THE DESIGN OF THE FRONTISPIECE.  

Lo, DEATH invested in a Robe of Ermine,  
Triumphant sits, embellished with Vermine,  
Upon a Pile of dead men's Skulls, her Throne,  
Pell mell sut duing all, and sparing none.  
A scrutinuous judgement will the Type ressent,  
You may imagine, 'Tis DEATH'S Parliament.  
Upon the World it's powerful Foot doth tread,  
For, all the world or is, or shall be dead.  
One hand the Sceptre, t'other holds our Mirror,  
In courtesy to show poor flesh its error:  
If men forget themselves, It tells'em home,  
They're Dust and Ashes, All to this must come.  
To view their fate herein, some will forbear,  
Who wave all thought of Death as too severe:  
But know, Death (though't be unknown how nigh)  
A Point, on which depends ETERNITY,  
Either to live Crowned with peptetual Bliss,  
Or howl tormented in Hell's dark Abyss.  
With winged haste our brittle lives do pass,  
As runs the gliding Sand th'th' Hourglass.   

If more you would, continue on your Look  
No more upon the Title, but the Book.   

THE MIRROR which Flatters not.  
O that they were Wise, that they understood This, that they would Consider their latter End  Deut: 32.25 
— MORS sola fatetur  
Quantula sint hominum corpuscula.  — juvenal   

THE MIRROR WHICH FLATTERS NOT: Concerning the contempt of the World, or the Meditation of Death, of Philip King of Macedon, Saladine, Adrian, and Alexander the Great.  
By Le Sieur de la SERRE, Historiographer of FRANCE.  
Transcribed ENGLISH from the FRENCH, by T. Cary, Esq  Horat. 
Om nem crede Diem libi diluxisse Supremum.  
LONDON, Printed by E. T. for R. Thrale, and are to be sold at his shop at the Sign of the Cross-Keyes, at Paul's Gate. 1658.   

TO THE KING of Great RITAIN.  
SIR,  
IF the Greatness of Kings derive its value and lustre from the number of Virtues which they possess; I render you now the homage of my observance, and submissions, as to one of the greatest Monarches of the World, since you are the Majesty of all Virtues together. What an agreeable compulsion is this, to see a man's self powerfully forced to become the subject of a foreign Prince, by the sovereign authority of his merit? To this point am I reduced, Sir, your all-royal perfections in pse upon me so absolutely such sweet laws of servitude, that I have no more liberty, but to accept its yoke. And in this, my inclination and duty make a fresh injunction over me, which dispute prebeminence with all the rest: for who can keep himself from rendering homage to your Majesty, the only fame of whose Renown captivates through all the Universe, instructing us, that you are as absolute over your Passions, as over your Subjects; and that you reign as Sovereign in the esteem of men, as in your Royal Estates: And the Truth of this set your glory at so high a worth, that the felicity on it may perhaps be envied you: but the like Merit not to be reached by others, because Nature is very sparing of the like gifts, and Heaven does not every day such miracles. For me, I am but one of the Admirers, not of the greatness of your Dominion (although only the vast extent of the Ocean marks out its limits) but of all the divine qualities which you only possess in proper as a Good, Time, Fate, nor Death can take from you. Nor is this the all in all, to be Wise, Valiant, and Generous, in the height of Native deduction; All these Titles of Honour have degrees of eminence, which mark out to us the gradations of their several perfections, and whereof your Majesty shows us now the only pattern, having in possession all admirable Virtues, with so much purity and lustre, as dazzles its very envyers, and forces them to adore that in your Majesty, which elsewhere they admire not. And it is my belief, that you stand thus unparalled even amongst your semblables, since besides the Crowns of your Cradle, you carry above them others, and such as shall exempt you from the Grave. I a vow, that I have studied long time to speak condignly of your Majesty; but although my pains and watch are equally unprofitable, my defect yet is still glorious howsomever, that it is a shadow from your Light. It sufficeth me to have taken Pen in hand, to publish only, that I am  
SIR, Your MAJESTY'S Most humble, and most obeisant Servant, P. de la SERRE.   

TO THE QUEEN Of Great BRITAIN.  
MADAM,  
I Can not approach, but with a MIRROR in my hand, before your Majesty, the splendour of whose magnificence dazzles so powerfully all the world, that I am not able to behold the immediate presence on it, but by the reflection of its Rays. Without fiction, MADAM, your Glory is arrived to the point of rendering your perfections so unknown, as being so above the common, that I believe most men honour you now by observance and example only, as not able otherwise to reach the depth of the just reasons they might have for it. Nor is this All, to say that you are solely fair, and perfectly chaste; but it is necessary, beyond all this, to intimate secretly, in the Language of Thought, all the divine qualities which you possess of Supereminence in all things, since their purity cannot descend to the capacity of our discourse, without suffering a kind of profanation. From hence is it, that if I should call you, The compleatly-perfect, I might well say in effect that which you are; but never thus should I represent the greatness of your merits, since every of them in itself has such particular perfections, as might challenge Altars from us, if your humility could permit it. These are such Truths (MADAM) as hinder me from praising your Majesty, not knowing how to express myself condignly. Well might I perhaps suggest it to remembrance, that your particular inclinations are the public Virtues which we adore, and that of the same temperament of humour, Nature composed heretofore the Sages of the World: But of all these discourses notwithstanding, I cannot frame one only praise sufficiently adequate to your worth, seeing it is elevated beyond all Eulogiums. Insomuch, that if Admiration itself teach not a new Language to posterity, wherein to proclaim aloud the favours and graces wherewith Heaven hath accomplished you; it must content itself, to reverence your Name, and adore your Memory, without presumption of speech of your actions, as being ever above all valuation, as well as imitation. To instance the immortality of your AUGUSTICK Race, although it be a pure Source of Honour, which can never be dried up; yet all these Titles of a King's Daughter, Sister, and Wife, can never add to your Renown, which derives its value rather from the admirabilities of your Life, than the greatness of your Birth. Insomuch (MADAM) that the Sceptres and Crowns of your Royalties, are the meanest Ornaments wherewith your Majesty can deck itself; since the least glimpse of the least of your Actions, duskes the lustre of all the other magnificence●, which environ you. And I believe, had those Wonders of the World been of such a worth, as every day you descry, they had powerfully resisted against the assaults of Ages: but as they had nothing admirable in them, but the Name, Memorials have preserved that, and let them perish. But yours (MADAM) which are too perfect for a suitable Name, shall not cease to survive the revolutions of Times, as being enliuned by Virtue, which alone can exempt from Death. Let it not seem strange then, if I hazard the perils of the Sea, to render Homage to a Queen, whose Greatness perforce humbles the most arrogant spirits, being not able, so much as in thought, to reach to the first degree of her Glory. The Graces themselves are hers, and the VERTVES have allianced their own and her Name; and all the adorable qualities which are found here below, are admirable in her alone, as in their Source, I am constrained to be silent (MADAM) being over charged with too much subject of speech. The number of your Perfections astonishes me, the greatness of your Merit ravishes me, the splendour of your Virtue dazzles me: And in this dazzle, this transport, this excess of admiration, wherein my senses and spirits are all alike engaged; I am compeled to cast myself at the feet of your Majesty, and demand pardon of the boldness which I assume only to enjoy the stile of  
MADAM Your MAJESTY'S Most humble, and most obeisant Servant, P. de la SERRE.   

TO THE QUEEN OF GREAT BRITAIN. Upon the MIRROR Which flatters not, Of le Sieur de la SERRE.  
SONNET.  
PRincess, this perverse Ages glorious gem,  
Whose least of Virtues seems a prodigy;  
Illustrious Sien, of the fairest Stem,  
That Heaven e'er showed this Vniverse's eye;  
Though Fate with thousand hind'rances averse,  
Bars me the place, to which my duty's bend:  
I cannot cheer my Soul from self-torment,  
But by design to portray you in Verse.  
But since that Serres shows in this true Mirror  
The Virtues of your Mind's eternal splendour,  
As lively as your Body's beauteous measure,  
My heed to view you here, lets others pass;  
So well I here agnize all your rare treasure,  
That I ne'er saw a better Crystal-Glass.  
Par le Sr. C.   

