, though possibly not so much as Curiosity (had she studied it) would have called for. And so much shall suffice for this digression.  
To this proportion of constant Devotion which she cut herself out for every day, if you add her great care to fill up all the rest of her time, with profitable converse, you cannot but look upon her as a great Instance of that command, Eph. 5. 16. So did she 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, buy Time out (as the word signifies) of the hands of those wasters of precious minutes, which are apt, where they are not observed, to forestall the Market, and buy it up all even from the most religious employments; I mean, Pastimes, and Recreations. Whence it was, that (though she did not rigidly censure the liberty taken by others in that kind as absolutely, and in its own nature unlawful; yet) she never allowed herself to see any Masque, Interlude, or Play, or to play at Cards or the like Games; merely, because she doubted whether the expense of so much time, as commonly such diversions require, would be allowed upon her account, or no. Much, herein, of a different temper from those great Persons, whose Time so lies on their hands, as a dead Commodity, that they study all ways possible to put it off, because they know not what profitableuse to put it unto. A prodigality, which how much cause they have to repent of, they may possibly understand, when upon their deathbeds they find the want of those precious minutes for more serious uses, which they have so lavishly thrown away. In the mean time, to the Apostolical command (but now mentioned) I would entreat them to add in their serious meditations, the commendable resolve of that Heathen, who purposed 
Nemo ullum aufer at Diem, nihil dignam tanto impendio redditurus, Sen. de Tranq.  to allow a whole day to no converse, that would not make him amends for the precious Time expended in it.  
But, to return again to our excellent Personage, whom we left pursuing her daily design of acquainting herself with God in her set hours of devotion, accounting it (as she said) a singular mercy that the great God of Heaven and earth would vouchsafe his Creatures such plentiful discoveries of himself, both in the books of Nature and Providence; and beyond both those in his written Word. And therefore she prized them all, but especially the last, with an infinite affection; insomuch that she often risen early in the morning to read and meditate thereon: nor would she, when she was engaged in that holy work, suffer any interruptions how necessary soever, without evident signs of trouble & discomposure, till she returned to her beloved Bible again. Yea, towards the Book itself, for love of the excellent matter contained in it, she expressed such a respect, that she resented with a pious displeasure, any undecent usage of it, or careless throwing it among ordinary Books.  
Now, though she had a singular value for every part of the holy Bible, yet there was one part of it, the Book of Psalms, which she seemed to be most passionately in love withal; Perhaps, because (similitude being the ground of Love, according to the great Philosopher) she found so much agreement 
Arist: Eth: 8:  betwixt her own heart, and the spirit of that Book. This affection she shown by reading, or causing to be read, one or more of them constantly at her hour of repose in the evening, which by meditation and discourse she was wont to improve to her own benefit and theirs who were about her. And in her bed, she was wont to lock up her lips till morning with the repetition of some one that she had by heart, to which, having added some devout ejaculations with wonderful fervency, she usually dropped asleep in some holy ecstasy of Devotion. And as she shut up her lips and heart too in this manner at night, so she constantly opened them again in the morning with the same golden Key. So that her sleep seemed to be but a Parenthesis betwixt her evening and morning Devotions, which discontinued indeed, but not disordered them; yea, rather connexed and united them into one entire piece, of which (it is probable) her very sleeping Fantasy, by holy Dreams, made a part; seeing it was next to impossible, that even they, being hedged in between two such immediate acts of Devotion, should not receive a proportionable tincture from them.  
These her set Devotions, 'tis likely, she methodised most commonly according to her own discretion; but yet, she did not so tie up herself to the order of her own designment, as not to leave herself a liberty upon any extraordinary occasion, to vary as that occasion required. Which appears, in that upon the solemn great Festivals, at least, observed in this Church, she would accommodate them to those seasons respectively. A course, which I am a little jealous, may, from some persons perhaps, undergo a censure, as if it savoured somewhat of superstition. But, as she feared not that censure in the practice, as finding that benefit thereby, which abundantly weighed down that scarecrow in her own consideration: so do not I fear it in the relation, as being persuaded that it may be of use to some one or other, who may be thereby induced to take up the same course with the same advantage.  
For, whereas those grand Articles of Religion, the Incarnation, Death, Resurrection and Ascension of our Saviour, have (each of them) a signal use and influence towards the improvement both of Faith, and Holiness if particularly studied and applied, yea, and the recurring of those Festivals, wherein they are by public order commemorated, affords a special opportunity thereunto, by giving us a particular remembrance of them; it stands with Reason, that the taking hold of such opportunities when offered, and accommodating our private readings, meditations and prayers to them, should yield us the particular advantage before mentioned; which possibly, in a like measure at least, we might not reap otherwise. For experience shows, that those signal mercies seldom come under our particular observation, for respective improvement, except upon those seasons for divers years together. And for this reason, I suppose, or the like (of no affinity to superstition at all, which our Lady was too knowing a Christian to be endangered unto in such a matter) she took up, and continued this Practice.  
In her course of Life, she was precisely careful to avoid all manner of sin; and solicitous in all emergencies of consequence to understand her duty, that she might practise accordingly. As she made God's Testimonies her delight, so she made them her Counsellors also, Ps. 119. 24. Insomuch, that she never determined any dubious occurrence without great deliberation, and the best advice she could procure. But especially, when she was a Wife, she made frequent use of the counsel given by the Apostle Paul, 1 Cor. 14. 35. when she desired to learn any thing, to ask her Husband. And herein was she singularly happy, in being directed by Providence to such an Husband as abundantly answered that character of another Apostle, dwelling (and conversing with her) as a man of knowledge, 1 Pet. 3. 7. One, who as he was able (richly able) to maintain, so was he no less propense to entertain such a converse, especially with so near a friend as the Wife of his bosom, upon any occasion. So that herein (besides the advantages hereby reaped to herself) she highly gratified him, by affording him the opportunities of an employment so acceptable to his own Genius and disposition; and withal practised the advice given her upon her Marriage by her prudent Lady-Mother to make herself fit conversation (so she expressed it) for her Husband. A notable Instance whereof may be; that if, at any time, in her solitary discourses with him of this nature (with which kind of converse she was much delighted) there had happened a cessation on both hands for a little while, she would presently be apprehensive of the loss, and desire him not to let her time pass unimproved, but either to renew the conference, or read some good Book to her.  
And yet, (so greedy she was of improving herself by all good means) she did not make this advantage of him alone; but constantly attended the public Ordinances, from a due respect unto which she was too weighty a Christian to be blown away by the pitiful prejudices of these times; as too many are, to the unsufferable affronting of God's goodness, who vouchsafes them to us, and (it is to be feared) too often, to the forsaking their own mercy, the particular benefit they might reap from them. And that she might make the utmost improvement of God's Ministers, whose lips God hath appointed to keep knowledge, she would according to his command (in private conference, as well as public Ordinances when occasion was offered) seek it at their mouths, Mal. 2. 7. An Instance whereof of special remark, may be, that, when She met with any Divines of note at her Father-in-Law's Sir JOHN LANGHAMS' Table, with whom after her marriage till her death She resided (and that plentiful Table was seldom without some such guests of special eminency) She would request her Husband to offer such discourse, as might give the company the benefit of their presence and converse; professing that she judged it altogether absurd and incongruous to Reason, as well as Religion, that Physicians and Lawyers should be so ordinarily entertained with discourses proper to their respective Faculties; and Divines only treated without the verge of their Profession, with matters altogether heterogeneous and eccentrical to the sphere of their holy Function.  
Such, as you have heard, was her devotion towards God. And She had as well learned her duty to her Neighbour, which She evidenced in every Relation and Capacity.  
When by her Marriage She was to be transplanted into her Husband's Family, her Lady-Mother failed not to give her those Instructions, which as Maxims of duty She constantly practised in a just proportion to all her Relations. And accordingly,  
The first place in her Affection, She bestowed upon her Husband, whom She so loved, that She professed she could even die for him. This her Love She shown in an eminent degree of dutiful compliance with whatever she observed to be agreeable to him. For she never received the least intimation of his pleasure, though delivered in a way of request, but it had with her the force of a Command; with which (waving her own opinion, in case of difference from his) she always respectfully comported. Insomuch, that no Instances of conjugal happiness in others, ever minded him of any deficiency in his own; but rather produced a greater complacency in his so great felicity, whiles he found himself happy in his own choice, beyond the most eminent examples.  
And, as her Love and dutiful Carriage, so also her Learning rendered her an Help meet for him, as being thereby made capable of conversing with him, both in points of Divinity and Humanity, very knowingly and judiciously, and that in more Languages than one; being able to make use of Learned Authors in other Tongues, without the help of a Translation. As for Latin, that learnedest piece of Peter Martyr, (his Common-places) she frequently had recourse unto. For French she was intimately acquainted with the works of (that Prodigy of Learning and Language) M. du-Moulin, out of whose Buckler of Faith. she was both enabled to defend her own Protestant Faith and (as she had occasion to converse with any Ladies of the Romish communion) to assault and overthrow theirs. And, for Italian she could make as good an advantage of what Learning that Language affords.  
And yet (which in an accomplishment wherein she so much exceeded the rest of her Sex, in so much the more remarkable) was she not hereby elevated. That 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, or swelling conceitedness, (which the Apostle tells us too often fly-blows eminent Gifts, 1 Cor. 8. 1. and is the very bane of these times) she was not tainted withal, so that her Husband was perfectly unacquainted with all those inconveniences which some have fancied do necessarily accompany a learned Wife. For to him, even herein, She always would strike sail, as to her Lord and Head; making use of her own knowledge only to capacitate her to make the best improvement of his; of whom She would (as one that with her other learning, had learned her Duty from the Apostle) 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, receive instruction in all submissive silence, or quietness.  
To her Lady-Mother, She did not forget her Duty in the least, no not when her married estate had manumitted her from her Government; but, allowing her still the next place in her affection, and respects to her Husband, so demeaned herself towards her, that She esteemed her not only a very dutiful and deserving Daughter, but (as her own Phrase was) an excellent Friend also. To her Father-in-Law, she paid the same Duty (according to the particular directions, which she received from her at her marriage) which she performed to her Lady-Mother; as considering, that where the Ordinance of God makes two persons one flesh, it makes a proportionable union to their respective natural Relations too; they being but Reliquiae carnis nostrae, the remainders of every ones own flesh in other bodies: as both Arias Montanus, and our own Margin from 
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉  him, render, those words by which nearness of kin is expressed, Levit. 18. 5.  
To the memory of her predecessor in that Relation she bore to Sir James Langham, she testified (contrary to what is usual in such cases) a very signal respect, enquiring with some earnestness after her special virtues, which she designed for her own Imitation, and giving the good she heard of her, a just commendation.  
To the children that Sir James had by that Lady (providence denying him any by this, eucept one in expectation, to whom the death of the mother rendered the womb a grave) she was in care and tenderness so much more than a Mother-in-Law, that it was impossible for any, but those that knew otherwise, not to have mistaken her for their natural Parent; and if, with them, she had had any of her own body, I believe she could hardly have told how to have rendered her love to her natural issue (in any considerable indication) more Emphatical. So solicitously did She interest herself both in education of, and provision for them; and so concern herself in their behalf, in all occasions of never so little bodily distemper; that She deserved thereby to have rendered, even Noverca, a name of honour, by being such a Mother-in-Law, from whom even natural Mothers themselves, might not disdain to receive a Law of kindness towards the children of their own bodies.  
From her Daughter of about 11 years of Age, She exacted constantly a repetition (by heart) of the Sermons she heard; for which Task She had by her Instructions so logically methodised theme mory of that so young a child, that She was able to Analize a discourse of 30 or 40 particular heads memoriter, with the most remarkable enlargments upon them.  
This care of her children She not only continued during her health, but even in her sickness also She influenced that that others took of them, so far as her weakness would permit. And to to show that She minded them as long as She minded any thing in this world, even upon her dying bed She requested her Husband (though he needed not any such spur to quicken him in his Duty) to breed them up in the exercises of severe Godliness, and to see them taught such Evidences of salvation, as might be supports to them one day in their dying Agonies.  
To her Servants, She demeaned herself so mildly (as I before told you) as if they had not been so properly Servants, as humiles amici, (in the Moralists phrase) a sort of inferior friends. Which carriage won her from them a great deal of aw-ful Love, and heart-service, instead of eie-service, the common vice of those in that Relation. She took care even of the meanest of them, not only for their bodies, but their Souls also: calling them that were more immediately under her inspection (her Maidens) to account (in scriptis if they could write) for the Sermons they heard, and helping their deficiencies from her own exacter notes. She would call upon them in the morning (as her phrase was) to go to God, i. e. to wait upon him in their morning Devotions, before they waited on her. And if (for She would examine them concerning it) any one of them confessed, or by silence bewrayed a neglect therein, She would dismiss her immediately to that work from her present attendance, not without some reprehension withal, for giving her service the precedency of Gods. And this care She took (as She would frequently express herself to her Husband) from a deep conviction of this truth, that Governors of Families, are accountable to God for the Soul of the meanest under their inspection. A course which (as far as She could bear it, She continued even in her last sickness, for when the importunities of her own bodily distempers kept any of them from Church to attend her necessities at home on God's day, She would tell them, that nothing but an absolute necessity should have been reason sufficient for her detaining them about her. But yet, (would She say) your minds are at liberty; let God have as much worship as you can give him: lift up your hearts, lift up your hearts and remember 'tis the Sabbath.  
An example, this, very fit to be followed by others of her Sex, and Quality; yea, it were well, if those that are much inferior to her both in Birth and breeding, would learn so much Religion from her, as to consider that their Servants have Souls as well as themselves; and Souls, that require some time to trim and dress them, as well as their Ladies and mistresses bodies. And that those persons will surely give but a poor account one day of their Servants souls, whose tedious dress spend the greatest part of every day, (not excepting God's Day itself) and will not allow their Maidens a minute's privacy, to lift up a short prayer in secret, wherewith to sanctify the employments of the day.  
Nor did She extend this care towards her Servants, only whiles they continued with her, but enlarged it even to those that departed from her. An Instance whereof may be, That when a mean servant came to take leave of her, She gave her (together with some other expressions of her charity and kindness) much good counsel, and desired her Husband to add something to her favours too, but above all to dismiss her with a second largess of good Advice.  
To the Poor, She was hugely charitable; sometimes not staying till they expressed their own wants, but pressing out of them those complaints, which their modesty would have suppressed, by her own inquiries into their conditions, that She might know wherein She might be beneficial to them. And when She had information of any wants above an ordinary charity, She was even solicitous how to procure a proportionable relief for the parties concerned, nor was She charitable to the bodies only of those whom She relieved, for She gave to most (but to those especially, whose great exigences (in probability) rendered them more capable and inclinable to follow it) the double Alms of her bounty and counsel together; which last (though the other were not mean neither) was constantly the best of the two.  
A thousand Instances of her great Charity in this kind, have escaped the observation of any, but those only that received it; (She being in acts of this nature contented with the notice of God and Conscience) so that our Saviour's Rule in this, was hers, not to let her left hand know what her right hand did, Mat. 6. 3. And yet, to God's glory, and her own deserved commendation, those good deeds of this nature, which She studiously (to avoid what She always abhorred, the very appearance of vainglory) concealed in her life time, in a great measure came to light after her death, as appeared in the passionate resentments of great crowds of poor people, who (as is usual in such cases) thronging to obtain a sight of her Hearse whiles exposed to view, declared that, not so much their curiosity as affection drew them thither, by the bitter lamentations and tears wherewith they bewailed her death (as the Widows did Dorcas, Acts 9 39) as their common and irreparable loss.  
In this her bounty, partly, out of her great fear (as I told you before) to be too well thought of, if others knew the proportions of it; and partly, that She might be the more assured that it was not diverted from the right channel, She commonly trusted no hands but her own: making it her care before She went out of doors at any time, to furnish her Poormans' Purse, with such moneys, as were most convenient to be distributed and divided among those necessitous people, which providence before She returned, might cast in her way.  
One special passage I must not omit, under this Head of Charity; though it only so far concern her, as it expresseth her judgement in the choice of fit subjects to lay it forth upon. She was once told of the prodigious bounty of some of her Ancestors towards Religious places and Persons, and particularly, upon young students in the Universities. This last sort of charity as soon as mentioned, She especially applauded, thus expressing her thoughts of it. Indeed, said She, it is the best Charity to promote the good of souls, and in that respect it is a much nobler bounty, to be the means of consecrating the life of one, than relieving the age and infirmities of twenty.  
Let me close up this Section, with the averseness she expressed to (the great bane of Love and charity) Tale-bearing, for which she constantly had a high degree of detestation, She always suspected a passionate Accuser, as commonly more faulty, than the party accused; it being the usual artifice of malice, to endeavour the concealing its own guilt, by stopping the ears of Justice with a prejudicated opinion against those from whom it fears a recrimination. And in all differences of this nature, which came under her cognizance, she constantly used this healing method, first, to allay the acrimony of the contending spirits, and then to accommodate the difference itself.  
In a word, her Charity in all points answered the Character which the great Apostle gives of that Heavenly Grace, 1 Cor. 13. which to read, is to comprise the whole History of her Life in a nutshell, a short Abstract or Epitome. Read it here if you please, and accommodate the several parts of it to my former Relation. Charity, (and such was hers) suffereth long and is kind, envieth not, vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up, doth not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil, rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the Truth, beareth all things, believeth all things, endureth all things, v. 4, 5, 6, 7.  
And now, to so eminent a progress in all manner of perfections, there could hardly be made any accession in this world; so that it was high time for her to be transplanted from hence to the society of the spirits made perfect in another. And God (whose wont it is 
Heb: 12: 23:  to gather his fruit when it is fully ripe) having thus made her meet for the inheritance of the Saints in 
Col: 1: 12:  light, accordingly, thought fit on March 28. 1664. to translate her thither. Her sickness, of which she died, surprised her tanquam ex insidiis, being the small Pocks disguised under the relics of a Fever (to appearance) almost perfectly profligated. Such a surprise of death in the very borders and confines of expected health, had been sufficient to have discomposed any soul, and ruffled it into disorder, but such an one as hers; which kept always so good a guard, that no event could befall her for which she was not provided.  
During that twilight of hopes and fears, which sometimes held both her Physicians and Relations, in suspense concerning her; she always seemed in her own inclinations to propend to Saint Paul's choice, Phil. 1. 23. having a desire to departed, and to be with Christ: begging of her dear Husband, who was (as he had great cause) humbly importunate with God for a longer enjoyment of her; that he would not pray for her life, but for her soul, and that God would make her fit to die; or if he pleased to gratify the desires of those who so affectionately wished her recovery, that he would so sanctify his hand unto her, that she might obtain grace to pay her vows. Indeed her great aim and design, was to 
2 Cor. 7. 1.  perfect holiness in the fear of God; and her great request for herself in midst of her feverish Paroxysms, was, that by that burning heat (as she said) she might be purified and refined. Conformable hereunto, was that Request of hers, taken notice of in a former sickness, which fell out a year before her Marriage, which she expressed with a most pathetical vehemency, O that I could do the whole will of God  
At other times of this her last weakness, when her Husband praying by her prosecuted with earnestness his constant Request, for her recovery to health, and a longer life; she would, after the duty, kindly chide the exuberancy of his affection; & desire him to rest content in God's Promise, that all things should work together for his good, Rom. 8. 28. and to submit (as she wholly did) to his sovereign 
Lugeatur mortuus; sed ille quem gehenna suscipit quem Tartarus devorat, etc. Hier.  will: telling him withal, that he had no reason to give the reins to his sorrow, if he saw her die with good evidences of her going to Heaven. And to allay his passion in his greatest dreads of that separation, which he so much deprecated, We came not (said she) into the world together, nor can we expect to go out of it together; yet it is a great satisfaction to me that I am going thither, whither you, after a while, shall follow me. And somewhat inquisitive she was (probably in order to the advancement of that satisfaction) what degrees of Communion the Saints glorified have one with another, and what measure of knowledge they have of each other? A question, which is often asked by gracious souls; but (in my judgement) impossible to be resolved from clear grounds of Scripture, the Argument on both sides being alike probable. And it need not create any trouble to us, if it remain in the dark. It is but a little while, ere comfortable experience will decide the controversy to all that wait for the coming of the Lord Jesus, beyond all our uncertain disputes.  
She was very solicitous during her whole sickness, of her carriage and deportment under God's afflicting hand; and afraid lest the restlessnesses occasioned by her distemper, might be the fruit of her impatience. To which purpose, she would oftentimes, (with an holy self-jealousy) ask of those about her, Whether she did not seem to them to be deficient in Patience? and would seem to be troubled at the remembrance of the carriage of such and such Christian friends, whom she had conversed with on their sick beds, as conscious to herself how short she came of them.  
Some Conflicts she had with Temptation (if I may so call it, and not rather the exceeding tenderness of her own Conscience, apt to smite her (as david's did for cutting off but the skirt of saul's Robe, 1 Sam. 24. 5.) for the smallest omissions, of which yet those that knew the strictness of her walking with God, thought she had little cause to complain.) And yet those very complaints, in the nature of them, argued a very great proficiency in holiness; witness one amongst the rest especially, viz. that she had not been so sensible, as she ought to have been of the estate and condition of God's Church; a thing which surely most of us may more justly charge on ourselves (considering the Havoc at this day made in it by the Eastern Wildbore out of the Forest; and 
Ps. 80. 13. Cant. 2. 15.  the little Foxes out of their holes, Romish Emissaries in several disguises spoiling its tender grapes) but that we do not (with her) prefer Jerusalem above our chief 
Ps. 137. 6.  joy.  
But these were but thin and light clouds, quickly scattered, the light of God's countenance breaking through them, and clearing up hers. So that she told one of her visitants, with a great deal of comfort, that she thanked God, that instead of a world full of troubles and miseries, he had now given her the sight of a better Country. And this prospect, together with the clearing up of her Title to it, (a thing which in her health she expressed a great solicitousness for, insomuch that she hath been heard to say with some Emphasis of zealous earnestness, Who, being once assured of the pardon of sins, would not be willing to die the next hour?) made her, now she had attained it, so willing to 
Luk. 23. 46. 2 Tim. 1. 13. 2 Cor. 5. 1.  resign her soul into the hands of God, as knowing whom she had trusted: and lay down her earthly Tabernacle, in exchange for that House made without hands, eternal in the Heavens.  
And thus fell, what was mortal of this precious Saint, to her own infinite gain, but to the inexpressible loss of all her surviving friends and acquaintance, but especially her dear Relations. Who (notwithstanding, I hope) will consider, that, seeing the WILL OF THE LORD IS DONE, it becomes them to acquiesce in it. It was (as I am informed) her counsel to her tenderly loving and affectionate Husband, in her health, to take heed of overloving her, bidding him beware of it, as he desired not to be rid of of her: for God would endure no Rival. I hope (though, withal, I confess it a difficult piece of self-denial not to overlove a Wife so over-deserving; and so strong a temptation may very well excuse and lessen an offence of that nature) that worthy person to whom that caution was given, had always so much of the Christian, as might balance the Husband in him; and preserve him from ever rivalling his Maker. But, however let me presume to remember 
De non nostro amissum dolemus. Cum alley num amissum aegre sustinemus, affines cupiditatis invenimur, Tert. de Pat.  him, that this may be done ex post facto, by over-grieving, when God hath taken away such a comfort. As no doubt Phaltiel was David's Rival, not only whiles he enjoyed his Wife Michal; but also, when she was sent for from him, in that he accompanied her, as far as he dared, weeping, 2 Sam. 3. 16.  
And let all her other Relations consider, that, the more virtuous she was, and the more any way qualified to be a comfort to them here; the fit was she to yield them the opportunity of offering the completer sacrifice of self-denial and holy Resignation, by giving her to God; for whom nothing can be too good, seeing we can have nothing so good as he deserves, who is the Author of all good, yea, is himself all good, and alsufficiently so, to us. Let them consider, how ripe she was for Heaven, and then they cannot but connclude it had been to her loss to have been longer detained from it: as it is to the choicest fruit to hang on the Tree beyond due maturity. And this very consideration (if any of them were not sufficiently prepared for this loss beforehand) ought to have had the force of a presage, to fortify them against this Event: seeing it could not (in reason) be expected, that a Life so thick packed and crowded with Virtue and Grace, should be long: her living so much in a little time (by that common Rule, celerius occidere festinatam maturitatem, that over-hastened 
Quintil. Inst.  fruit is the first that falls) was a kind of ominous intimation that she had not long to live; and that riding such Posthaste towards Heaven, she would not be long thence. However, now Gods will is done, let our hearty assent thereunto, show us Christians; our rejoicing in her happiness, her friends; and our imitation of her excellent perfections, true honourers of her memory; who is gone before us to that bliss, to which (I think, we may all safely say) the Lond in due time bring us all for Christ's sake. Amen.  

A POSTSCRIPT.  
SInce the finishing of this Narrative, there came to my hands an excellent Character of this incomparable Lady; being part of a Letter written by him whose learned Pen copied her from his heart; of whom it may be verified, which was by the Greek Epigrammatist once said of the Statue of Love, so curiously cut by Praxiteles.  

— 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.   

No wonder Love is thus to Life expressed,  
The Graver, had th' Original in his breast:   
Of this Treasure, being unwilling to defraud the Reader, partly, because of its own accurate elegancy; and partly, because it contains a compendious Abstract of all the foregoing Relation, from him who best understood her worth: I thought fit to subjoin it here.  
Believe it, Sir, (saith he to his Friend) it is not more my Affection, than my Judgement, that esteems that happy Lady so much above the rate of those that enjoy the common Title with her of being Wives; that it is still the reason of my thanks to God, that I once enjoyed so matchless a Person, and withal a justification of a Grief of an extraordinary size, that I have lost what is not comforted with the least hopes of a repair. Not that I am ignoraut of the omnipotency of God who is always able to equal himself by doing that again whensoever he pleaseth, which at any time before he hath done. But because I know such an excellency was ornament enough to illustrate a whole age, and humane things are more chequered, than that such an unusual happiness, as I have twice enjoyed should the third time fall to my share. That the superiorities of her Birth should descend to the privacy of my condition, without the being so troublesome to it as to tax my living up to any other Rate than what my own pleasure admitted, was that humble Prudence, of which few in that Order, before herself, ever gave an example. To comply in all those obediences to me as an Husband, by which inferior Wives pay for the kindness of taking them up into a condition which their Birth and Fortunes despaired of, was so much to my admiration, that I could not but ravishedly wonder at it; and bless God for that happiness of mine, in the contemplations whereof, I was so busy, as not to have the leisure of expressing it to others, but by overjoyed looks. And perhaps, I did not imprudently with silence possess my comforts, whiles speaking might have wanted belief, or created too much Envy. How matchless a commendation of hers was it, in so many years, amidst the variety of humane things to be without the guilt of Word or Action, that needed a Recall, or feared a Censure? what the Laws require of others, she taxed herself at: what others promised, she performed; in whom a most sweet Temper was subjected to so informed a mind, that her compliance with her Duty, was as perfect as Humanity admits, without noise or reluctancy. And (would Divinity allow the expression) it might be said, that she had always in her power something of supererogation, which she added, after she had paid the exactness of justice and expectation. She delighted to show those children of mine, which others would have concealed, as the Alloy of their Marriage; lengthened their lives by prayer and care; made them better than she found them by instruction and example; and was so constant in her kindnesses, that there was not an intermission through which to suspect the least simulation. She not only bore, but delighted in the Relations of my first Wife's Virtue: and did so satisfy me in all the appetites of my soul, that nothing made me solicitous in my conjugality whiles I enjoyed her, but either the fear an extraordinary happiness would not be long; or desire that I might obtain the joys of another Life hereafter, who had the greatest measure of those here, which that state knows without which even Paradise was by God himself judged to want something of Compleatness. I could with safety trust my deepest Counsels with that Heart, that did not easily part with any thing; leave the charge of my Children with that sincerity and prudence, which no interest could tempt awry, nor disguise easily deceive. Methinks I could justify myself in an unspeakable Love, whiles the Reason of it was an unusual plentiful measure of rare Grace: in the Honour of an illustrious Birth, the most submissive Humility; in the knowledge of the Pomp's of the world a pious neglect of them: the most express Characters that I ever saw of God, in that, or the other Sex. In whom Religion seemed pardonable if not beautiful even to the Enemies of it, from those good qualities that accompanied it, viz. a Readiness to Oblige, an Easiness to Pardon, Respects to Superiors, Kindness to Equals, Regards and Compassions to Inferiors. Such an One have I lost, such an One do I bewail.  
And then he piously concludes thus (with which I conclude also) But he, whose Right it is, to do what he pleaseth, and whose Privilege it is, that he cannot be unjust, hath recalled what was his own from me who had no claim to that Grace; and although I grieve, I murmur not, who know her Happiness whiles I feel my own Calamity.    