TO THE AUTHOR, upon the same subject.  
STANCES.  

DIvine Spirit, knowing Soul,  
Which with lovely sweet control  
Rankest our Souls those good rules under,  
Which thy Pen lays down with wonder,  
Whilst the sweetness of thy Voice  
Breathes oracular sacred noise.   

All thy Works so well esteemed  
Through Europe, proofs are deemed  
Of thy Gifts, which all admire,  
Which such Trophies thee acquire.  
And with these thy Muse invested,  
Orpheus is by thee out-crested.   

Also since blind Ignorance  
Makes no more abode in France,  
Seldom can we meet with such,  
As the works of thy sweet ●'uch:  
Such immortal strains of spirit,  
As do thousand Laurels merit.   

But although thy active Muse  
Wonders did before produce,  
As we seldom see the like;  
This doth with amazement strike:  
'Tis a Mirror, that doth shine  
More with Fire, then crystalline.   

'Tis a Mirror never flatters,  
On my eyes such rays it scatters,  
That therewith I dazzled am,  
Searching for thee in the same,  
By some charm, or stranger case,  
I see thy spirit, not thy face.   

This strange fashion doth amaze me,  
When I (ne'er so little) gaze me,  
I am straight all on a fire,  
The more I look, more I admire:  
'Tis a mirror sure of flame,  
Sparkling, more we mark the same.   

Yet not every prying eye  
Shall it-self herein espy;  
'Tis not for so common use,  
Free from flattering abuse;  
None so clearly here are seen,  
As King Charles, and his fair Queen.   

Therefore thus the Author meant,  
To the World it to present;  
Since it is a thing so rare,  
And unparallelled fair;  
That it should a Tablet be  
For the fairest he could see.   

Serres, this thy work-man-ship  
Doth my spirit over-strip.  
With such judgement, and such grace,  
Thou dost show in little space  
Three strange Wonders, without error,  
Two bright Suns in one clear Mirror.   

And by this thy rare composure,  
Shall thy Name, beyond enclosure  
Of this present Age, obtain  
Eternal honour for thy pain:  
Writing to these Prince's Graces,  
Thou art praised in thousand places.   
Par le mesme.   

Upon the Book.  
SONNET.  
HEre, undisguised, is seen in this true Mirror  
The glory, or the shame of mortal story,  
As Reason, or the miss-led senses error,  
Do win the day, or yield the Victory:  
Serres doth here lively delineate  
Our every-days vain wretched passages,  
And what is destined after Funeral state,  
To innocent pureness, or black wickedness.  
Such divers subjects in this one enclosed,  
Such various objects to the view exposed.  
Thou little Monarch, Man, small Universe,  
Thy Soul it lessons thus, and thee informs,  
As thou art Soul, with henvenly fires converse,  
As thou art Flesh, thou art a Bait for worms.   

To the Reader.  
IT may, perhaps, seem strange, that I treat so often in my Works of the same matter, as of the contempt of the World, and Meditations of Death: But if the importance of the subject be considered, and the profit to be derived thence, a Man will never be weary of seeing such fair truths under different presentations. Besides, the conceptions of spirit upon the same matter, are like the productions of Nature in the Species' of Tulips: Every year she gives a Change, both to their Colour, and Array. And though they be still Tulips, she renders them so different from their first resemblance, that they can hardly otherwise be known, but by the name. The Mind does the same, upon the same subject; its Fancies, which are its ornature, and emblishment, render it by their diversity so different from it self, that it is hardly known, but by the Titles, which it bears, to particularise each conceit. So that if once again I represent unto thee the portrait of Vanity, and the Image of Death, my spirit, which hath steaded me for Pencil, and colouring in this Work, hath rendered it so rare in its Novelty, and so excellent in difference from those which have preceded, that thou shalt find nothing in it common with them, but my name. Thou mayest consider moreover, that I dedicate Books to Kings and Queens not every day, and that these objects of such eminent magnificence do so nobly rouse the faculties of my Soul, that I could not have petty thoughts for such high Personages. It is that, which without ostentation, makes me believe, that if thou buy once again this Book, and tak'st the pains to read it, thou wilt regret neither the Time, nor Money, which thou shalt employ therein. ADIEU.  
If thou be'st of so good an humour, to pardon the Faults, excuse those of the Impression.   

The Scope addressed to the SERIOUS.  
LEt merrier Spleens read Lazarill ', or laugh  
At Sancho Pancho, or the Grapes-blood quaff;  
And tickle up their Lungs with interlace  
Of Tales, and Toys, that furrow up the face  
With wrinkling Smiles: But if they abusive be  
To slight these hints of their Mortality,  
Urged by our Author; 'tis a foolish way,  
And weakly does become corruptive Clay.  
If they do merely carp, and lie o'th' catch,  
Harm be to them, that only for harm watch.  
Solomon said it, the deriding scorns  
Of fools are but cracklings of flaming thorns.  
Let them that will our sober sadness shun,  
Go to the merry Devil of Edmonton,  
Or some such Plot, whose Author's drift hath been  
To set the people on the merry pin,  
Here is no Scope for such as love to jeer,  
Nor have we Theme for Pantomimics here.  
They that are ravished with each jygging Toy,  
Let'em laugh on, and jolly mirth enjoy.  
Fairly be this a warning, here's no sport,  
And 'tis all one, if they be sorry for't,  
Or if they care not. Sat they merry then,  
Here's  the Genius of more  men.  
Serres salutes the serious; who are such,  
Their better-moulded entrails he doth twitch  
With stirring truths, and weigh'em to the poise  
Of equal judgement, without giggling noise.  
Sad Meditations here compose the Look  
Socratick-like, with no flash-humour shook;  
Dust, Earth, and Ashes are the Epithets  
Here propriate to the best, and all the Sights  
Exposed in this True Mirror to the Eye,  
Are Death, the Grave, and the World's Vanity,  
The frailty of mankind; and some have tried,  
Such pensive thoughts will lay the dust of Pride.   

THE PARAGRAPHS, (So comprised in the Emblems) giving subject to the Author's Discourses following.  

I.  
PHilip, the King of Macedon  
Daily was roused, and called upon  
By a shrill Page, whose Bon-jour ran,  
Remember, SIR, you are a Man.   

II.  
A Shirt is all remains in fine,  
To victorious Saladine,  
At Death, a piece of Linen is  
All, that Great Monarch could call his.   

III.  
Adrian slights Triumphal glory,  
In the Grave found'st his prime story,  
Before all pomp he doth prefer  
His Mausolaean Sepulchre.   

iv  
Diogenes, in Cynic guise,  
Puts Alexander to surmise,  
I'th' Miscellany of the Dead,  
Which is a King's, or Common's Head.   

A Moralize on these, Sieur Serres writes,  
Nor Comic Gests, nor amorous toys endites,  
Their Paphian Dames whilst others loosely sing,  
The Knell of Death his solemn style doth ring:  
Those subjects, which whole herds of Poets use  
Threadbare, his nobler Soul disdains to choose:  
While richly such a Reader These will fit,  
Whose judgement prizeth wisdom above wit.    