REader, notwithstanding the great care of a watchful Corrector; the distance of the Author, hath (besides divers literal mistakes, and mis-punctations, which it is hoped thou wilt indulge) occasioned these grosser escapes of the Press, which it is desired, thou wilt before thou readest correct.  
PAge 15. line 13. from the top, read or interests, p. 14. l. 4. r. humoured, p. 19 l. 12. r. wisest, p. 45. l. 9 r. perfection, p. 55. l. 6. r. exerted, p. 70. l. 12. r. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, p. 104. l. 25. r. so much, p 109. l. 2. r. this, p. 110. l. 19 r. rigidly severe, p. 116. l. 20. r. have filled, p. 129. l. 27. r. is.   


On the MEMORY Of the RIGHT HONOURABLE, The Lady ELIZABETH LANGHAM.  

HAd I a subject of a meaner size,  
Methinks I could write Volumes, and mine eyes  
Land-flood whole quires of Paper with a Tide  
Of Elegies. Deep Rivers silent slide.  
Great Contemplations tie the Tongue, that Mind  
That's rapt to Heaven, cannot Utterance find.   

So Commentators on an easy Text,  
Are endless in their Paraphrase, but vexed  
With a mysterious place passed by, (be sure)  
And veil the Bonnet with Vot serviture:  
So holy Cloisters Veneration's dumb,  
Their walls being mottoed with Silentium.   

But as the Herald's blazon Princes Coats  
Not by mean colours, but Celestial Notes;  
By Heavenly Planets, thence to signify  
Their near approaches to Divinity.  
So an inspired Angel from the Muse  
Of Jesse's Son, this equal task should choose,  
With quill plucked from a Cherub's wing to paint  
The great Example of this illustrious Saint.   

Her Apparition makes me all aghast,  
Like her of Endor, or th' Enthusiast,  
Scared and convulst with his own Oracles,  
Thou Constellation of Miracles.  
Epitome of the whole sphere of Excellence,  
Extract of all that nature could dispense;  
Where Great, and Good, Noble, and Humble met,  
Learned, and Modest; Wit without Deceit,  
That skill in Scriptures and in Tongues she got,  
Made her a living Bible Polyglot.  
These did not puff her up; she did descend  
To the kind Offices of Wife and Friend,  
Mother and Sister, as if Ethics were  
Not so much taught her, as transcribed from her;  
Oh what a glorious Creature and how rare  
A Saint it would be, that had what she could spare.   

Where hath she left her Equals now in fame,  
But in the Noble House from whence she came;  
Too small alas! where Virtue's sacred Fire  
Retires in Embers, Oh  ne'er expire;  
Dark Lantern of the most resplendent Light,  
There is the Goshen, all the rest is Night.   

Alas our Pharos is blown out of late  
By which we did prosperously Navigate,  
And trade both Indies for more precious wealth,  
A nobler Traffic with Heaven and herself;  
But whilst we did expect so rich a Cargo,  
Death on the sudden made this sad Imbargo.  
We only expect a restitution there  
Where Saints shall be revealed, & th' Revelation clear.   
William Langham.   

An Elegy Upon the RIGHT HONOURABLE And MOST INCOMPARABLE LADY, The Lady ELIZABETH LANGHAM, Who departed this life March 28. 1664.  

COme sacred Muse assist my Quill,  
With somewhat of your learned Skill;  
Inspire my Fancy from on high,  
Who to Parnassus ne'er came nigh.  
Fear not the spleen of Critics eye,  
For Momus censure I defy.  
Egged on with Duty, Love and Zeal,  
My unpractized Muse I will reveal.  
Look not for much from a small store,  
She that gives all can give no more.   

Proclaim I do our own sad Fate,  
By what has fallen out of late:  
The Sun which makes a perfect Day,  
Its influence took from her bright Ray,  
Who while she here did make her stay,  
Each minute had more worth than Day.  
Beloved, admired, adored by all,  
No equal had (since Adam's fall)  
Descended of a Noble Line,  
A Vertuosa most Divine:  
The Royal blood ran in her veins,  
And guiltless did admit no stains,  
Her Fame was great, and of Renown,  
She to her Husband was a Crown;  
No sand of time did  slip by,  
Without its action sweet as high,  
Improving all the cost was spent,  
On her Large souls ennoblement;  
Of such a body as might vie,  
With glorious ones in purity:  
When she her eyelids did display,  
The Sun ashamed made haste away;  
And we might see the Daystar rise,  
Within the circuit of her eyes:  
Alone she stood (in her bright sphere)  
Not to be matched far or near.  
All Beauties which might bless the sight,  
Mixed with transparent Virtue's light,  
At once producing love and awe:  
Her souls perfection had no flaw,  
Discerning thoughts, but a calm breast,  
Most apt to pardon, needing lest;  
Strict, mild, and humble, great and good;  
As all her Friends well understood.  
Most pious in her life and death,  
(A Pattern to her latest breath)  
Heaven could not brook the earth should share  
A Pearl of such a Price; so rare,  
So good, so wise, so chaste, so blest,  
Angels alone can speak the rest,  
God took her hence betimes, lest we  
Should fall to flat Idolatry.   
Anne Lumley.   

Upon The much Lamented Death Of That most virtuous and Incomparable LADY ELIZABETH Daughter of the RIGHT HONOURABLE FERDINANDO Lord HASTINGS, Earl of HUNTINGDON. And Wife to the RIGHT WORSHIPFUL, Sr. JAMES LANGHAM.  

PAss not, but wonder, and amazed stand  
At this sad Tomb; for here enclosed lie  
Such rare perfections, that no tongue, or hand  
Can speak them, or portray them to the eye:  
Such was her body, such her soul divine,  
Which hence ascended, here hath left this shrine,  
To tell her Princely birth, and high descent,  
And what by noble Huntingdon is meant,  
Transcends the Herald's Art, beyond the rules  
Of Ore, or Argent, Azure, or of Gules:  
To that Nobility her Birth had given  
A second added was, derived from Heaven;  
Thence her habitual goodness, solid worth  
Her piety, her virtue's blazon forth,  
Her for a pattern unto after ages,  
To be admired by all, expressed by sages,  
Who whilst they writ of her, will sadly sorrow,  
That she did not survive to see their morrow.  
So good in all Relations, so sweet  
A Daughter, such a loving Wife; discreet  
A Mother, though not hers, not partial,  
She loved, as if they had been natural.  
To the Earl and Ladies she a sister rare,  
A Friend, where she professed, beyond compare.  
Her hours were all precisely kept, and spent  
In her devotions; and her studies meant  
To share some for her languages, which she  
In Latin, French, Italian, happily  
Advanced in with pleasure; what do I  
Recount her parts? her Memory speaks more  
Than what can be, or hath been said before.  
It asks a Volume rather than a Verse  
Which is confined only to her Hearse.  
But now blessed Soul, She is arrived at Heaven,  
Where, with a Crown of life, to her is given  
A new transcendent Name, to th' world unknown,  
Not writ in marble, but the Saints white Stone:  
Enthroned above the stars, with glory crowned,  
Enstaled with bliss, and Hallelujahs sound.   
Bathshua Makin.   

On the MEMORY Of the RIGHT HONOURABLE, And VIRTUOUS LADY, The Lady ELIZABETH, Late Wife to the worthy Sr. JAMES LANGHAM KNIGHT.  

HIghly descended, born of noblest blood;  
Yet one, who (Great) was not more Great than good,  
Skilled in the Languages, and in the Arts,  
(Acquired learning added to good parts.)  
Humble, Grave, modest, and of temper sweet,  
Wise to keep silence, when as it was meet:  
And knowing how, as well, to speak in season,  
And then to guide her tongue with grace, & reason.  
In place, of a good Lady dead, to come,  
And, so well, to fill up the Vacuum;  
By acting so the Wife, and so the Mother,  
(One would have thought she had not been another)  
Acting both so, as if the very same  
Mother and Wife, deceased, were come again.  
So full of all the tenderest love and care  
To two sweet Children, which another bare:  
To Husband so obsequious and so sweet  
In carriage, that an help more meet  
He could not have. And as to each Relation  
Wondrous obliging in her Conversation.  
The meanest person That would not contemn,  
That, rashly, would not any one condemn.  
Who, always, would interpret in best sense,  
What others use to rack with violence.  
Easy to pardon other's faults, and yet  
Severe in those laws, which t'her self she set.  
One, to the poor, that did draw forth her soul,  
So much, their pinching wants she would condole.  
What time some, of her Rank, do set a part  
To Cards and Plays, who spent to search her heart,  
To read, and pray, and to converse with God,  
With whom she hoped, once, for a blessed abode.  
The Sun did not, more duly, set and Rise,  
Than she kept constant to this Exercise.  
The Lord's Day was her joy, his word her meat,  
Which she not only Read, and Herd, but Eat.   

But where's the Subject, unto which this throng  
Of Epithets and Adjuncts doth belong?  
Is she i'th' Land of Living? Alas! No,  
She might have been seen here some months ago.  
She was, How sad a word's this Was! (woes me)  
This blessed Lady Elizabeth was she.  
Hasting to Heaven, she touched (by the way)  
At Crosby-House, where we hoped she would stay;  
But fond: Of a sudden she took flight  
Heaven ward, and's gone: she's quite gone out of sight.  
Into the World she came, it's vanity,  
She saw; contemned, and withdrew presently.   
T. B.   

In Obitum Illustrissimae Heroinae, Dominae ELIZABETHAE LANGHAM, Epicedium.  

ERgone foeminei laus, & victoriasexus,  
Et desiderii meta suprema jacet?  
una bonis animi, generisque, & corporis aucta,  
Quae data sunt aliis singula, cuncta tulit.  
Nobilis a proavis, & origine magna Parentum,  
Nempe Hunting doniae splendida gemma domus.  
Invidia, haud pietas est hanc deflere Beatam,  
Cui data coelesti est clara corona polo.  
Marmora mitte igitur, celebrare aut carmine laudes,  
Huic immortali, quid moritura struis?  
Namque loquendo, satis dignè laudaverit unquam  
Nemo, nisihic maerens qui stupet atque silet.    

An Epitaph.  

STay! read her name, lest thou pass traveller,  
Hence irreligiously without a tear.  
Say, didst thou know her? then thy loss resent,  
If not? at least thy ignorance lament.   

Here lies interred one, by whose decease  
Heaven hath one Saint the more, and earth one less.  
Where Grace and Nature truly did present  
A complete draught, of what was excellent.  
In whom dwelled virtue with Nobility,  
Great parts, with yet greater Humility.   

Her well replenished mind did like a vein  
Of Earth, a Rich and plenteous ore contain.  
Strictness, zeal, mercy, meekness, patience,  
Combined to take up here their residence.   

Her outside spoke it, as if designed to tell  
How pure, and large a soul within did dwell.  
How in her Face, and carriage might You see  
Bright Honour, shadowed with modesty.  
Her Gravity with sweetness mixed, did show,  
That distance was not her desire, but due.   

Too soon snatched hence, to prove that she was here,  
Not an Inhabitant, but Sojourner.   

Sleep then in silence quietly her dust,  
Till the Resurrection of the just.  
When Body and Soul shall reunited be,  
And each enjoy their Immortality.   
I. S.   

To the RIGHT WORSHIPFUL And Worthy of Honour, Sir JAMES LANGHAM. A Memorial of His Most Dear and Excellent Wife, THE RIGHT HONOURABLE The LADY ELIZABETH, A great pattern of true Honour and Piety.  

WHat Man can write, that's not Enthusiast,  
I mean not, what thou art, but what thou wast?  
Can Man breath living Words, and realize  
Thy Worth, and not be thought to Poetize!  
But thy great Name, and far greater Merit,  
Will clear my Verse, from a lying Spirit.  
Similitudes from Sun, Stars, Meteors  
Dwelling in Clay, are but low Metaphors.  
All were Mine own, and nothing like to Thine,  
If I should speak of Thee, less than Divine.  
I have seen David's Harp, but not his Heart  
On Buckram daubed, the Noble inward Part.  
Was too subtle to come to Painter's view,  
'Tis my hard task to show a Saint to You.  
Once it was said, the Gods came down like Men;  
I miss a Godly one gone hence again.  
If here I robbed a Tomb, and there a Stone,  
And shaped her like to some Fantastic One,  
And set up Her Pillar, like goodly Saul,  
Higher than those in Westminster, and Paul.  
Or for a louder strain, ran to some Poet,  
Her Reverend Ghost would chide me for it.  
Out of the truly Noble Maunch she came,  
The Badge of Honour, that's known by her Name:  
From Kingly Lions, and the Flowers De Lice,  
You may discern Her yet far higher rice.  
Her Family thrice mixed with Royal Blood,  
She knew; and yet, as though not understood.  
She spoke not on't, as if she never knew  
The large and Noble Stem, on which she grew;  
Or yet, as if that Elevating Blood  
Was, like Rich Drops, lost in a Richer Flood.  
That precious Blood, that Her did cleanse from sin,  
The only Blood was, that she gloried in.  
She did esteem the second Birth the better,  
The first was High, Below, the other greater  
If we do higher look. This high born Mind,  
Enriched with Parts, soared higher still to find  
That hidden Life, secrets of Piety,  
Pure Love, unfeigned Faith, true Charity.  
Her Life, and actions a good Comment was  
Upon God's Law, in which as in a Glass,  
She dressed Her inward, and Her outward part:  
Her humble Carriage, spoke an humble Heart.  
She learned the Law, both to observe and love it,  
From None but me, unto, Thou shalt not covet.  
She was o'th' good Elizabethan Sect,  
That, blameless, bear to all God's laws respect;  
But yet no Pharisaic Legalist,  
Her Works were Fruits of living Faith in Christ.  
She began the day with God, with him it ended,  
'Scapes marked to day, were all to morrow mended.  
From God in Closet, Church, warm and devout,  
No waste-time pastimes ever turned her out.   

Her Husband's soul and Hers you'd think were twined,  
Rare Parts, rare Hearts, matched into a mind.  
But! Death consenting not to such rare Matches,  
Away from him, his right half soon dispatches.  
Is there no way to break a Match, and not  
Undo the suffering part, to whose hard Lot  
Surviving falls? But, this hath always been,  
Since Man and Wife oped the door to Sin.   

His Children Hers became, whose curious care  
Was to complete, and Saint that hopeful Pair.   

Her Servants were the Flock, she duly fed  
With Milk, and the Portions of that Bread,  
Which from Her Father's house, she carried home,  
And did impart to all about her some.  
In all Relations, home, and abroad,  
She lived like such an one, as would please God.  
Her Face was Wisdom's Front, and Her Demeanour  
Observed the Laws of Meekness and of Honour.  
Her Speech, her Looks, her Person so arrayed,  
Spoke, that she looked to God, to Heaven and prayed.  
Her senses Servants were, Reason was Lord;  
Fruitful she was in Deeds, sparing in Word.  
I cannot pass by what she ne'er looked o'er,  
God's great Receivers, miserable poor:  
She felt their cold, and wants as well as they,  
She was the saddest when they went away.  
She made them Rich, they made her Spirit poor,  
They spent her Alms, she of their moans made store.  
She was no Legend— (but a Scripture—) Saint,  
Her piety no Hypocritick paint.  
I will not speak what she was not, for Notes  
Are in a Character but comely blots.  
If she had lived in those darker Times,  
When Legends went about with Monkish Rhimes.  
She had at least been canonised at Rome,  
And hither crowding multitudes would come,  
To see the Relics, which, nor lead, nor stones  
Can guard those Ashes, and those Sacred Bones.  
But in this brighter day, she was a light,  
Her Morn was Noon, but ah! her Noon proved night.  
(Night, like that Cloud in which the Sun doth ride,  
We have the Cloud, she's on the sunny side.)  
Her Life dropped in the Flower, Grace grew Mature,  
Grace seldom dwelled with a better Nature.  
O happy she! would all of us were there!  
And yet, if so we wish, why stay we here?  
Earth was no bait: Heaven was so much preferred,  
That first she died before she was interred.  
Celestial mind! she's fled unto her Crown,  
Here was not Earth enough to weigh her down.  
But, that there is none perfect here, I know,  
I should go nigh to say, that she was so.  
Sir, shall I write? or must I here forbear?  
Lest every line I writ cost You a Tear.  
I have of Her great Deeds collected some,  
The Margin of whose Life would fill a Tome.   
Edward Pierce.   

AN ELEGY On that Right Honourable And Right Pious LADY,  

The Let Heraldry display her Progeny,  
Aggrandized both with Age and Majesty.  
Death Royal Lions conquers, Lilies blasts:  
Yonder's that glorious Piety, that lasts,   

Even when time's teeth shall have disgraced the world,  
Laying all level, and itself be hurled  
Into the gulf of vast Eternity.  
She had a mind most humble, yet as high;  
A spiring Saint! who Earth a footstool made,  
But Prayers mount, the vantage ground, whose aid  
Enabled her to step into the Throne;  
That her ambition was, and That alone.  
How sparing of her words! more of her time:   

Leaving this matchless praise behind; no Crime  
A blemish left on any word or deed:  
No not for many years! Such exact heed  
Governed both tongue and feet. O glorious height!  
Her bended knees made her walk so upright.  
As for her Honour; 'twas supported by  
Most orient virtues, which her memory   

Now do embalm. In sickness patience  
Obtained the garland with preeminence.  
Whilst in that furnace tried; She Jesus spied,   

Her Joy, losing the bonds, which burnt, she died.  
At our black midnight, dawn'd her brightest day:  
Presently wiped from here's, all tears away;  
Pouring them into our lamenting, eyes.  
Ye clouds dissolve: gush forth ye springs, Arise—   

But! here (that Painter's Rhetoric) a Veil  
Signifies most, when tears and pencils fail.  
Silence (grief's Orator, and wonder's tongue)  
Uttereth best those sighs and thoughts that throng,  
Sticking astonished within sorrw's womb.  
God's word, her worth, our grief, bid, make us dumb.    

To the RIGHT WORSHIPFUL Sir JAMES LANGHAM Upon the Exaltation of his second Lady, etc.  
Honoured Sir,  
WHen first you encircled in your happy Arms  
That Centre of perfections and charms;  
My Muse rejoiced, that, though your 
* 10 Stars were born by his former Lady in her paternal Coat.  Stars were set,  
(Mufling you in a two years' darkness) yet  
A Sun was risen, whose most illustrious rays  
Mingling with yours, at once would show & praise  
Kind virtues Darlings; and withal advance  
Joy the ascendant in your countenance:  
As if that former splendent Piety  
Improved and gilded with Divinity;  
Into your lap, once more, were stowred down  
From Heaven; whence marriages have birth & crown.  
But oh so dark it was when she went hence!  
That groping, we, our faith and patience,  
Can hardly find: and stumbling at her Urn  
Had almost fallen a murmuring; to turn  
Loss into sin. But (Sir) thus take the plot;  
God joined your hearts in that true Lover's knot,  
That when his Angels, that blessed Soul, away  
Should carry, home, to bliss, you might, obey  
The doubled force of this attractive cord,  
Start up and say, my Wives, my God, and Lord  
Stand above beckoning on that heavenly mount,  
Whilst the slow minutes with my sighs I count.  
I'll speak no louder, lest your griefs awake;  
But, wipe your eyes, look, run, and overtake:  
And shine in triumphs, having raised a name,  
As great as hers; who came, prayed, overcame.  
Sam: May.   

In obitum Honoratissimae Dominae Dominae ELISABETHAE LANGHAM, Illustrissimorum Ferdinandi & Luciae Comitum Huntingdoniae Filiae natu maximae: Et insignissimi viri Domini Jacobi Langham Equitis aurati, Conjugis semper desideratissimae Heroniae incomparabilis & immortalitate dignae, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 defunciae 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, sive Epicedium.  

SIste parum (Lector) monitum te convenit; illis  
Ne fidens oculis decipiare tuis.  
Quicquid enim cernis, non est quod cernis, & illud  
Cernere quod poter as, cernere posse negas.  
Effusis nimium lachrymis vitiantur ocelli,  
Intempestivis fletibus ora cadunt.  
Expect as (scio sat) tumulum, gelidumque Sepulchrum,  
Ossa, urnam, cineres anticipare soles;  
Sed minus attentè; si quaeris talia, cedo,  
Non sunt haec isto conspicienda loco.  
Quem spectas, non est tumulus, sed lectus, & urna  
Quam credis, non est urna, sed arca Dei.  
Non pulvis, sed pulvinar; non ossa, sed ata  
Scilicet è saxis concumulata sacris.  
Equibus haec? si fortè roges, Virtutibus istis  
Praesto est hinc animum figere velle tuum;  
Quae tantam Dominam solitae sunt cingere vivam  
Nec modo de functam deperiisse sinunt.  
Quos ego si cuperem Lapides distinguere junctos,  
Perque suas gemmas enumerare vices,  
Ne possim cumulo vereor succumbere toto,  
Ignarusque mali mole perinde premi.  
Attamen experiar; quid enim non audet amoris  
Impetus, & votis haud satianda sitis?  
Quid negat officii ratio aut reverentia mentis  
Quae nescit stimulos dissimulare suos?   

O Sanctam in Coelis Animam & Coelestibus auctam!  
Te quibus Auspiciis amplificare queam!  
Nolo quidem stirpem tot Regum stemmate claram,  
Antony's Genus aut Proavos commemorare tuos.  
Quanquam si vellem digito te pingere possem  
Summis Principibus Nobilitate parem.  
Te Pietas, te sancta Fides, te propria Virtus,  
Contemptus mundi, ac Relligionis amor.  
Tran smittent seclo nunquam moritura futuro  
Pignora, & aeterni Marmoris instar erunt.  
Conjugis Affectus retinebat viscera Prolis,  
Deliciae Matris; Deliciaeque Viri.  
Accedunt Fratris lachrymae, gemitusque Sororum,  
Affines, sociae congemuere piae.  
Rara animi Comitas, blandique placentia vultus,  
Sed majestatis non aliena modis.  
Felici Ingenio juncta est Prudentia nexu,  
Divitis ac animi Lingua diserta comes.  
Anglica Romanam suscepit, Gallica Graecam  
Nec minus Italicos est imitata sonos.  
Sedula Divini praeibat lectio Verbi  
Audita est grata Concio sacra mora.  
Mox pia Colloquiis cessit meditatio crebris  
Singula praemissa sanctificata prece,  
Chara Homini, dilecta Deo, sed mortua mundo  
Perpetuas meriti tot Monumenta tui.   
Tho. Horton S. T. D.   

To the Eminently Learned and Religious Sir JAMES LANGHAM Knight. In pious memory of his Most Excellent CONSORT The Lady ELISABETH LANGHAM Daughter of the Right Honourable FERDINANDO Earl of HUNTINGDON.  
Most honoured Sir,  

PReaching hath spoiled my Poetry, and I  
Instead of writing Elegies, Learn to die.  
But if I should Ambitious be to use  
A Fairer, Nobler, and Diviner Muse  
Than all the Nine; That Phoenix of high prize  
Can only from your Lady's Ashes rise;  
Able, with Life, wit's Carcase, to inspire,  
And warm the coldest Brain with Heavenly fire.   

Yet then no sooner would that Flame appear,  
But your sad Loss would quench it with a tear.  
For never was all Good in One so met,  
(Like Diamonds and Pearls in pure Gold set.)  
Her Highborn Blood flowed from the Royal spring,  
To which great Birth, Grace, did a Greater bring.  
So that in Her we might these Wonders see,  
Princely Grandeur crowned with Humility;  
Beauty, with Learning, Wealth with wisdom shined,  
And piety so kept Court within her Mind,  
That if for lost Religion we should look,  
In her Life we might Read the Holy Book.  
And if for banished Modesty we'd seek,  
We might behold it blushing in her Cheek.  
Her Temperance too was much, her Charity more;  
'Twas Meat and Drink to Her, to feed the Poor:  
And with her Alms such Counsel she would give,  
As might at once make Soul and Body live.  
Public and Private, she ne'er drew in Air,  
But what went out in holy Word or Prayer.   

With this she Honoured all her Honours, and  
Enriched your Family more than all your Land.  
Others are Glorious from their Ancestry,  
But she Ennobled Her Nobility.   

That Wife which Famous Overburie writ  
With Height of Judgement, Eloquence and wit,  
Was but a Type of her, who can alone  
Be Peered with the Elect Lady of St. John.  
Whose praise is better Preached than Poemed forth,  
No Verse but what's a Text can reach her Worth.  
Our Metres added to this Sermon, sound  
Like Sternhold's Rhimes with th' Holy Bible bound.   

I'll borrow then Words from the Preaching King,  
And with His Hallowed Truth Her Glory sing.  
Many a Daughter hath done virtuously 
Prov. 31. 29   
But she excelled them all; I might apply  
Much of that Chapter to Her, as a Wife  
Who acted, what is writ there, to the Life.   
R West. D. D.   

On the death of the truly Noble and Virtuous LADY ELISABETH Wife to Sir JAMES LANGHAM Knight, Who died great with Child.  

Can Beauty, Wealth, Wit, Learning, Grace or Birth  
Free any one from death, thy life would have  
Been lasting as thy Fame, nor had the Earth  
And Heaven called back the Jewel that they gave.   

But ah, alas! such noble Souls as thine  
Dwell in as crazy cottages as ours;  
Yea, being framed of mould more pure and fine,  
They are less able to brook storms and showers.   

Hence Thou art gone betimes; and we remain  
A while behind, here to condole our loss,  
To celebrate thy memory, and complain  
That want of such as 's our greatest cross.   

But Thou, sweet Infant, losest nought at all,  
But gainest, by thy Mother's early death:  
Her womb's thy tomb; thou hast a funeral  
Before a birth, and diest ere thou drawest breath.   

Thus without knowledge of this gloomy shade,  
Wherein we sadly wander up and down,  
Thou a quick passage unto Heaven hast made,  
And without sweat or toil hast got the Crown.   

Let not surviving Friends then take't amiss,  
Because they saw thee not to ripeness grown:  
For thou art ripe before them, and in bliss,  
Longing to see them also wear the Crown.   
Anthony Scattergood D. D.   


STemmata imaginibus, titulis distincta, Coronis  
Inclyta, quam decorant, Ornant quam propria virtus,  
Quam pietas, quam Relligio, mens para, fidesque,  
Conjuge quae fulget, cui par vix contigit ulli  
Conjuge qui gaudet, cui par vix contigit ulli  
Quam cito, quam subito nobis erepra, parenti  
Eximiae chara, Eximio perchara marito!  
Ereptam eheu lugemus, lugemus ademptam  
Terris, aethereas sedes gaudemus adeptam.  
Comprime nunc lachrymas ergo, moestissime conjux.  
Comprime nunc lachrymas ergo maestissima mater;  
Terreno sponso, Terrena matre relictis,  
Coelesti sponso, Coelesti patre potita  
Coelieolas inter sedet, aeternumque sedebit.   
Pauculis hisce versibus lectissimae, Illustrissimae, Nobilissimae Heroinae ELISABETHAE HASTINGIAE Celsissimi comitis Huntingdoniae Filiae; Illustriss: ac Nobiliss: Viri Jacobi Langbamii equitis Aurati conjugi, Londini parentabat  
Ludovicus Heraldus Ecclesiae Londino-Gallicae Ecclesiastes.   

In Obitum ILLUSTRISSIMAe Heromae Dominae ELISABETAE HASTINGIAE, Honoratissimi Comitis HUNTINGDONIAE Filiae. Ad Illustrem ipsius Conjugem, Dominum JACOBUM LANGHAM, Equitem Auratum. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.  