A PROLUSON Upon the EMBLEM of the first Chapter.  
RIse, for a serene Morn brings on the Day,  
The Sun is mounted onward of his way,  
The Anthymne's high among the feathered Quires,  
A lively breath the agile Air inspires.  
Draw-ope the Curtains do not close the Eye  
From the fresh beauties of the Azure-Skie.  
Mark what a smart Bon-jour his Page did bring  
Each Morn to PHILIP, Macedonia's King,  
REMEMBER (Royal Sir) YOU ARE A MAN,  
The hours are winged, the length of life's a span.  
This powerful hint stirred up the King to rise,  
Whose name Heroick deeds immortalize.  
Gross-vapoured, heavyheaded sleepers wake,  
In the bright Morn no more soft slumbers take:  
For Action Man was made Our Life's a Race,  
He that would win the Prize, must run apace.  
Be not enchanted with the lulling Down,  
That charms the senses in Lethargic swoon;  
Leave the enclosure of Bed-Canopie,  
And give the view more spacious Liberty:  
Forsake the grave-type Couch, where Death doth keep  
His nightly Sessions, imaged by Sleep.  
He that's a Dormouse for the time is dead,  
And is entombed already in his Bed.  
Who knows how soon that sheet, whereon he lies,  
May single serve t' enwrap him when he die?  
How soon these lazy feather-bedded bones  
May Coverletted be with Marble-stones?  
Where no joint-suppling-warmth shall give refresh  
To high-fed veins, nor ease improved flesh;  
Where those puff grossures, which o'ercurious cost  
Hath surfet-swoln, are putrified, and lost,  
Who would be Epicurian, since 'tis thus  
We that eat all things else, worms will eat Us?  
Or who would be o're-haughty, since to Earth  
He must return, as thence he had his Birth?  
Mean while, ' though life's quicksand doth hourly pass,  
A sluggard sleeps out more than half his Glass.  
Be Active while you may, for Time's post haste  
Spurs on each forward Minu'e to the last.  
Such thoughts as these best fit the Morning's prime,  
To Rouse Men's Spirits to Redeem the Time.  
Let such our Matters be, ere Death's sad Knell.  
Summon our wandering Souls to Heaven or Hell.  
Sir Remember that you are a Man ❧ 
PHILIP King of MACEDON commanded one of his 〈◊〉 to Awake him every Morning, & Call aloud to his 〈◊〉 SIR Remember that You are a MAN.    

THE MIRROR WHICH FLATTERS NOT.  
CHAP. I.  
MAN, remember thou art Man, never forget thy name, 
Homo ab liumo.  if thou wilt not forget thy safety: Thou art called Earth, thou art made but of Earth; but the Earth subsists, and thou vanishest; 
Man is a thing of nothing, only in appearance somewhat.  but the earth remains firm, and thy dust flies away: Study thy miseries, Meditate thy disasters. Thou art nothing in effect, but if thou be any thing imaginable, I dare not so much as compare thee unto a dream, because the frailty of thy nature hath something both more feeble, and less constant: an Apparition hath above thee the simplicity of the Elements, whereof it is composed, a shadow implies yet the advantage of the Nobleness of its beginning, since the light produceth it. Nay lastly, a very straw, or an atom, dispute against thee also with reason, 
One cannot give the description of Man, but by misery, nor of misery but by Man.  for the purity of substance, since they are corruptible, without infection, but thy hea● of filth gives horror to thy own thoughts; insomuch that I am constrained to match thee to thyself for to suggest thee the truth of thy slightness?  
What a goodly School is the world? and our condition a fair book: and all the sad accidents, to which Nature subjects it, as so many gracious Lessons?  
May not a man justly say that the earth is a College, wherein the diversity of Times and Ages, sign ou● the diversity of Classes, in which we may equally make the course bothof our studies and days, under the way of those miseries, which accompany us without cease: the poorness of our way of birth, 
Mishaps and pains are the fruits of the garden of our life  may stead us as a rudiment in the first Class: the cries and tears of the cradle, are our Grammar, the creeping weakness, and pitiful infirmities of Bayage like so much Rhetoric, and now can there be a more subtle Philosophy, than that of the consideration of the calamities which are destined to youth? Is it not easy to become a great Naturalist by virtue of meditating the fruitfulness of our nature in the production both of ills, 
He which goes out Doctor in the knowledge of himself, is ignorant of nothing.  and pains which continually afflict us? and what better Metaphysics, than contemplations of our Being, ever rolling to its ruin? Let us draw then the conclusion of this Argument, and join with as much reason as interest to these two Volumes so renowned, the Bible, and the face of Heaven, where all sorts of Sciences are in their source. 
Death & immortality are only separated, but with the length of an instant.  This also of our mortal and decaying nature, since it instructs us the Art to pry ourselves in our Corruptions, that we may recover ourselves in immortality.  
When I consider that the Earth was created of nothing, 
Man of nothing.  and Man made of this nothing, and the greatnesses which environ him, are nothing at all, 
The world subsists not, but upon the foundation of its continual revolution  and all the pleasures which he idolatrizeth, are also of the same stuff: I remain all confused with astonishment, nor ever able to conceive the subject of his vanity, nor the reason of his arrogance, poor corrupted Vapour with advancing itself, 
A vapour. Man elevating himself too high measures the depth of the A bysses of his Precipice.  is soon transformed into a Cloud, to conceal its noisomeness, but yet by way of this elevation, is resolved into Lightnings and Thunder, and afterward retumbles into the ditches from whence first it had its beginning. A puff of wind which rumbles in its own violence, 
A Blast  angry perhaps that it cannot subsist, but in flying, and that the action of its concinuall flight, is the beginning of its ruin. 
Smoke.  A smoke, which with a vain assault will needs scale the Heavens, and yet hardly can one well distingnish the interval between its first Being and extinction: a poor gliste●ing Worm which daisies none but purblind spirits, and giveth light to those worms, which devour it in private, 
A worm. We are all already, but rottenness, since already worms begin to devour us. A stream. Every thing corrupt, the verys eye which now reads these truths shall not be exempt.  A stream always murmuring, always trilling away, And now why shall all these goodly nullities, and all these pleasant Chimeras insinuate to us the vanity which they are of? shall these cozening appearances be established here below with Sovereignty? be it then only in desire, or in dream, for with what gilded rind so ere they be out-sided, Corruption is their Form, and Dust their Matter.  
I am astonished that Man should be capable to mistake himself, even to the point of forgetting what he was, then, when he yet was not: what he is now, whilst he enjoys the beauty of the day, 
Nature exhibits us so many Mirrors of Inconstancy, as she hath produced objecis.  and what he must one day be at the Sunset of his life: Assuredly yes, I am astonished at it, since all created things may serve him for a Mirror to contemplate therein, apparently the verity of his miseries.  
The Heavens, though whirling about with a Motion, always equal in the same spaces of their career, do not cease to wax old, and even their age represents to us naturally our decay. 
Since that Nature itself is mortal, this second cause ceasing ● the ruin of these effects is infallible.  Though the Stars shine with a sparkling lustre, as clear as at the first Day of their creation, yet as they are attached within those circles of Ages, whose continual motion is limited, they approach by little and little to their last West, where their light must be extinct, and the pace of their course shows us the way of our life, since time conducts us all together, though diversely to our end. The Fire so greedy, that it devours itself, when finding no more fuel to nourish it, is it not a Mirror of the Lamp of our life, whose kindled week goes out, when the Oil of the Radical moisture fails it? The Air, which corrupts continually, is it not an Image of our corruption? & with out doubt the Waters transparent body, represents us the fragility of ours, and its liquid crystalline, 
Every thing flees away from us, and in running after ●em we tun to rdeath.  always rolling away makes us see in its gliding, our flitting nature. The earth could not have figured us better than she doth, since we are to day of the same matter, and to moroow of the like form. 
The world is a Nosegay of flowers, which by little and little whither all together.  What fairer Mirror hen that of Flowers, where we may see in one day the whole course of our life, for at Sun-rise the buds resemble out Infancy, at noon the same now full blown, our youth, and at Dayes-end themselves now quite withered our last age, I will not speak of all the other Spices of creatures animates, how every one in its self, though living, is an Image of death. It sufficeth me to cherish this remembrance, and leave to you thereof the meditation.  
What shall I tell ye of Fortune, of honours, riches, and all these glorious qualities of valour, 
Fortune hath nothing more her own, than her Inconstancy.  Beauty and a thousand other besides, which vanish away with us? This blind Goddess hath a Mirror under her feet, whose round figure shows us at once, both her instability, and our inconstancy, as for greatness and riches, the ashes of those which have possessed them, are as so many fresh Crystals of a Mirror, which flatters not, wherein we may see the vanity both of their enjoyment, and of their possessors. Those other qualities of fair and valiant, 
There is nothing immortal in man but virtue.  are of the fame nature, as those sensitive and vegetable souls, which die together with the subject which they animate, without leaving ordinarily so much as one small memorial, for mark that they have had a being otherwise: and in sequel to these truths, 
Man is the Mirror of Man, so that by due contemplati. of one part, he may save the whole  can you find a truer Mirror, than this of ourselves, since every part, (nay what say I?) every action, and every sigh is an animate portrait of Death; Insomuch that we draw the breath of so many continuate Gasps, without ability of dispose of one only instant, to give interval to this exercise.  
How is it then possible that Man should miss know himself, having such faithful Mirrors before his eyes, 
All the Objects of the world b●d us Adieu, while we but regard them since they are always fleeing away.  where at all times he may see apparently the Truth of his Nature kneaded in Corruption, form by it, and destroyed also by the same; Strange thing! he can see nothing in the World, but Images of inconstancy, and yet will not apprehend his own change: whatsoever shall smite upon his ear, will resound nothing but the bruit of his flight, 
To mus always of Death, is the way of immortality,  & yet he will not think upon his retreat.  
Lastly his other Senses, and his fancy, shall have no other object but this of the continual vicissitude of all things, and yet he will remain firm and stable in his vanity, till death ruin its foundation. Thus in the deceitful opinion, wherein he is, of possessing all things, he looseth the possession of himself, and having too much dreamt on his pleasures, his Life is passed as a Dream without return. I must tell you one of my meditations.  
I shall never be able to comprehend the meaning of those, who moan themselves against Fortune, 
A man may well complain against Fortune, these vain regréetes, exempt him not from the pain.  the World & all the pleasures of this life. One forsooth will upbraid to this foolish Deity, her deceits without considering that he deceived himself in giving Trust to a Goddess that near had any. He yet will accuse her to have conducted him still through craggy ways, and overspread with thorns, as if in following one that is blind a man should not hazard to run this danger.  
Another will make ye fresh complaints against the World detesting its Sweets, 
The world may well be the instrument of our destruction, not the cause.  cursing its charms and calling it a Thousand times, deceitful, but why? one would say to hear these plaints, that the world began but now to receive its birth, I mean were but now newly created, that no man knows it yet, and that its first couzenages began, but now to be discovered? What follyl is not this to cheat one's self, to have commerce with a cheater? the world never yet bore any other name or title, 
The number of those whom the world hath deceived, is so great, that they that still trust it, are now no more excusable.  why then aim we to nourish ourselves with its delights, whose after-bitternes empoisons sensibly our souls? But if its charms be powerful enough to tempt reason they are yet too feeble to vanquish it, provided that the will consent not so, that a man remain convict of all the crimes, whereof he may be accused.  