Langhamiaes docus ornamentum & gloria gentis,  
O infignis Eques quo non infignior alter,  
Magne opibus, major virtutibus atque loquela  
Melliflua tibi quam donavit suada Latina.  
Miraris moestus cur intra quatuor annos,  
Vxores tibi fata duas in flebile mortis  
Imperium rapuere? stupenti ment revolvis,  
Tecum, cur intra lustrum thalamus tuus orbus  
Bis sit, qua caasa cogaris vivere solus?  
Nil tamen est cur attonito Clarissime Langham.  
Expendas animo fati decreta, Deique  
Consilium sapiens quod sacra agitare marita  
Te prohibet nimium mirere, Hymeneia festa,  
Transivere cito, paucisque potitus es annis.  
Queis tibi subsidium Numen donarit amatae  
Vxoris, quia nimirum meliore potiri.  
Vita digna erat uxorum utraque. Poma videre est,  
Decidere arboribus cum sunt matura, quid ergo  
Miri est si uxores ambas discedere mundo  
Videris, aeternae matura erat utraque vitae.  
Praeterea quae sunt in terris summa, necesse est  
In pejus ruere ac retro sublapsa reserri:  
Pancratica si quis fruitur valetudine, parte  
Ex omni incolumis sanusque, incesset acerbus.  
Morbus eum pinguesque cito populabitut artus,  
Febris, sic cum quis foelix est atque beatus  
In terris quantum sors fert mortalis, iniquum  
Adversumque illi casum fortuna minatur.  
Nil ergo mirum tibi contigit, aura secunda  
Afflabat tibi, te vultu spectare sereno  
Sors dignabatur, planè tibi nulla negarat  
Illorum vitam quae possunt reddere amoenam.  
Dives erat, clarus doctrina & mactus honore,  

* Londinum vocatur Augusta ab Ammiano Marcellino.  Missus ab Augusta fueras civitate Britanni,  
Quae caput est orbis, qua vix ingentior ulla est  
In toto mundo-quo ipsius nomine posses.  
Omnia magnanimo vovere beata Monarchae,  
Sub cujus tremit imperiis & laeta triumphat  
Anglia, quando ovaas Belgarum solvit ab oris,  
 posset natale solim liberare Tyrannis,  
Sub quibus ingemutt saevos tolerando lahores,  
Angligentsque suis dominari legibus aequis.  
Gaudens inde novo cumulatus honore redisti,  
Cuncta videbatur tibi tum promittere fansta  
Fatum, sed subito letho tibi tollitur uxor,  
Quae nunquam laudata satis, quamquam monumentum  
Nobile fecit ei Reverendus Episcopus ille  
Nordovicum, quem relligio doctrinaque summa  
Commendant & qui sacrorum ex ordine Patrum,  
Esse merabatur quos fulgens infula vestit,  
Et quorum regitur prudenti Ecclesia cura,  
Placata dein sorte fuit tibi reddita conjux  
Altera, quae potuit desiderium omne prioris  
Ex animo delere tuo, charaeque Mariae  
Te facere omnino immemorem, nam gloria sexus  
Faeminei dici poterat perfecta sue quantum  
Vlla sit inter eas quae gaudent lumine; sanè  
Elisabeta tua omnigeno splendore micabat  
Et quae faelices factunt, collectatenebat:  
Stemmate fulgebat quo vix illustrius ullum,  
Nata erat antiquo magnatum sanguine, vixit  
Nobilis ingenio, meritis, virtutibus atque  
Sincera pietate, ut deni que plurima paucis  
Dicantur, te dignafuit, Dignissime Langham,  
Illustrique sua p●oles dignissima Matre.  
Verum cheu mundus tam praeclara hospite dignus  
Non fuit, illa ideo lumen vitale reliquit,  
Ac ipso vere aetatis sua fata subivit.  
Haec equidem mors est inconsolabile vulnus  
Si carnem auscultes; verum si credere verbo  
Divino placeat, nulla est tibi causa doloris,  
Nec vano decorare ipsius funera fletu  
Debes, quippe nefas illam dubitare beatam  
Esse; aeternos coelorum transivit in orbes  
Et nostras fugit tenebras ut lumine vero  
Se impleret, possetque sequens convexa Tonantis  
In coelum quo digna fuit quodque anxia votis  
Optabat recipi atque choris permista beatis,  
Collaudare Deum cujus flagrabat amore.  
J am Christum spectans qui nostra piacula demit  
Dulcia sepositis persentit gaudia curis,  
Jucundis ejus nunc gaudet amoribus, & jam  
Elizabeta 
* Vox 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 quam Graeci Exod. 6. 23. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 dedere significat Deus meus est satietas.  suo Domino satiatur abundè,  
Omnia subsiliunt ejus praecordia, namque  
Non solum fruitur conspectu Virginis almae,  
Quae mundi Regem sub luminis edidit auras.  
Verum etiam aeterni soboles aeterna Parentis  
Obversatur ei summo fulgore coruscans:  
Sicque micans radiis quantis non fulget Olympus.  
Nos dolet in terris tanta sub nocte jacere,  
Et nostras miserata vices nostros que dolores  
Expetit ut demum coelestia templa recepti  
Secum perpetuum Numen celebremus in aevum.  
En illam contemplor majestate verendam  
Summa, stellarum cinctam radiante corona  
Tempora, qua coram pallescunt lumina solis  
Aethereas inter mentes sanctasque cohortes  
Spirituum quos consummavit gratia Christi,  
E coelis ad te raptim haec in verba laquentem;  
O tu qui quondam vita lux unica nostrae,  
O conjunx o lim dilecte & nostra voluptas,  
Tecum vivebam foelix si terra beatos  
Possidet, & nostris nunquam benedicere taedis  
Non poteram thalamumque tuum laudare jugalem.  
Verum crede mihi nostrisque fidem addito dictis,  
Quam longè a terra distat domus inclyta coeli,  
Quantum mortales superat venerabile numen,  
Tantum subsidunt bona queis tecum potiebar  
Infra coelestis quam duco praemia vitae.  
In terris erat ampla domus, divesque supellex;  
Semper erat variis dapibus mea mensa parata;  
Otnari poteram gemmis auroque nitenti  
Veste, meis quod majus erat, tua colla lacertis  
Amplecti, tibi blanda dare oscula, mentis  
Arcanos sensus, imi penetralia cordis,  
Scire tui leges & fas & jura sinebant.  
Nunc vero o Conjux immensa palatia coeli  
Incolo, quae gemmas aurum Solemque serenum,  
Luce sua superant, in queis spectare triumphos,  
Atque trophaea 
* Alluditur ad nomen domus Amplissimi Domini Langham quae Crosby-House dicitur  crucis licet, & queis gloria tanta est  
Mente capi ut non possit: honos & sceptra thronosque  
Possideo nihil indiga: vero nectare, vera  
Ambrosia vescor, specie satiata Tonantis,  
Qui fons aeternus vitae est omnisque salutis  
Author: jam bysso pura, jam lumine amicta  
Incedo: Christus stirps vora Dei, Deus ipse  
J am sibi me vinclo voluit sociare jugali  
Continuo ille mihi sua porrigit oscula, queis nil  
Gratius esse potest, coelorum denique cunctis  
Expansis adytis mihi sacra arcana recludit,  
Seque mihi indignae totum donare fruendum  
Non renuit. Quae causa ergo tot signa doloris  
In vultu esse tuo? cur pullo operiris amictu?  
Olim laetitiae dulces sub pectore motus  
Volvebas dum loeta fui frontemque serenam,  
Indueram, cur factum ut jam tibi dispar acerbo  
Corrumpas gemitu, quod terque quaterque beata  
Aerumnae vivam immunis, curisque soluta?  
Si me diligeres tacito sub pectore totus  
Gestires me fati ereptam legibus esse,  
Meque videre Patrem summum, qui temperat orbem,  
Et cujus visu capiuntur gaudia summa,  
Ergo age nulla tuo suspiria ducito corde  
Amplius & nullas moestas expromito voces,  
Contentus posito luctu tua tempora comple,  
Erigere & laetus certam tibi sume quietem,  
Donec coelestis potiaris praemia vitae.  
Haec dixit sacraque sua sic voce locuta est,  
Plura videbatur dictura, jubarque coruscum  
Descriptura tibi longè radiantis Olympi,  
Et quae in coelitibus videantur lumina, queisque  
J am rutilet radiis Christus dulcissimus ille  
Servatcr, quem Judaei, gens impia, quondam  
Affecere probris variis ac denique dura  
Morte peremerunt ut crimina nostra subiret.  
At vero meminit divinis vocibus auri  
Humanae prorsus ignotis esse loquendum,  
Exprimere ut posset dignè miracula coeli:  
Praeterea meminit sibi cum mortalibus aegris  
Versandum non esse, & se nunc agmina sancta  
Spirituum J'ovam celebrantum laude perenni,  
Se Christam se summum Numen habere sodales,  
Atque unà cum illis sibi perpetuo esse loquendum.  
Idcirco sic fata, silet Christique recumbet  
In gremium, sanctam penetrant ubi gaudia mentem,  
Clara ubi sunt illam sua gesta secuta, labore  
Omni ubi nunc expers meritarum encomia laudum  
Personat usque Deo. Nunc ergo maxime Langham,  
Expendas tibi moeroris num causa spersit  
Vlla, an tristitia oppressum decurrere vitam?  
Non te dedeceat? Macta esto, triumphat amata  
In coelis tua conjux, menti ipsius imago,  
Sancta tuae cum aderit vide ne suspiria corde  
Eliciat, potius divino pectus amore  
Incendat, mentemque tuam ad coelesti a tollat,  
Te desiderio suminaque cupidine totum,  
Impleat, olim ingentia coeli tecta videndi,  
Aeternoque Deum Patrem Dominumque canendi,  
Qui solo nutu mundi moderatur habenas,  
Quemque acies superum slammantes semper adorant,  
Et cui laus debetur, honos & gloria in aevum.   
Sic pientissimae Heroinae manibus Parentebat tui nominis ac virtutum Cultor Humilimus D' Primirosius, Ecclefiae Londino-Gallicae Minister.   

Epitaphium,  

SIste viator iter, justa est tibi causa morandi,  
Spectare ut possis signatum hoc carmine saxum.  
Hic posita est mulier quae si Solomonis in aevo,  
Luce potita esset, judaeorum inclytus ille  
Princeps non esset conquestus quod sibi frustra  
Foe mineo in sexu sapiens quaesita fuisset  
Foe mina. Quippe in ea doctrina fidesque micabant,  
Dotibus heroicis, pollebat, origine clara,  
Dignis qua sata erat, miranda modestia cunctos  
Ipsius mores ornabat. Noscere si vis  
Illam, ipsi fuit Elisabeta Hastingia nomen.    

IN PERPETUAL MEMORY Of the Most RELIGIOUS, TRULY NOBLE, and VIRTUOUS LADY, ELISABETH: WIFE to Sir JAMES LANGHAM, Knight.  

I.  
A Thousand times I tried, but all in vain,  
Me thoughts my Verse came on but slow,  
And that which used to be all wing, could hardly go,  
I could not close one happy Strain,  
But  it was half done, begun again.  
At last, in rage, this once, said I,  
And but this once, whether it do, or no, I'll try;  
And all my aides I summoned in,  
And bid them all their Treasures bring,  
Judgement, Invention, Art and Wit,  
Those to obey, and that as Queen to sit;  
With all the Offspring of the Brain,  
And all the numerous train  
Of quick Conceits, that fancy breeds, or Poets feign.   

II.  
I called, but could make none to hear,  
Nor Wit, nor Judgement would appear,  
Fancy itself, till than my Tyrant, drew not near.  
Yet still I waited, till at last  
In stead of these, my Muse came in  
With Beauties, that I ne'er before had seen,  
Beauties, I dare not venture to express,  
Beauties, which words would make but less,  
And gently by me would have passed,  
But never to return again,  
Whilst I the Vision wished might longer last,  
And followed, more to make it so, then to complain.  
But as I that too, thought t' have done,  
And told my wrongs,  she was gone,  
With eyes that spoke more pity, than disdain,  
My Muse prevented mine, and thus her speech began.   

III.  
" What couldst thou hope amidst the Learned Crowd  
" Of Votaries that come,  
" With more than common service, to this tomb,  
" As if thy whispers could be heard, & they so loud.  
" Go seek some other, whom thy Verse may raise,  
" Her Virtues are above thy Praise,  
" Nor there can needed be  
" Where all already hath been said,  
" By them that knew Her, as she honoured is by thee  
" The living to instruct, or praise the Dead,  
" Yet her Own laurels, more than theirs have crowned her Head.  
" To tell the Glories of her Name,  
" The Families she joined, and whence she came,  
" Her Learning, or Her Piety  
" The Saint she was, and what she's gone to be,  
" How little here she left unknown,  
" What she acquired, or what was born her Own,  
" The Languages she understood,  
" The best of all, and all that they had good,  
" The French, Italian, and the Tongue  
" Tully declam'd in, and great Maro sung,  
" Which Rome scarce half an age did see,  
" And longer Mistress of the World could be,  
" Than Queen of that, yet never purer spoke than she,  
" These are above thy humble flight,  
" Whom meaner subjects better fit,  
" Only the Muse, that taught her how to speak, her praise can write.   

iv  
" That shall my Province be, and her great name  
" I will enrol i'th' lasting Monuments of Fame;  
" Amongst my learned Daughters, who have been  
" The Honour of the Age they flourished in;  
" And whom to Heaven I have preferred,  
" That thence, with greater awe they might be heard,  
" Like Thunder, both command attention, and be feared.  
" I will immortal make her, I, who gave  
" Eternity to them, whom she admired;  
" My Priests, who triumph o'er the grave  
" With a less heat, than hers, by me inspired.  
" Still in my sacred Rolls they live,  
" And all, but their own virtues, shall survive;  
" When proudest Sepulchers must die,  
" And though they Heaven and Age defy,  
" Low, as the putrid Ashes that they cover, lie.  
" They live, and all enjoy eternal day,  
" Which shall more glorious grow, and bright  
" By this addition of new light,  
" When she shall be a Sun, as well as they.  
" For so I'll make Her, not a Star,  
" As Caesar only was, and Heroes are  
" But a bright Sun, that shall below 2  
" Its flames above, and all its influence bestow. 2  
" You wrong Her if you think she's dead  
" For she ne'er lived till now.— This having said  
" The Muse in haste withdrew, and I inclined my head.   
Sam. Woodford.   

In Obitum Honorabilis Dominae, Dominae ELISABETHAE, JACOBI LANGHAM, Equitis Aurati conjugis praecharissimae, immaturum, quae quinto Calend. April. novissimè dilapso fatis concessit.  