What seeming ground then have we to be enraged against those pleasures which we have received, 
The will is so free that it cannot suffer violence, but from itself.  if ourselves ' only give them both being and form? the Fancies conceive these delights, & the will gives them birth, they are the works whereof our imaginations form the Spices, 
Pleasures are the greatest enemies of life, for in casting flowers upon our heads, they fill our hearts with thorns.  and our desires make the Metamorphosis, changing them into objects palpable, and sensible, which are marks of the seal of our depravedness.  
Let a man than abhor pleasures instead of accusing them, detest their vanity in lieu of complaining of deceitfulness. But if they be criminal, they only bear the stain of their Fathers, and if they be complices of our destruction, 'tis we give them Birth, to give us death.  
Let men cease to lament of Fortune, since the Mirror of its flying scarf, 
Fortune is still her. self, he which trusts her, takes delight to be cheated.  and wings express to the life its lightness, and our folly.  
Let none Argue any more that the world is cause of our ruin, since we cannot choose but tread every hour over the dust and ashes of those, who have too late repent to have followed it. As for voluptuousness, 'tis a vain Idea, to which our passions give a body, to make it serve as a sensible object of their brutality, insomuch that it can do nothing, but by our first motions, taking its vigour from our force, 
Pleasure still takes its force from our volunt ary weakness. 'Tis more than folly, when the folly of others, serves us not for example.  and its power from our Sovereignty, and this renders us doubly culpable, palleating our faults, instead of acknowledging them, since laments, rather than excuses, might absolve us them.  
Is it not that St. John chrysostom touched with compassion of our miseries cries out in astonishment of our weakness: Oh World how many hast thou deceved! but this is its trade and profession. Oh Fortune how many hast thou made to fall! but even yet still, while I am speaking, she gives employment to her treason, and exercise to her Tyranny. O Pleasures comfitted in Sweets, and yet steeped in bittersnesse, how many have ye poisoned! but yet their venom is so common, that the whole earth is infected with it. What remedy then to all these ills? No other than this, to pry into ones self, in the MIRROR of his own Ashes, 
We can no better contemplate any thing, then in the Mirror of our Nothing.  AMIRROUR always hanging at the Girdle, and which flatters not. AMIRROUR whose glass, though more brittle, than one of Crystal, makes us yet to see that all the objects of the World are false, 
All the Mirrors of the World flatter, except this of our miseries.  but that of our Corruption, a Mirrrour, which represents us more lively in our portrait, then in ourselves, A Mirror, whose kind of shadow and Chimaera makes us see in effect, that which we are in appearance.  
A Mirror all miraculous, which preserves certain Species' of nothing to render them sensible to our knowledge. A Mirror all divine which metamorphosing our bodies into shadows, yet expresses us so naturally, that the most arrogant cannot mistake themselves. A Mirror lastly, which Nature hath charmed with its own proper spells, to the end, that viewing himself herein, a Man may be able to resist the charms of the World's allurements.  
I am greatly astonished at those that preach us the Knowledge of ourselves, to be so troublesome, & difficult, since at all times, and in all places, of all sides & of all sorts of fashions, we are nothing at all, or if by an excess of flattery and vanity, I borrow some names to express truly what we are, 
If a wan would still study himself he would become the wisest of the World.  it can be no other than those of dure and mire, whose noisomeness takes away all doubt on it, from the most incredulous.  
In what then consists this trouble of studying to know one's-self, since the most ignorant may in this, go out Doctors in the school of our miseries: 
Self-knowledge only difficile to the proud.  where lies the difficulty to arrive to this knowledge? when the very wind of our sighs carries away, every moment, some of that polluted dust, whereof we be made. Where is this pain, say I yet, since our senses and spirits can have no other object then this of Inconstancy, as unseparable to their nature, as it is proper to our condition. And what can be this difficulty, when we are, capable of no action more, then to destroy ourselves? We must break this rind farther. 
Humility is a skilful Schoolmaster, to ieach us to know our selus.   
I will believe that every one knows from whence he comes and whither he goes, that his body is but a work of rottenness, and that the worms attend thereof the prey, as a nourishment which to them is destinated: 
A man knows no more than he remembers.  but it is important to consider that these truths, though sensible, are oftenest put in oblivion, and this default of memory denotes that of knowledge. He which museth upon his slightness undervalueth (except God) all things and vanity would never be able to surprise us, during the interim of this meditation. 
The remembrance of Death makes us forget the vanities of Life.  Man knows very well that he is Mortal, but whilst he never thinks seriously of the necessity of dying, this knowledge is forgot, though he die without cease, and in losing the remembrance of his condition, loses the knowledge thereof.  
Remember that you are a Man said his page every morning to Philip of Macedon. 
The way to pass our days contentedly, is to think every hour of the last.  This great Monarch made himself to be roused every day from sleep, with the News of Death, fearing to be charmed with the sweets of Life. Greatnesses environ him on all parts, to make him forget his humility, but understand you not the delicate air, which he causes to be sung to the tune of his miseries: the pomp and Magnificence of his riches dazzle his eyes with their lustre, 
The remembrance of the poorness of Death, is a potent charm to resist the memory of greatness of Birth.  that he might never consider the wretchedness which is proper to him. But you see how he makes himself to be awaked with the noise of this truth, ever to cherish its remembrance: Sir remember that you are a Man; oh how many Mysteries are comprised in these words! behold the Allegory on't.  
Great Kings remember you are subject to many more Miseries, than you have subjects in your Empire. Great Monarches remember that of all the great extension of your Territories there shall not remain you one only foot, 
If we be different in manner of life, we are all equal in necessity of dying.  so jealous are the worms of your glory. Great Princes remember that your Sceptres and your Crowns, are such feeble marks of greatness, that fortune sports with them, Time mocks at them, and the Wind shall sweep away their Dust: Sovereign Judges of the Life of Men, remember that although you are above the Laws, This of Dying is inviolable.  
The Fable is pretty, of the resolution, which the flowers and plants took to elect a King and Queen, 
Cares and anxieties surpass in number the pleasure of Kings.  and as the number of Voices gave the election, the Marigold was declared to be the King of the Flowers, and the Briar Queen of Plants, and under this toy lies hid serious verities.  
Is there any thing fairer in all the borders of the Garden of Nature, than the flower of the Marigold? It's golden Tincture of the colour of the Sun, at first view dazzleth so delightfully; that the Eye amazedly gazing with admiration of its fresh-displayed beauty, can hardly retire its regards from an object so agreeable. But gather it, and dight it on you, and its scent produces a thousand disliks' in the Mind, for that one only, which you hold in your hand, for hence of a sudda in the humours become dull, and melancholy having been annoyed with so fair a fulsomeness. 
If Crowns &: Sceptres were to be sold, wise men would never buy thew.   
Royalty is absolutely the same: The Sceptres are as fresh flowers of Marigold, whose lustre and beauty equally ravishing, attract at first glance to their admiration the Soul by the eyes; but if a Man take them into his grasp, or deck his head with them, he shall find himself filled with anxious cares by this coverture. If you doubt of this, ask Seleucus, he will answer, That the first moment of his Reign, was the last of his Quietness.  
The Sweet-bryar also bore away the Royalty; for who would not love it with its Rose? O how both together have powerful attractives, to tempt aqually, both the heart to desire them, and the hand to pluck them? And 'tis in vain that Nature hath given arms to the jealousy of its prickles, 
Thorns are the Roses of King's gardens.  to serve for the defence of its flowers: since these sharps are as so many baits, which irritate us rather with Desire then Fear. All the world insert it in their nosegays; but the prickles remain, the Rose withers.  
Say we then also, that Royalty is a fair Sweet-bryar, accompanied with its Roses; I mean many contentments of the same nature. Both together have great charms to affect us both with love and desire, 
Great miseries are destinated to great fortunes.  but the Briars of the Crown remain, the Rose of delights withers. O how ponderons is the load of this greatness? And if you believe not me, inquire hereof of the puissant King Mithridates, 
The felicity. of Kings hath much more lustre, than Reality.  he will often reiterate to you, That he never sighed, but for the ponderous burden of his Crowns.  
SIR, REMEMBER YOU ARE A MAN.  
But what is there here to pride in? May it be of the greatness of his Dominions? This is but an alien good, 
King's may trouble themselves to conquer the earth, it still triumphs over them.  which admits not to be possessed but by vanity, since its honours and pleasures have nothing else but mere in propriety. To be an amply landed-man, is to have miry soil to sell, and small profit to make thence.  
Sir remember you are a Man. What may be his ambition? may it be to conquer the whole world, what will he do with it after conquest, since it is a Ball of snow, which Time melts by little and little, tumbling it without cessation.  
Sir remember you are a Man. What might be his designs? 
He which makes himself to be adored, is rather sit to be Death's Victim then to be idolatrized.  Should he pretend to Altars; and Temples, what oblations can be made to a Victim, whom Death holds continually at a bay? can Incense be offered to a Dunghill, or an Idol made of a Sink? the very thought shocks common sense.  