QVi multae proavos ostentat imaginis, omni  
Virtutis propriae nomine saepe caret.  
Nobilis haec Domina insignes matresque patresque,  
Enumerat plures, extrahit undè genus.  
His ornata licèt, licèt ornatissima, cum sit  
Singula Regali sanguine vena tepens.  
Hujus opus tamen, hujus honos, apprendere Christum,  
Hinc sacra fit vitae pagina norma suae.  
Hinc praeteztatum pectus virtutibus auctum;  
Hinc quoque caelesti verba referta sale.  
Vita interstinctis quasi floribus insitus Hortus:  
Divite decursus messe refectus Ager.  
Tanta penes totum diffusa est gratia gestum,  
 nisi quod laudes, dicat agatve nihil.  
Tempora deficerent, si singula dicere tentem,  
Omnia, sunt meritis metra minora suis.  
Mortua sed nunc est, quid dixi? mortua vivit,  
Vivet apud Dominum, tempus in omne Deum:  
Scilicet huic mors est liber status absque labore,  
Nullum ubi peccatum, sed mora labis inops.   

Aliud Brevius.  
SPonsam permittunt hanc tantum fata, sed ultra  
Vivere, & in terris usque manere negant.  
Talia, quae lux haec profert, spectacula monstrant,  
Rebus in humanis stansve moransve nibil.  
Ast simul ac Nati ferè, cogimur ire, redire,  
Nex ubi perpetua est, & sine fole Dies.   
Thomas Martin.   

In Obitum ELISABETHAE LANGHAM, Insignis Nobilitatis Dominae, charissimae, JACOBI LANGHAM Equitis aurati, conjugis.  

TRistia fata cano, cecidit flos Nobilis, eheu:  
Casta viro conjux, Docta, Modesta, Pia.  
Ossa Sepulchra tenent, animam caelestia Regna.  
Haec cinis: in cinerem tuque redactus eris.  
Omnia vana fluunt terrestria. Gratia gratos,  
Sola Deo reddit, sola petenda tibi.  
Corpus parturiit corpuscula nulla, sed ingens  
Fructus adest animae; qui super astraviget.  
Non moritur sterilis, virtutum prole refulgens,  
Divini quas nunc ubera lactis alunt.   

Vox Coeli.  
SEal up thy Springs of Tears, my Dear Relict;  
With mournful sighs, no more thy Soul afflict.  
Weep not for me, but for thyself thy selflament;  
With Holy Faith prepare for heavens ascent.  
Whence spring thy Tears? that I behold God's face?  
And reap the joy-fruits of my Saviour's Grace?  
Is't love to me? then why, why does it grieve thee,  
That by this blessed retreat, God does relieve me?  
Was I not born to die? and when Death strikes,  
Shall that expected stroke draw forth such shrieks?  
What is my gain thy loss? my Joy, thy Sorrow?  
My Weal, thy woe? away, away, to Morrow  
Thou and thy Branches shall be planted here,  
'Bove storms and Winters, free from Care and Fear.  
Oh dwell on this, for this provide: thy Lamp  
Trim with pure oil; thy Soul with Grace new stamp  
Instead of cries for my remove, make haste,  
Me to o'ertake, and let not Tears run waste.  
Hast off rough Seas into the Haven of rest.  
Who soon quits this World, is soon blest.  
What may not God fetch home his loan? and must  
Heaven stoop to Earth? God's Rights to Mortals lust?  
If bad I seemed, rejoice thy ills are fled;  
If good, Joy, Joy, that I'm lodged in Christ's bed.  
Act Gratitude for thy enjoyment of me:  
This and not murmur is expected of thee.  
Bless God, who blessed thee with so meet a mate;  
First served thy heart's delight with this Rich Cate,  
And last himself, don't this content? then hither  
Ascend my Dear, and Joy we all together.  
Where both shall God, and God shall both enjoy,  
And both each other, where nought can annoy,  
Or part our blessed embraces, pant, fly, mount,  
Enter heavens Palace: where we may recount  
Fresh Joys Sans measure, where i'th' bed of Honour  
We'll sollaces exchange, and praise the Donour.  
Till then adieu, my Dear. heavens Anthems hollow,  
Which call me off, & mundane thoughts up swallow.   

Blessed is the Death, that dies into blessed Life:  
Where Christ and Saints grow one, as Man & Wife.  
Virtue ennobles: Grace on high blood graft;  
That Crowns with Glory, makes a polished shaft.  
Transcendent strains surmount my shallow reach,  
To flourish I aspire not, but to teach.   
L. Goodrick.   

To the PIOUS MEMORY Of the RIGHT HONOURABLE And no less Religious LADY The Lady ELLIZABETH, Wife to Sir JAMES LANGHAM. Who was married to that worthy person, November 20. 1662. and died great with child, March 28. 1664.  

FAith now or never help us; See what storms  
We are surprised with, Thus Heaven deals with Worms,  
Mounts them on pinnacles of bliss, and thence  
Dashes them on the shelves of Providence:  
Peace fretful murmurs, We should wrong the Saint  
Herself, should we wrong Heaven by our complaint,  
For Heaven is just; at least we'll Rest in this  
Our loss makes up her gain, Our woes her bliss:  
But it was no surprise Heaven had forbore  
Her presence long, and Angels waited for  
Her flight— While here she stayed could not we see  
That purer sparkle of Divinity.  
Her soul still towering upwards to the sphere  
Of blessedness, whence we might justly fear  
Earth could not keep her long; while here she shined  
Had we but marked how her seraphic Mind  
Reached at perfectiou: How she used to dress  
Her Soul with graces; we might easily guests  
It was a holy plot 'twixt Heaven and her  
To rob us of our joys. Her Heavenly Dear,  
Wanting his Spouse, loses her marriage tie  
That she might come and live with him on high:  
'Twas unto him her Vows were given ere  
Her Nuptial contracts here confummate were;  
And (whilst that little time in happiest bands  
Of wedlock she remained) yet her heart stands  
Fast to its former vows, and still she longs  
With earnest throbbings and unwearied pangs  
Of Love to finish those endearments she  
Had here begun in an Eternity  
Of Blessedness. Alas we thought when Heaven  
Had joined this Noble pair, and freely given  
Pledges of bliss to each (unpareled bliss  
Too great for my weak fancy to express)  
When we considered that same Harmony  
Of Minds, & hearts that chimed their joys, whereby  
Two Heavenly souls entwined in one great flame  
Of love: how we could wish that we could frame  
A Tabernacle for them, to enclose  
Their joices, and keep them in a long repose;  
But she, that better knew the world than we,  
And knew where lay their true felicity,  
Seeing our Mistakes, and fearing we should wrong  
God and our souls, withdraws out of the throng  
Of friends and steals to Heaven; puts out the blaze  
Of all our joys and leaves us in a Maze.  
Can those endearments be so suddenly  
Cut of that linked hearts with such a tie!  
Would not Heaven pity those same groans & tear  
That needs must follow such a loss. Ah! here's  
Great Love unseen; Our losses are our gain  
Oft-times when our enjoyments prove our bane:  
God can afford us comforts, but lest we  
Should surfeit, calls them back, that he might be  
Our chief desire and aim, this likewise knew  
That precious Saint who therefore hence withdrew  
Herself to Heaven, lest such satiety  
In time should draw them to Idolatry.  
With what a servant holy jealousy  
Kept she her Vows to Christ! fearing lest she,  
Blessing her Nuptial state at any time  
With too much love, should fail in loving him:  
Thus ever tender of that Union  
That linked them both to God, she strives to drown  
The current of their loves and joys together  
In Love's true Fountain, Christ the fairest Lover.  
Methinks I hear her chide the Ardency  
Of his affection, fearing lest that he  
Should wrong his God by too much loving her;  
Sith Christ admits of no Competitor.  
And lest he should (alas how could he do  
But love her where so much love was due)  
She leaves him, flies to Heaven; then calls, My Dear  
And bids him if he loved her seek her there.   

Well She is gone; But Marked we how she went  
Home to Her Joys: A Pursuivant was sent,  
That like Elijah in a Coach of Fire,  
Mounted her Spirit to the Holy Choir,  
Of Angels; there she Rests: Yet ere she went,  
We might perceive her Face that Firmament  
Of Beauty spread with stars hiding its light;  
Then we Began to bid our Joys Good night,  
We knew our Sun was set and left us here  
To shine more Brightly in a higher sphere.   

With her refulgent Rays while this our Sun,  
Glorified our inferior Horizon:  
Those her Magnetic Beams (her Graces) Drew  
The love of all unto her that but knew,  
What Goodness meant; Those Exhalations,  
Whilst she was rising, followed her but once:  
Clouded and set dissolve again and Power,  
Themselves on Earth again in a Briny shower.   

But Lose we thus the Phoenix of our Age  
Without succession; Had we not a Gage,  
A Pledge from Heaven of one that should survive;  
And keep her precious memory alive:  
Or was that Dust so sacred that the young  
Rather than take a Resurrection,  
Should be content to Mingleed with its own?  
Earth was not worthy, Heaven was Greedy to  
Possess so Rich a Purchase, both must go  
To Glory, Root & Branch, Whilst the glad Mother  
With One hand reaches at her Crown, the other  
Presents her foetus, with whose Innocence,  
Unsullied yet by Earth, the Blessed Prince  
Of Purity delighted, Crowns it with  
a Brighter Crown than others. Thus the death,  
Of Both gives them a glad delivery  
From present and succeeding misery;  
Leaving behind her all those pangs and throws  
She should have felt, to be supplied by those,  
That big with Love, now suffer pangs of grief,  
And sorrows for their sister, daughter, Wife,  
And Friend. Yet may her precious memory  
Produce some sweeter fruits than these, to be  
Arguments of our Love; May we so live  
As she: So learn to grow in grace, and thrive  
In goodness; So t' improve our golden hours,  
So to deny ourselves and what is ours  
To win a Christ, So to despise the Vain  
Honours and pleasures of the world to gain  
A Crown of Glory. So to love, as she,  
First God, and then our friends; (so charity  
In her kept to its rule) to imitate  
Those lustres that proclaimed her truly great,  
Her Faith, Devotion, and Humility,  
Her meekness, sweetness, pity, charity  
And Love; Thus to embalm her memory  
Serves better far than tears. And thus to do  
After this life may make us happy too.   
R. Tuke.   

To the RIGHT WORSHIPFUL Sir JAMES LANGHAM IN MEMORY Of his most VIRTUOUS LADY, The RIGHT HONOURABLE, The Lady ELISABETH,  

AS is my Subject, such my Verse should be,  
Grave, sober, modest, full of Piety,  
Noble, yet humble, every way complete,  
Would this my mirror were but half so neat.  
Had I but wit and words, great as her name,  
All had commanded been to serve the same.  
I want, a golden pen from Angel's wing  
To write, their heavenly notes, to sing  
Her praise: In whom virtue and greatness strove  
To make her merit reverence, and Love.  
Streams of most Royal Blood did fill her veins,  
Yet she did boasting check with golden reins  
Of humble prudence. To the King of of Kings  
Allied by grace: That lasting honour brings.  
England's Elisabeth and Suffolk's Jane,  
(Each Phoenix of her sex and age, those twain,  
Whose virtues, learning, crowned their glorious Names  
Were matched by her, whose worth all others shames.  
But death both Saints and Princes doth controwl,  
And at the Cistern breaks the silver bowl.  
Can not thy dearest friends prevent their fears  
With all their potency of prayers and tears!  
Must all fall under deaths imperial stroke?  
Alas! alas! the word by deed is spoke.  
Were it not heresy, my heart could wis '  
A pythagorean metempsychosis:  
But such a metamorphosis would rob  
Her of glory, and bring her back to sob  
With us, who in this vail most mournfully  
Lie humbled under sin and misery.  
Rest then in bliss, and let us quiet rest  
With what's now done: for what God doth is best.  
We wish our souls with here's; and is it love  
To wish her soul below, and ours above?  
She was so soon, so wonderfully grown  
Above herself and all that here is known,  
That soon she was preferred and fixed on high,  
Above our sphere, to look like Majesty.  
This earthly mould was not of comprehension,  
Th' impress desired, deserved more extension.  
This straitened tent could not contain her soul;  
Her heart to Heaven flew up and then did toll  
Her after it, to take desired possession  
Of that blessed mansion here she had in vision.   

(Most Worthy Sir) my Web's homespun indeed,  
A levidense with a gouty thread:  
A garb too corpse, to  your Lady's name,  
Therefore I fear, I shall derive your blame.  
I wish 'twere better, for I do impart,  
By this same symbol, symptoms of my heart.  
Such as it's I it present; it take  
Not for the Author's own, but Objects sake:  
Who died once, yea twice, to die no more,  
Risen once, to rise, to live an endless score  
Of lives, by myriads to Eternity;  
To sampler us, that we so live, so die.   
Rich. Hook.   

P. M. S. Honoratissimae Heroidis ELISABETHAE Langham, etc.  

FLete oculi & largos lacrymarum effundite rivos,  
Cordaque non fictus contrahat agra dolor,  
Ora tegat pallor, torpescat lingua, manusqne  
Dediscat cythara ludere dulce melos;  
Sed discat moestum moestissima tundere pectus,  
Edens occulti vulneris indicia.  
Sit procul à nobis cultus, laetaminis index;  
Hoc se ornent quos nil publica damna movent.  
Ferte citi vestes, queis circum vestiar, atras,  
Pullatum pectus dedecet alba toga.  
Heu! etenim patriae, sexus, aevique, domusq,  
Erepta est nobis Elisabetha, decus:  
Sponsi delitiae, desideriumque suorum,  
Solamen miseris, praesidiumque bonis.  
Illa, inquam, cujus nuper connubia laeta  
Perfudere nova pectora laetitia.  
Occidit heu! terrasque bominesque repente reliquit;  
Parvum interstitium est inter utramque facem.  
Quam brevia excipunt quam longi gaudia luctus,  
 nox longa brevi proxima solstitio est.  
Quantula votorum contingit portio nobis,  
Quanta mali moles nos inopina premit!  
Quam mera sunt adversa, insinceraeque secundae  
Res, quam nostra hominum est lubrica prosperitas!  
Mundus hic immundus, ingloria gloria nostra,  
Illepidusque lepos, noster amaror amor.  
Scilicet hic nostris infixus mentibus error,  
Quod nimium nobis exteriora placent;  
Atque aliquid quasi tentantes abradere rebus  
Ardentem unde queant corda levare sitim:  
Acrius ardemus, nimirum nostra cupido  
Fraenanda immodica est, & retinenda magis.  
Tandem igitur discamus to convertere mentes,  
Quo nos supremi vox vocat alta dei.  
Et cujus merito deflemus funus acerbum,  
Illius vitam factaque sancta sequi  
Contendamus. Ego vero quo carmine soler  
Cor aegrum & moerens, Inclyte sponse, tuum?  
Decreto aeterno patris parere necesse  
Cujus amorem in Te virga paterna docet.  
Hunc precor, ut Te constanti amplectatur amore,  
Ictuque absque gravi pectus ut Erudiat.  
Sponsam olim Tibi percaram signaverat antè  
Ipse sibi, donis, pignoribusque datis.  
Abstulit Ergo suum, tibi nulla injuria facta est,  
Vsus Jure suo est Arbiter Omnipotens:  
Cui, laus, obsequium, cui debita gloria soli,  
Cujus ad arbitrium, hic nascitur, ille perit.  
Hoc nobis sit opus, semel ista ut luce renatae  
Dilectae nunquam, bis percant Animae.   