Sir remember that you are a Man. 
Man is so miserable, that I am amazed he pities not himself.  What can he do with his absolute power? A little stone makes him stumble; a straw can blind him; a shadow, an Atom, a thing of nothing are capable to reduce him to nothing at all. And is not this an object of pity, rather than of envy? Great Kings, these are truths too important for you, to lose their remembrance.  
Well you may outbrave the heavens with a birstling eyebrow: the only imagination of its Thunderclaps holds you already in alarm. Boldly may you tread upon the Earth with a disdainful foot; the same whereof you are made, shall shortly be so trodden, when the worms are glutted with it. Remember that you are a Man, and that all the objects of riches and honours which environ you, 
I have said to corruption, Thou art my father, and to the worm, thou art my mother and my sister. Job. 17.14.  are of the same Nature as you are. You are dying every moment, and every thing falls away without cease.  
When I represent to mind your heads, diademed with a rich Crown, I conceive it a little point infirmed and closed in a circumference, whose lines about at the centre of corruption, lines of magnificence, 
The head that wears the crown, wears away with it.  which terminate at the point of wretchedness.  
If I consider you with Sceptre in hand, methinks I see a simple shrub, planted upon worse Earth, the shrub dries up, and is reduced to dust, the ground remains that it was before.  
Let me contemplate you seated upon your Thrones, decked with your richest ornaments, my imagination shows me a jupiter in picture, holding the thunder in his hand; for you are so weak for all your absolute power, that if you presum hardily to raise your head, but to look upon the Sun, your eyes will water at the same time, to expiate with your tears, the crime of your arrogance.  
Great Kings, Remember then, that you are not Great, but in misery, Sovereign Monarches, Remember, that your Empiredome is but a servitude, since you are subject to all the disasters of your subjects. Powerful Princes, one gust of wind defies to the struggle your absolute power. Sacred Majesties, I salute you to day by this name: 
All the at ributes of worldly glory accompany us but to the grave.  but to morrow I will change terms, and call you Skeletons and carcases, to the end that in speaking this cruth, all the world may know you, I will change my tone.  
How ingenious are the Poets in their fancies? They recount us, how that Inconstancy being banished from heaven, descended upon earth, with design to have her picture drawn, and upon the resuse, that Painters made of it, she addressed herself to Time, 
Man serves for a sheuttlecocke to all things, sime all things concur to his ruin.  who after he had considered her in all her diversities made use at last of the visage of Man for the finishing cloth, wherein having represented her to the life, all the world took her for Man himself, since in effect 'tis but one and the same thing. O fair truth discovered by a fable. 
Man is Inconstancy itself, rather than its portrait.   
He than that now would see the Image of Inconstancy, let him consider the Life-touches and lineaments of it; upon his own visage. Our forehead which wrinkles every moment, is it not the very same as hers? Our eyes, which by continual use every hour, do already require spectacles, are they not as hers? Our cheeks which now chap-fall are in nothing different from hers. In fine our visages are the only MIRRORS WHICH FLATTER NOT.  
But what shall we answer notwithstanding to the objection of this truth, that, 
Though a Man hides himself under the veil of hypocrisy his defects always break through.  that which we see of MAN, is not the MAN. If his visage like a false Horologe index false, this our portrait of Inconstancy is merely imaginary:  
But is there any thing more inconstant than the spirit of man? 'tis a weathercock for all winds, behold again the first draughts of the visage of Inconstancy: must we not of necessity compare his changing humour to hers, 
The spirit of Mun is much more changing, than his body, for this changes only in growing old, but that grows old only in changing.  if a man would exhibit thereof but one example; and these are yet new lineaments, which represent us this levity. In fine, his thoughts, his desires, and all the passions of his mind, are but objects of vicissitude, capable of all sorts of impressions: so that in the perfection of the portraiture of man, Inconstancy is found perfectly depainted. Let us proceed.  
The fictions of Poets are yet serious enough, 
Virtue only can render us invulnerable. A virtuous Man fears nothing.  to serve us often for sufficient entertain of the time. 'Tis they which tell us of one Achilles, immortal in all the parts of his body save only his heel.  
Great Kings, I will, if you please take you for Achilles', and will give out you are like him, invulnerable, but only in the heel. 
Every Man would be immortal but none takes pain to acquire immortality.  But of what temper soever your Arms be, to what purpose serve they you with this defect? This only blot duskes the lustre of your glory. Nature has done surely well, to prodigallize upon you thus, both her graces and favours; she hath immortalised you but by halves. All your apparences are divine, but something within poiles all, each particular is a heel, by which Death may surprise you.  
Shall I say then that you are Achilles', who will believe me, since your heads serve but as Butts to the hafes of Fortune? 
It is only the conscience of a just Man is of proof, against the stroke of Time and Fortune.  To preach you invulnerable, a small scratch may thereon give me the lie. Truth more powerful than flattery constrains me to call you by your name, for in remembrancing you that you are ●ut men, I fuggest you to the life all the disasters, which accompany your life.  
Thou hast much to do, 
Man is so poor a thing that one cannot give him a name but it advantageous to kim.  to make Panegyrics in praise of man, O Mercury Trymegistus, and to maintain so confidently, that he is a great miracle, it must be then a miracle of misery, since Nature produceth nothing so miserable as he is.  
And thou Pythagoras, which haste had the forehead to persuade us, that man was a mortal God, if thou hadst made Anatomy of his carcase the stench of his silth, had soon made thee change this langnage. Plato thou reason'st well upon this subject, yet without sound consideration, then when with an enforcement o● spirit and eloquence, thou wouldst oblige us to believe, 
There is no tongue in Nature which can furnish us with terms strong enough to express the miseries of Man.  that man is o●● the race of the Gods: yes surely, since thy Gods are Gods of earth, the cause is matched to the effect, for man is of the same matter. Plotinus, thou also didst not miss it, when in favour of man, thou saidst he was an abridgement of the wonders of the world, for since all its wonders heretofore so famous are no more but dust and ashes man may hereof be the example with good reason.  
O how much more expert is David in the knowledge of our condition, when he compares man, not only to the dust, but to the dust which flies away, to show us, that, that little which he is, still flies away till it be nothing in the end.  
But how glad am IO Lord, 
Memento homo quod nihil es, & in nihilù reverteris  that I am but dust, to the end that I may fly towards heaven, for the earth I undervalue. How I am satisfied that 〈◊〉 am but Ashes, that I may but be able to keep in my soul some little sparkle of thy love. What glory and what contentment too, is it to be devoured by worms, since thou callest thyself a Worm? gnaw O Lord, 
Ego sum vermis & non homo. Psal. 22.6.  gnaw both my heart and entrailss. I offer thee them in prey, and regive me new ones, that may offend thee no more. I know well that my life flits away by little and little, but now agreeable is this flight unto me, since thou art its object. I see well that my Days slide away, and pass in continual course. But O what consolation is it to be sensible of dying at all hours, for to live eternally. ● Verities; again, what ravishments ●ave you to consolate the souls of ●he most afflicted? I return to my subject.  
We read of the Priests of the Gentiles, 
Humility is ever he●oured by all the world.  that they writ letters every ●eer to their Gods, upon the Ashes ●f the Sacrifices, which they made ●pon the top of Mount Olympus, & 〈◊〉 believe that this was upon design, ●●at they might thus be better received, being written upon this ●aper of humility. Let us fetch now ●ome truth from this fanoy. Let us write every day to heaven upon the paper of our Ashes, 
all the parts of the body are as so many Characters of dust wherein may be read the truth of our nothingness.  confessing tha● we are nothing else, and let u● make our sighs the faithful messengers of these letters, as the only witnesses of our hearts. I will hid myself under the Ashes. O Lord, t●● the end that thy Justice may no● see me, said David. What Curtain's this? This Sovereign Justice which makes it bright day in hell, cannot pierce the Ashes to find underneath a Sinner. No, no, for the vail has the virtue to reflect the beams of thi● revenging light within the source, which produced them.  
Remember that I am nothing, 
Seest thou how Ahab humbleth himself. I will not bring the evil in his days. 1 Kings 21, 29.  〈◊〉 Lord, and that thou hast made m● of nothing, and every moment canst reduce me to something less● than nothing; cries out Job, in hi● miseries. He finds no other invention to appease the mild choler 〈◊〉 his God, 
Recordarequ●● so quod sicut argillam fecist● me & in pulverem reduces me. Job. 10●9.  then putting him in min● of his infinite greatness, and at the same time of the pitiful estate● whereunto he is reduced. Wh●● should you take Arms against me●● O Lord, (pursues he) when th●● breath of your word is able 〈◊〉 undo the same, 
Humility triumphs over all things.  which it hath made me, Remember, O Remember, that I am but what the benign influence of your divine regards permits me to be, for on the instant that you shall cease to regard me, I shall cease to live.  
Deck we then with Ashes our body of Dust, 
Men remember thy beginning, for thou art not made of Fire like the Stars, nor of Air like the winds, but of mire, from whence it is thou soyls● all the world. He which can over come himself shall never be vanqui sht by & greater Capta in.  and let us cover with a new earth our own, to make Rampirs of proof against the thunders of heaven. See you not how its all-powerfull Justice, finds limitation in the confession of our being nothing. We need fear nothing, acknowledging that we are nothing. Well may the thunder make a horrid rumbling, yet the Hyssop outpraves it in its lowliness. Fear and humility ever abandon each others company. The only means to triumph over all things, is to vanquish Ambition.  
O Lord, I durst scarce believe, that I am, If thy providence alone were not the prop of my being. But since thy goodness hath drawn me from the Abyss of Nothing; ●et thy grace cause me always to keep the remembrance of my original. Before Time was, I was Nothing, now Time is, I am yea Nothing. But what happiness 〈◊〉 it to be Nothing at all, since thou art All-things? for if I search myself in vain in myself, is it not sufficient that I am found in thee? I will then forget even mine own name, and muse of nothing, but of the Chimaera of my being, since as a Chimaera it passeth away and vanisheth. 
What a joy is it to pass away continually with all things, towards him that hath created all things?  The only consolation, that remains me in my passage, is that thou alone remainest firm and stable, so that without end tho● art the end of my career, and without bounds limitest the exten● of my course, as the only object both of my rest and felicity. Set me now upon return.  
With what and ever to be adored lustre, 
Heaven changes the sighs of the Earth into tears, I mean its vapours into dew.  appears the love of God in his day, in the work of Man. Would not one say, that it seem he made him of earth, that he might strew thereon, the seeds both of his blessings and graces! O fortunate Earth, which being diligently cultured, may bring forth the fruits of eternal happiness! 
Since we are of Earth let us suffer this divine Sun of Love, to exhale the vapours of our sighs for to metamorphose the minto the tears of Repentance.   
Boast thyself O Man, to be Nothing but Earth, since the heaven bedews the Earth continually. But if with a provoked eye, it lancheth out, sometimes its thunders upon it, herself doth afford hereof the matter. Live always Innocent, and thou shalt not know what 'tis to fear. Employ thyself without cease, to measure the depth of the Abysle of thy nothingness; and though thou never pierce to the bottom hereof, thy pains shall not be unprofitable, because seeking thyself ●● thy baseness, thou shalt always recover thyself again much greater than thou art.  
The Sun, 
We are all amorous of ourselves not knowing for what, for our defects are objects rather of hate then Love.  this fair Planet of the Day, which with a continual aspect, contemplates all created things, cannot make reflection of his beams to see himself, as if his mother Nature had apprehended in making him so glorious, that the Mirror of his light, might not be metamorphosed into a fire of love, to render him amorous of his own proper lustre.  
But the Intellect, 
A Man cannot stumble ordinarily but through perverseness, since reason enligh ten him in the very worst ways.  this Sun of our Souls, has a faculty with which it can both contemplate our of itself all things, and repeal again the same power to consider itself, which makes a man capable, not only of the meditation of the miseries of the World, but also of that of the afflictions and troubles, which inseparably keeps him company to the grave.  
We read of Moses, that God commanded him to frame the * forefront of the Tabernacle all of Mirrors, 
The Laver which was before the Tabernacle. Ex. 38.8.  to the end, that those that should present themselves before his Altar, might view themselves in thi● posture of Prayer. O this excellent Mystery! Mortals, it behoves you to view yourselves in the Mirror of your Ashes, if you would have your vows heard.  
God hath taught us an excellent way of Prayer, 
There is nothing assured in Life, but its continual— Death.  Give us this day our daily bread. But why O Lord, teachest thou us not to ask thee our bread for to morrow, as well as for to day? O how good a reason is there hereof! This is because that life hath no assurance of to morrow; besides that it is an excess of grace, that we may be bold to crave of him, the bread of our nourishment for all a whole day, since every moment may be that of our Death. Reader, let this verity serve thee yet as a mirror, 
It is not sufficient to muse of the necessity of dying, but to consider also that every hure may be our hast.  if thou wouldst have thy prayers to pierce the heavens. This is not all, to know thy body is a Colosse of filth, which is trailed along from one place to another, as it were by the last struggle of a Life always languishing. It behoves thee also to call to mind, that every instant may terminate the course of thy troublesome career; and that this sudden retreat, constrains thee to bid Adieu for ever to all the things of the world, which thou cherishedst most Thoughts only worthy of a noble spirit!  
I have eaten Ashes as bread, 
Psal. 102.9. Cinerem tanquam panem manducabam.  says the Royal Prophet; but how is it possible? I conceive his thought. He entertained his soul with the remembrance of the Ashes of his body, and this truth alone served as object to his imagination, for to satisfy the appetite of his Soul. Lord give me both the same relish and desire, to repast myself still thus, 
A man to abase himself below that which he is, being so poor a thing of nothing.  of dust and ashes, in remembrancing myself always, that I am nothing else. O sweet remembrance of my rottenness, since it steads me for eternal nourishment of my Soul! O precious memory of my nothingness, since able to satisfy the appetite of my heart! Let this be the daily bread, O Lord which thou hast taught me to ask thee, to the end, that all my desires together might be satiated with this dear nourishment. I recollect myself in this digression.  
Having divers times mused of the imbecility and weakness of man, 
Si vitrei essemus, minus casus timeremus. S. Aug.  I am constrained to cry out with St. Augustine, What is there that can be more frail in Nature? If we were of Glass (pursues he) our condition might therein be better, for 2 Glass carefully preserved, 
There is nothing more brittle than glass yet man is more.  may last long time, and yet what pain soever man takes to preserve himself, and under what shelter soever, he shrowds himself, for covert to the storm, he breaks and is shattered of himself.  
What reply you to these verities, Great Princes? Well may you now be atrogant; The fragillity of glass cannot admit of comparison, with this of your nature; what seat will you give to your greatness? 
Man is fully miserable, since his life is the source of his miseries.  and what foundation to your vanity? when the wind alone of your sighs, may shipwreck you upon the Sea of your own proper tears? what surnames will you take upon you, for to make you be mistaken? That of Immortal would become you ill, since every part of your body, serves but as a But to the shafts of Death. Invincible, would also be no way proper, 
A man may do every thing with virtue, without it nothing  since upon the least touch of mishap, you are more worthy of pity than capable of defence. Would you be called Gods? your Idolaters would immolate you to their own laughter Tread under foot your Crowns, if rightly you will be crowned with them, you only thus render yourselves worthy of those honours, 
Heaven cannot be acquired, but by the misprise of earth.  which you misprise: for Glory consists not in the possessing it, but in the meriting; and the only means to obtain it, is to pretend nothing at all to it.  
How remarkable is the custom of the Locrians at the Coronation of their Kings: they burned before them a handful of Tow, to represent unto them the instability of their grandeurs, and the greediness of Time to destroy them. In effect, all the greatnesses of the Earth, 
All the grandeur of Kings is but as the blaze of flaming tow.  are but as a bundlet of Tow; and then when Darius would make of them his treasure, Mishap set fire on them, and reduced them into Cinders, and when he had yet in his heart a desire to immortalize them, a new fire seized his entrails by the heat of thirst, which burned him to the end to consume at once, both the cause, and the effect. So true it is, that the Glory of the world vanisheth away like Smoke, Great Kings, if you build a Throne of Majesty to the proof, both against Time and Fortune, 
He which esteems himself the least of all, is the greatest.  lay its foundation upon that of your miseries. Humility takes her rise in lowliness, from the lowest footing, when she makes her flight into the heavens.  
O how admirable is the Humility of Saint. john Baptist! They would give him titles of Sovereignty, in taking him for the Messiah: but call to your Memory, how with an ejaculation of Love and reverence, he precipitates himself both with heart and thought into the Abyss of his own nothingness, 
Vox clamantis in deserto John. 1.23.  there to admire in all humility, both Greatness & Majesty in his Throne. I am but a Voice, says he, which beat at the cares to enter into your hearts.  
A Voice, which rustles in a moment, and passes away at the same instant; What Humility! Is there any thing which is less any thing than a Voice? 'Tis a puff of wind, which a fresh one carries I know not where since both lose themselves in the air, after its never so little agitation, 
Christus verbum, Johannes vox.  with their gentle violence, 'Tis nothing in effect, yet notwithstanding, the proper name of this great Prophet. They would elevate him, 
John. 1.27.  and he abaseth himself so low, that he would render himself invisible as a Voice, so much he fears to be taken for him, whose shoe-latchet, 
A Man is to be estimated in proportion to the under, value he makes of himself.  he judgeth himself unworthy to unloose.  
Lord, what are we also, but a little Wind enclosed in a handful of Earth? to what can one compare us without attributing us too much vanity. True it is, that we are the works of thy hands, but all other created things bear the same Title, but if thy bounty hath been willing to advantage our nature with many graces, proper and ordinated to it alone, these are so many witnesses which convince us, not to have deserved them, since our very Ingratitude is yet a Recognising of this Truth. Insomuch that as our Life is nothing but sin, and sin is a mere privation, 
The most just man sinneth seven times a day.  it may be maintained that we are nothing else, and consequently nothing at all.  
But how Proud am I, O Lord, every time I think thou hast ereated me of Earth, for this is a Principal, which draws me always to itself, by a right of propriety; from whence I cannot defend myself. 