Mortua & Foelix alloquitur Amicos.  
Veneranda Mater, sponseque suavissime,  
Frater, sorores, cari amici, quid tument  
Lacrymis ocelli? quidve singultus, sonos  
Querulos, frequentes ore pallido intersecant?  
Fugit renidenti ore cur risus, genis  
Rubedo, & omne gaudium vultu exulat?  
Carent lepore verba, cultui atque ahest  
Solitus honos, muta lyra est, ingratum melos?   

Respondent.  
Heu! luget, amissam parens tua filiam,  
Dulcisque conjux eonjugem, Te, singulae  
Cum fratre dilecto sorores in gemunt,  
Moerent amici, si peris, qui gaudeant?   

Respondet iterum.  
O caeca corda fragilium mortalium!  
Men' vos perisse dicitis? vivo procul  
A foece purgata omnium terrestrium;  
Melior superstes pars erit semper mei,  
Quam dente nigro mors ferox nunquam petet,  
Quam non senectus carpet, aut aetas teret.  
Egressa terris altiorem intro locum,  
Faelix quiesco, functa cunctis casibus.  
Mutate, mando, luctum acerbum gaudio;  
Multis procellis libera, & multis malis,  
Portum attigi, & puris fruor tandem bonis:  
Non est amici, rebus invidere, aequi,  
Florentibus, suorum: iniqui Judices!  
Morbum saluti, bella, si pacis bonis,  
Praeponitis; vel si lahorem ducitis  
Durum, quiete dulci amabilem magis,  
Poenam voluptate, atque inopia copia,  
Securitate antiquius periculum,  
Si dedecus praeponderare gloriae;  
Miseria si bonitate dulcior.  
Ergo; alma mater, sponseque suavissime,  
Frater, sorores, cari amici, discite  
Colere, alacres, perennem nostri memoriam:  
Metam & malorum à morte speretis, modo  
Christo marito nupta sit foelix anima.   
Tho. Dominel.   

ON THE DEATH OF THE RIGHT HONOURABLE, The LADY ELIZABETH LANGHAM.  

THough the just Praises of her House would be,  
Things nobler, than the handsomest Flattery  
Ascribes to Others; since no Soul from Hence  
 rose; but Lived Example or Defence  
Unto his Country, and nor any Name  
In the whole Race needs lean upon the Fame  
Of a great Ancestor; yet to this Tomb  
No pompous brag of Pedigree does come,  
Nor any History of her Princely Blood,  
Writ big, to make the rest o'th' Epitaph good.  
She that outwent all Old, does claim New praise:  
And is't not due? the Vices of the Days  
She counterpoised, though fresh ones hourly grew,  
With Virtues both as Many and as New;  
So that we saw Religion did begin,  
At length to be on equal terms with Sin.  
She showed it was (whilst Other Arts do thrive)  
No dull and unadvancing One to Live.  
Nothing in Her was granted, nought derived,  
Her Graces sweetly Flowing, not contrived.  
How did she Live! Not like dull Souls, that feel  
No Life or Spirit, but like a heavy Wheel  
Turn by Example, only or by Passion,  
Are implicitly virtuous, good in Fashion.  
Those Crimes, which weekly with rude heat we see,  
Or unconvincing stifness chidden be,  
Her Manners did so nobly reprehend,  
That by Her Actions all our Lives did mend:  
Every of which was so exempt from blame,  
She might on any One trust her whole Fame;  
Yet such Her Piety, that on them All,  
She would not bear her Conscience. O how small  
And limited were Her Indulgencyes  
To life, who scarce durst ever taste of Ease.  
Touched but not Dwelled with Pleasures: no hour spared  
To Sleek her Life; it was severe and hard:  
Not outward or affected, whilst within  
The Soul lies rioting in sloth and sin.  
Like a sour Votary, at whose Cells grim Door,  
In public notice lays her bloody store,  
Engines of sullen Penitence, whilst she  
Lies snorting in her stall of Luxury.  
But she not needs that loathsome Vice stand by,  
To mend her Form: she's seen to every Eye  
By Her own Light, which flows upon the sense,  
And dazzles all our weak intelligence.   

She, that lived thus, without the small st pause,  
To spoil it by contriving Vain Applause.  
She that was Great and Noble without thought  
Of being so, and never poorly bought  
Renown by little Ambushes of Good,  
Concealed, on purpose to be understood.  
She that being grown in every One so high,  
Can use so many Virtue's rev'rendly;  
Enjoyed so much of Heaven, by such Grace,  
She died for mere distinction of the Place.   
Samuel wiles.   

A Monsieur Le Chevalier Jaques Langeham: Sur la mort de La Tres Noble, Tres Illu stre, & Tres Vertueuse Madame Elisabeth sa Chére MoitiÉ—  

LEs plus cuisans mal-hours trouuent allegement,  
Apres que le devoir a rendu sagement  
Tout ce que l'amitie demande à la Nature:  
Mais lors que mon Esprit songe a vous consoler,  
Contre les sentimens d'v-ne perte si dure:  
Plus ie suis prepare, moins j'ay dequoy parler.   

Je scay bien que uòtre ame touiours robuste & saine  
Auéeques son discours à combatu sa peine,  
Et qu'elle a seurèment trevuè sa Guerison;  
Y tascher apres vous on nele peut sans Blasme:  
Car ie ne pense pas qu'on treuve enla Raison  
Que ce que vous treuvez mesmes dedans vostre ame.   

Ne vous aigrisses plus d'vn chagrin si recent  
Que votre ame entraitant d'ennuy ce qu'elle sent;  
Pour sa Chere Compagne sans cesser ne soupire.  
Ainsi son Entretien ne vous serarendu  
Mais Le Ciel consolant vos pertes d'vn Empire,  
Vous donnera, un jour plus que n'auez perdu.   
I. D. dG.   

IN Illustrissimam Heroinam, ELISABETHAM LANGHAM, Quae gravida obiit.  

MEns pia luce mera radiosa perennat Olympo:  
Haec, bis nata solo; terque beata polo.  
Bina perillustri tumulantur Corpora tumba:  
Embryo, Matre sua; Mater & ipsa, sua.  
Mira bipartito memorantur Facta libello:  
Et quae non capiat, commemorare licet.   

Idem contractius.  
Corpora, Facta, Animam, capit, Urna, Volumen, Olympus,  
Bina, Serena, piam, tristis, Manuale, Refulgens.   
S. M.  prius.   

Anagramma  
ELISABETHA LANGHAMIA  
Ah! hei! Magna illa abest.  

Analysis.  
AH est dolentis utique pectoris sonus,  
Et HEI similiter ingemiscentis tonus.  
Utrumque Pulchrè convenit negotio  
Praesentis instituti, & aptè funebris  
Solennitatis exprimit tristes notas.  
Vbi ILLA MAGNA Herois & Miraculum Praesentis Aevi flentibus nobis ABEST.  
Quis non in isto flebili casu miser  
Salsas in ipsas solveretur lachrymas,  
Praesens & illam condolens absentiam  
Lugeret hisce voculis AH, HEI gemens!    

CHRONOGRAMMA ELIsabetha LanghaM nobIs abLata Deo VIVIt. EPIGRAMMA.  

CVr impotenti conquerimur modo?  
Vltrave metas plangimus invidi?  
Ablata nobis chara Langham  
Elisabetha Deo (ecce) vivit.   

Posthac amictus tollite fordidos.  
Vultusque tandem ponite squalidos  
Ablata nobis chara Langham  
Elisabetha Deo (ecce) vivit   

Ducat chorae as spirituum chorus  
ovent beati coelitus Angeli.  
Ablata nobis chara Langham  
Elisabetha Deo (ecce) vivit.   

Qui vultis illa perpetuo frui  
Ipsi supernas scandite semitas  
Ablata nobis chara Langham  
Elisabetha Deo (ecce) vivit.   
T. H. ut priùs.  
FINIS.   

Upon the DEATH Of the LADY ELIZABETH, Wife to Sir JAMES LANGHAM, Daughter to FERDINANDO, Earl, and LUCY, Countess of HUNTINGDON.  

COuld Noble Birth command Impartial Death,  
Or court him to prolong this vital Breath;  
A fever had not scorched those veins, where met  
The Blood of Hastings and Plantagenet.   

If Beauty could have moved unto remorse,  
Or charmed, with powerful spells, the conqueror's force,  
Those cheeks had saved her, where united were  
The Roses both of York and Lancaster.   

If Virtue's self, or Miracles could have done,  
She had lived still; for she herself was One.  
Virtue itself's Immortal; But alas  
The Virtuous in the Mortal crowd must pass.   

Her Husband's Riches we'll not think upon,  
(His Mines in present, or Reversion)  
As being Richer in his Lovely Bride,  
Yet Death her snatched from his unwilling side:   

Nor yet those Treasures of a Nobler Mine,  
Which make him in the van of Learning shine:  
His Parts could not (Immortal though they be)  
Prolong his better Part's Mortality.   

But why presume I to eclipse her Rays  
Wronging Perfection with Imperfect Praise?  
Praises that fall below their subjects worth,  
Deface, and darken, what they should set forth.   

To speak her Praise, her Husband's Tongues, and those  
Which her Incomparable Mother knows,  
(Which are the Modern and the Learned too)  
Are each of them too weak, and all too few:   

Only this comfort we have by the By;  
More Sweetness cannot live, and Goodness Dye:  
Nor shall the World again, in any one  
Lament the Loss of more Perfection.   

She and her Spouse, in Life, changed mutual flames,  
Death should have changed her & her Mother's names:  
For had her Name been Lucy, it had been right,  
Lucy the shortest Day, and longest Night.   

See what terrestrial Constellations are!  
A Blazing now, and then a Falling star!  
But Stars that set must rise again: for she  
Sleeps but to wake during Eternity.   
Subscripsit Jo. join. Fecit Tristitia Versum.   

TO THE RIGHT WORSHIPFUL Sir JAMES LANGHAM, Upon the DEATH of his most Virtuous, and Matchless LADY, The RIGHT HONOURABLE The LADY ELISABETH.  

WHat clammy Stygian Fog! What Chaos hurled  
O'er every Climate of this Little World!  
Dark Soul!— Benighted thus!— Not one faint Ray  
From the Bright Orb of Light, to let in Day!  
All Hung with Blacks!— No Phoebus' to inspire  
A Labouring Fantasy, with Po etick Fire!   

Light up the Virgin-Tapers;— Let me see,  
By those pale Flames, to write an Elegy.  
" ('Tis much to see how in a Tragic Part,  
" A wounded Eye will make a Bleeding Heart!)  
There lies the Noble Corpse;- Stand nigh the Hearse,  
And ('spight of all the Muses) Mourn a Verse.  
What though their Springs be Frozen!-Grief shall be  
An Overflowing Hippocrene to Me.  
I'll  in Tears;- And still fetch New Supplies  
Of Sorrow, from the Torrents of my Eyes.   

Shall Noblest Blood,— Shall Saintlike Piety,  
Shall Humble Greatness,— Virgin-Modesty;  
Shall Unexampled Goodness, Wisdom, Parts,  
Shall Learned Skill in Languages, and Arts,  
Shall Honour, Sweetness, Meekness, Beauty, Youth,  
Shall Spot-less Innocence,— and Naked Truth,  
Shall Pure Devotion,— Shall Seraphic Love,  
(Scarce Understood— but by blessed souls above)  
Shall all the Virtues,— all the Graces lie  
Enshrined with this Great Lady!— And shall I  
Be unconcerned at this great Funeral!  
First Self-Revenge, and Indignation shall  
(In spite of Fate) make me Poetical.  
I must not thus ungrateful be (Dear Sir)  
Though, all I writ, but serves to lessen Hir.  
And (might I plead excuse for such Neglect)  
'Tis:— Her Sublimity, and my Defect.  
My weak-nerved Eyes will not confront the Sun;  
Nor Leaden Heels his rapid course outrun;  
I ne'er could stride the Ocean with a Span,  
Nor,— with my finews cramp Leviathan:  
No more is't possible for Human Praise,  
On That exalted Head, to plant the Bays.  
This— is a Task for Angels,— and the Choir  
Of Essences, composed of Light and Fire.  
The great admired Apelles ne'er could think  
To paint the Glaring Noonday Sun with Ink.  
But,— May not This Bright Sun reflected be,  
By Muddy shallow puddles, to the Eye?  
'Tis true indeed;— And such is That Reflex,  
From us, on This Great Mirror of her Sex:  
Grandchild of Kings,— Branch of the Royal Stem,  
And— Orient Sparkle of the Diadem!  
Great Huntingdons Fair Daughter, fair as Light,  
With all resplendent Beauties shining-bright,  
Dazzling, with Beams of Glory, Human sight!  
'Tis She,— Bright offspring of Great Lueia,  
That scatter's Darkness,— and restores the Day,  
Where She appears;— Nor can our Hemi-sphere  
Boast of a more refulgent Foemal Peer:  
'Tis She,— The Dearest Consort (late) and Life  
To Him, the best deserving Such a Wife,  
The Noble Langham,— Whose Magnetic Soul  
Tremble's— and Hovers toward the Starry Pole,  
Where she's on high ascended,— Nor can be  
Yet pacified,— without Her Company:  
'Tis She,— the Great Eliza,— Hastings named,  
Yet-more for Goodness, than for Greatness Famed:  
'Tis She my Verse should Treat of— But in vain,  
I see, it is, to row against the Main;  
And therefore here,— Draw o'er a Veil I must  
Of Sable Silence,— and Weep o'er Her Dust.   
Haec serio, quamvis sero, Et Madens adhuc Lachrymis Genas, Conquestus est Vtriusque tum Nobilissimae Hastingiorum, tum Amplissimae Langhamiorum Familiae. Cultor Devotissimus Ferd. Archer.   

Upon the Much deplored DEATH Of the TRULY RELIGIOUS And RIGHT HONOURABLE The Lady ELISABETH LANGHAM.  Epicedium intempestiuè maestum. 

THough Funeral Rites be done, The Sermon past;  
The Corpse interred, the blessed Soul at rest:  
Cancel not Homage, though it speak so late;  
This Subjects-worth, ne'er speaks it out of date.  
Nor can plain Dialect implead that Verse,  
Inflamed with Rhetoric, from such an Hearse;  
Speak to the height of worth, and when we can  
Express no more, Her Name's the Vatican:  
But more pure Lines, and Lectures, here do lie  
Urned in this Ectype of Divinity,  
Than Volumes now can teach, or mortals find,  
Wait till you come to Heaven, then read her mind.  
Transcribe we may, the Jewels Casque a little,  
But to the Pearl itself, bequeath no Tittle;  
Our muddy thoughts, would wrong what grace now crowns  
And work, instead of Plaudits, shameful frowns.  
Look not upon Seraphick-Spirit in Throne,  
Till tears be quite dissolved, Then look on,  
Which will not be (I think) till that time come,  
That man needs write no Epicedium.  
Though at this sacred Shrine, some pious pay  
Of Tears devoted to that solemn day  
Have offered been, and some spent all their store;  
Yet, Time have had since then to gather more,  
Stock their Eie-vessels, in each Channeled Vein  
With drops in Zeal, to weep her o'er again.  
And must that stand for all? No, when that's gone  
To Ages; say, the mourning's but begun;  
When the salt-springs of Natural tears are dried  
Up; And (in course) the mourning's laid aside;  
(Which (as to Fate) hath seldom been from hence,  
'S if Heaven had fixed Blacks for Inheritance.)  
Despair not of an Artful Train, whose Hearts,  
In sable-sadnesse, will lament their Parts;  
And if that fail, the Rural sort will sing  
Their doleful Anthems to this gracious Thing.  
If any Bankrupt be, of Grace, and sorrow,  
Make bold (of those who are full stocked) to borrow;  
Trade in some tears and sighs; here such worth lies,  
To which thou ow'st the tribute of thine eyes,  
That when thyself art dead, there may remain  
Some, that for this, will pay thee tears again.  
Let's not delay the time, where have ye laid  
This precious Piece? Is this the vaulted shade  
Famous for what it holds? This is that Tomb,  
Whose every single dust in its cold Womb,  
Speaks louder worth, and is of value more,  
Than Mines of Potasie, and Ganges shore:  
Far Richer, is this Odour, than had all  
The Eastern Gardens spiced Her Funeral;  
And to the consecrated ground, we'll add  
This, that her body here lies buried.  
Light up a Torch, whose beams may blaze as far,  
(As doth the portent or strange bearded-star)  
To summon every Eye to come and see  
How Heaven hath acted us, to Tragedy.  
But stay a while, until your thoughts can bring  
Consigned goodness for an offering;  
First read this Table, then unlock your eyes,  
And drop your spirits into Elegies;  
So vast, so good, so fair, so full a Theme,  
Calls for a Cherubs quill, or Phoebus' beam.   

Tabella incondite sculpta.  
Draw not too nigh, lest you offend those Laws,  
Wherewith this Sepulchre affection awes;  
Dread to molest that sacred Ghost, whose soul  
Abjured the very name of Vain and Foul.  
What rude attempter ever durst advance  
Her presence, without check of countenance?  
The sliest stratagem, that Vice could plot,  
Felt the strong working of her Antidote.  
If in discourse, the least mistrust did lie,  
She stopped the rise with quick antilogy.  
Virtue stood sentinel, at every sense,  
Repulsed assaults with Divine influence.  
They who did read her Phisnomy aright,  
Can not but read true Honours Margarite.  
Devote in Closet, yet in Chamber free  
To sweet Converse; Low in her highest degree:  
Nothing indeed in her extract did shine,  
But what was truly noble and Divine.  
To run all Graces o'er in short transact,  
Were, but t'epitomize, her fuller act;  
To speak them one by one, were but in vain,  
The project of whose soul's the Counterpain.  
She was the Citadel, and centred all  
That we can either Good, or Gracious call.  
Nature, Art, Grace contesting; gently strived  
Which of them had her more embellished;  
At length admiring all, they cease the strife  
For her, in whom all had their equal thrift.  
This threefold Fabric, so composed in one,  
Man could not judge which had Dominion;  
The last, was that indeed, which seemed to sway,  
And Crown her morals, to her dying day.  
Clotilda's dead, and so's Eudoxia,  
Mariam likewise, and Pulcheria,  
Choice Ladies in their days: without offence,  
(And fawning laid aside) here lies the sense,  
And meaning of them all; In finer mint  
By how much more, there's truth of Virtue in't.  
Mirror of Ladies, Virgin, Wife, and Child,  
For every stage so congruously compiled;  
'Twas hard to tell, which was her nobler part,  
She acted all with such prudential Art.  
Flattery she hated, as that base result,  
Of worthless spirits; truth was her grand consult.  
(If Priest and People, do not flatter some,  
First falls a frown, than next their day of doom)  
What, some the Crest, she counted Pest of honour,  
They must speak truth, that any thing spoke on her:  
Her beauty was her own; Nor needed more,  
Her amorous dress, were for inward store.  
She left the gaudy Plumes and Paints, for those  
Decoys, that have no other worth than clothes  
And face, like Pageants to be seen and shown,  
With those oft borrowed trappings, not their own.  
Let others trim their outsides, she made sure  
To polish that, which Heaven was toimmure.  
As she thus lived, so thus she left her breath,  
Making her dying life, her living death.   

Tabellae Catastrophe sive Corollarium Elegiacum.  
Ask ye, why so small Grace i'th' world is found?  
'Tis because so much Grace is here entombed;  
Surely she scarce had Peer, (nor scarce will have)  
But those who went before her to the Grave.  
'Twas she made up the sacred number seven;  
All Saints on earth together, now Saints in Heaven.  
What more contributes Glory upon earth  
Than t' nurse a Constellation every birth?  
And what more calms the spirit, when passions high  
Than signals, which make good this Charity.  
Wrong not my Faith; their honoured Lord, though dead,  
Lives t' wear this seven-stared Coronet on his head.  
Well, since to Heaven, they all have made such haste,  
Let the rest longer stay, but go at last  
Where Hierarchies, will welcome them, with more  
Joy, than with grief, we can their loss deplore.   

Epitaphium succincte digestum.  
Tears are the common pledge, then to this fall  
Bring tears of myrrh and balm, or none at all.  
Acquit the debt we cannot, for here lies  
That which we lost, but what we cannot prise.  
Disburse what store we can, the more we may  
And pay that o'er again, we paid to day;  
Deposite to the utmost drop, yet still  
There's more behind, for what's invalu'ble:  
A richer Piece on earth, could we not find,  
Were it the pencil could portray the mind.  
But since with that, our eyes can't here be blest,  
We'll draw the curtain; leave her to her rest.   
Sic ex animo deflevit. Jo. Rosse.   

TO THE SACRED And Spotless MEMORY OF THAT RIGHT HONOURABLE LADY, THE LADY ELISABETH LANGHAM DECEASED.  

POets, and Priests were anciently allied  
So near in blood, that one, same name did hid,  
Or rather signify both Functions; and  
They still (like brethren) solemn mourners stand  
Here at this Noble Hearse (th' imbalming's sweeter  
That's made of Preachers Prose, and Poets Meeter)  
Not for to add, but only to proclaim  
The Odour of her Virtues, and her Name;  
Which, now her earthen Case, or Box is broken,  
(Like the Nard Pistick in the Gospel spoken)  
Fills not some private Room with fragrant smell,  
But sweetens, and delighteth all that dwell  
Within the Circuit of those neighbouring places,  
That blessed were with the perfume of her Graces:  
Who was as Good as Great, as  as Wise,  
Borne this debauched age for to chastise  
By her example; to teach Wives t'amend,  
And know their Husbands only for their friend;  
She bade our wanton Madams all, avant,  
With Paint, and Patches, and their high Gallant;  
Bade them, for shame of Womanhood, forbear  
Thus to outface chaste Virtue, and take care  
They shame not both the Pulpit, and the Stage  
To touch upon the riots of this Age,  
Acting such horrid crimes, even at high noon,  
As none dare touch with Tongues,— but foul Lampoon.  
But when she saw these sulphurous flames increase  
In spite of Med'cins, neither quench nor cease;  
Loathing this black 
* Stye of lust.  Seraglio, up she high's  
Into the Snowy 
* Sanctuary of virtue.  Nunnery of the Sky's,  
Carried in fiery Char'ot fitt's her mind,  
('Tis but her Mantle we have left behind)  
Where the great King of Virtues doth her grace,  
And thus bespeaks her in that blessed place—  
In Cassiopeia's Chair, come, sit thee down, 
Rest.   
And on thy head wear Ariadne's Crown. 
Glory.   
There with sweet peace, and joys Celestial  
Feast, blessed Soul; the Guerdon due to all  
Pure Hearts, that scorned to obey the sense,  
Like Vassals to that Beast Concupiscence:  
For they, whose Spirits here did not incline  
To serve the Flesh like Bruits, are now Divine.   
S. Bold.   

Upon the Death of the RIGHT HONOURABLE The LADY ELISABETH LANGHAM.  

THe joy of Angels, whom the World beheld  
Like to a blazeing Pattern that excelled  
In shineing Virtues, and in Grace's pure,  
Adorned with Modesty, that would endure  
The touchstone, and the test of heavenly fire:  
So dear, that Saints did her sweet soul admire.   

Even she whose amiable Sanctity  
And chastest Amiableness did vie  
And far outvie the virtuous Precedents  
Of ancient and of modern Matrons, Lent  
A lustre of most glorious Piety  
With faith and patience joined in amity.   

Even she whose life a perfect copy wrote  
Of Righteousness clothed with an holy coat:  
Whose steadfast faith and patience did conspire  
By wisdom, holy zeal to set on fire:  
Who never thought her time was better spent,  
Then in his service, who her life had lent.   

Even she whose lovely Glances did enthrall  
Her Dcarest's fancy, and engaged all  
Her to admire; and bless his happy Fate  
Within whose arms such peerless beauties sat.  
She loved her God, in him her Husband she  
Loved with a pure and holy chastity.  
Even she (who while below, did live above)  
Is gone to dwell with Christ, the God of Love.  
Her earthly Husband she hath left below,  
Her Husband-Maker now doth her bestow.  
The world hath lost a Copy, he a Wife,  
Whose virtues clothed his Love with heavenly life.   

Sure happy she. Then let true love aspire  
To bear that loss that perfects her desire;  
'Twas here to serve her God in holy Love:  
In Glory then, to reign with him above.  
Long was she pressing, now the Mark hath hit,  
Press to the same, You may enjoy her yet:   

If not after a carnal manner, yet  
With holy habits you yourself may fit  
In time with her in heavenly place to fit.  
Have care no discontent your entrance let.  
Though loser's, as we pray, yet say we must,  
Thy Will be done, though our Joy lies in dust.   

This Lady, and her high borne thoughts are flown  
Unto her heavenly kindred, doth them own.  
Whose teeming womb showed she was loath to mount  
To her great God upon a singl account.  
Her noble birth you counted honour here,  
Out of Your bed two souls are honoured there.   

Your loss 'tis by her gains quite weighed down,  
You want her presence, she hath gained a Crown:  
A Crown of endless Glory. Let that cheer  
Your drooping spirits. Seek to meet her there.  
Let her advancement be to you a pawn,  
That in her happiness your hopes do down.   

Let Patience have her perfect work, so we  
Entire and perfect, lacking nought shall be.  
Impatience may provoke, it cannot gain  
Grief-healing Medicines, but increaseth pain.  
Increase in love to God, who doth assure  
That all shall work for good, that work endure.   

These Meditations, and the like, I here  
Do to your soul commend, with filial fear,  
Lest you should him provoke, whose Goodness lent  
The light of her most holy Precedent,  
To guide your steps into the paths of bliss;  
March in those paths of joys, You cannot miss.   
S. Newton.   

Upon the much Lamented DEATH of the RIGHT HONOURABLE The LADY ELISABETH LANGHAM Lately Deceased.  

FArewell Conglobate Virtue, You are gone,  
To be some Glorious Constellation.  
One Star is but a taper to your light,  
A Glowe-worm, when your Virtues come in sight.  
Had Plato seen you, ripe, his wish had grown,  
And virtue visible, he might have shown.  
Your Soul's symmetry had old Poets known,  
Th' had changed their trine of Graces into one.  
Now Archimedes sphere shall useless grow,  
Your acts the heavenly motions better show,  
What Honour all men give to virtue's shrine,  
To best examples, we will give to thine.  
Since you are Virtues standard, we will be  
Procrustes like, without his tyranny,  
By yours, like to his bed, we measure shall,  
Our Actions ere we them do virtue call.   
Alex. Jones.   

In Obitum Nobilissimae Dominae, Dominae ELISABETHAE LANGHAM.  

AVdiat Vtopiae rudis incola, cujus ad aures  
Nondum pervenit nobilis historia  
Tam celebris Dominae! reputetur anonymus iste  
Qui tantum nomen nesciat, aut taceat.  
Conarer frustrà meritas tibi dicere laudes,  
Maxima, quum nequeunt id satis, ingenia.  
Defunctae tenuis calamus ne detrahat, ejus  
Vita nil potuit pulchrius exprimere.  
Caelebs dum mansit, cunctis virtute praeivit  
Vxorem nullam, novimus esse parem.  
In terris coelo charissima vixit, & inter  
Aethereos proceres jam tenet aureolam.  
Annos excessit pietas, tamen altius urgens,  
In coelis tandem purior emi●uit.  
Quare ue doleat conjux, bane esse beatam,  
Sed quod nulla, sibi quae foret aequa, manet.   
John Davis.   
FINIS.