What is it for a man to triumph hereof the world? the earth expects his spoil.  All things seek their repose in their element. O how happy am I, to search mine in that of Dust and Ashes, whereof thou hast form me? The Earth demands my Earth, and my body as a little Gullet, separated from its source, speeds by little and little, to the same source, from whence it had its beginning. And this that which impeaches me from gathering up myself, to take a higher flight. I should do bravely, to hoist myself above my Centre, when the assay of my Vanity, 
Pridehoyses up, only to gives a fall.  and the violence of my fall, are but the same thing. I give still downwards upon the side of my weaknesses, and the weight of my misery, overbeares upon the arrogance of my Ambition. 
A man no doubt may misknow himself, yet the least hit of mishap tears the veil of his hood winknesse  O happy defect, and yet more happy the condition, which holds me always enchained to the dunghill of my Original, since the links of this easy servitude, are so many Mirrors which represent me that I am nothing, whensoever I imagine myself to be something. Let us change our Tone, without changing subject.  
Ladies, Remember that you die every hour; behold, here a MIRROR WHICH FLATTERS NOT It shows you both what you are, & such as you shall be. But if notwithstanding, you still admire yourselves under an other visage, full of allurements, and sweets. This is but Death himself, 
A strange thing that death is still as near us, at life, and yet we never think on it.  who hides him under these fair apparences, to the end you may not discern him. It is true, you have graceful Tresses of hair which cover your heads, and his is all Bald, but do not you heed, how he pulls them off from yours by little every day, and makes those which he leave you, to turn White, to the end you may pull them out yourselves?  
It is true, your eyes have a sparkling lustre, 
Time and Deathare the only inexorables.  and beauty; but of his is seen only the hideous place, where Nature had seated them: But do you not consider, how with continual action, be Dusks the glory of this beauty; and in conclusion, puts to Eclipse these imaginary Pety-Suns.  
It is true, your hue is of Lilies, and your mouth of Roses, upon his face is seen only the stubs of these flowers: but call to mind, that he blasts this Lilly-teint, as well as Lilies themselves; and that the vermilion of this Rosie-mouth lasts but as Roses; and if yet you differ to day from him in something, you may resemble him to morrow in all. I leave you to meditate of these truths.  
Man is a true mirror, which represents to the natural all things, which are opposed unto it. 
Man is as one picture with two faces and often the most natural is falsest.  If you turn it downward to the Earth, we can see within nothing but objects of Dust and Ashes: but if you turn him to the Heavens-ward, there is to be admired in it beauties, and graces purely celestial. In effect, if we consider man in his mortal and perishable condition, hardly can one find any stay in this consieration, since he is nothing else but a Chimaera, whose form every moment by little and little destroys, to reduce it to its first nothing. And indeed, not to lie to ye, man, is but a Puff of wind, 
Man is nothing in himself, yet compreheods all things.  since he lives by nothing else, is filled with nothing else, and dies only by Privation of it. But if you turn the Medal (I would say) the Mirror of his Soul towards his Creator, there are seen nothing but gifts of Immortality, 
What though man be made of earth; he is more divine than mortal.  but graces of a Sovereign bounty, but favours of an absolute will. The heavens and the Stars appear in this Crystalline mirror, not by reflection of the object, but by a divine virtue proceeding from the Nature of his cause. Let us to the End.  
Me thinks This Page returns again to day within the Chamber of Philip of Macedon, 
The slumber of vanities is a mortal malady to the soul.  and drawing the Curtain, cries out according to his ordinary.  
Sir, Awake, and Remember that you are a Man: but why rouzes he him to think of Death, since sleep is its image? Alexander knew himself mortal by his sleeping; and in effect those which have said, that sleep was the Brother of Death, have drawn their reason of it, from their reciprocal resemblance. Awake then Great Kings; Not to ponder that you are mortal, your sleep is a trance of this, but rather that you are created for immortality. Remember you are Men. 
A man should not forget his heavenly beginning having heaven for a daily object.  I will not say, subject to all the miseries of the Earth; but rather capable of all the felicities of heaven. Remember that you are men; I will no say the shuttlecock of Time, and the But to all the shafts of Fortune, but rather victors over ages, and all sorts of miseries. Remember that you are men; I will not say any more conceived in Corruption, brought forth by it, and also destroyed by it: But rather, I say, 
If a man should consider his worth by that which he cost, he would love himself perfectly.  born for the glory of God, Living for to acquire it, and Dying for to possess it. Remember that you are Men, I will say no more slaves of Sin, the Flesh, and the World: but rather free for resistance to the first, strong enough to vanquish the next, and more powerful yet to give a Law to the third: 
A man may do every good thing which he desires, since in his impu● issance his will is taken for the deed.  Remember that you are men, I will no more say the portrait of Inconstancy, the object of every sort of ill, and the pasture of Worms: But rather the Image of God, the subject of every sort of good, and the sole aliment of eternity, as created for it alone. Remember that you are men, 
Man is sure a thing something divine, which is not seen even to itself.  I will not say made of clay, animated with mishap, and metamorphosed anew into rottenness; but rather made by the proper hand of God, animated by his bounty, and redeemed by his Grace.  
I wonder at this, that they should call man a little world, since the least of his thoughts is able to sign out it's expansion beyond a thousand worlds. 
Though he be made of clay, the work: manship is yet all divine.  True it is that he was made of Earth, but the Master which hath made him, having also drawn himself in the middle of his work (as did Phidias) renders him, more admirable than the Heavens. One might also judge at first view, that the greatest part of the creatures have many more Prerogatives than he. But contrarily the heavens, the Stars, and all that nature hath most precious, have in no sort correspondence or equivalence to his grandeurs: let us see the proof on't.  
I grant that the Sea may make ● admire equally both its vastness of Empire, and efficacy of power, the least tear of repentance which a Man sheds is a thousand times more admirable, since it remounts even to the source of that grace, which produced it, and consequently beyond the Heavens. I grant that the Air fills all, 
The heart of man is so vast, and spacious, that God only can fill it.  and its emense nature permits no vacuity, through the whole universe. The heart of man carries him far higher, being never able to find satisfaction in its desires, if its ' Crearors-self, though without measure, be not its measure. Let the Fire always greedy and ambitious, scale the heavens in appearance with continual action by the vain attempts of its ejaculations; 
A man who loves God with all his heart, lives upon earth in the same fashion, as they live in heaven.  The least sparkle of the fire of divine love wherewith man may be inflamed is so pure and so noble, that one cannot conceive an example of its perfection. Suppose the transparent heavens have no matter, than that of other for me, and they render themselves thus wonderful in their simplicity, as in their course still equal, and still continual; the spirit of man is infinitely more excellent in its nature, and much more noble also in its actions, since it works without selt-motion, but with a manner so divine, that its thoughts carry it every where without change of state or place. Be it that the Sun all marvellous in himself, 
The reason of man is a ray beaming from the Sun of Divinity.  and his effects produceth nothing but wonders. The Sun of reason, wherewith man is illuminate, is wholly miraculous, since it operates in a divine semblable manner: the virtue of other creatures vegetable, and sensitive is inseparably adjoined also to the body of man, 
Man hath some titles of Nobility, to which the very Angels themselves cannot pretend.  as its material: Insomuch that he contains in a degree of eminence above all the creatures of the world, more perfections himself alone, than all they together have ever possessed. And I shall well say more yet. That Man hath certain puissances of disposition to elevate himself so high in his humility, that the Angels shall be below him.  
But if I shall yet moreover poise Man, 
If man were again to be sold, who could ransom him as he cost?  in the balance of the Cross of his Saviour, and set him at the price of the blood, wherewith he was redeemed, which of the creatures, or rather, which of the angels will be so bold, to dispute the preeminence?  
Great Kings Remember then, that you are Men: but more admirable in your governments, than the Sea in its vastness. 
A man makes himself above all things, if he undervalue them with us isprize.  Remember that you are Men, but also capable to purify the Air, by one only sigh, though even that sigh be made of nothing else. Remember that you are Men, but a thousand, thousand times yet more noble than the Fire, since the Seraphins burn incessantly with those divine Fires, wherewith your hearts may be inflamed. 
Man is an abridgement rather of the marvels of heaven, than of the miracles of earth.  Remember that you are Men: but more perfect than the Heavens, since they were not created, but to pour upon your heads their benign influences. Remember that you are Men, but more marvellous without comparison, than the Sun; since your Reason is a divine light, which can never suffer Eclipse, but by opposition from a volutary depravedness. Remember that you are Men; but also destined to command over all other living creatures. Remember that you are Men: but also kneaded as it were, by the hand of one All-powerfull, 
If a max did often muse of the ends, for which he was created, he would therein set up, his rest from all the inquietudes of the world  form after his Image, and redeemed by his blood, what can one say more?  
Unto what a point of Glory hast thou then elevated me, O sweet Saviour? in abasing thyself even to the grave. After thou hadst form me of earth, thou hast also taken the same form for to resomble me in all things. Thou I say, O my God, whose infinite greatness, cannot admit only the very admiration of the Seraphins, but through the Traverse of the Veil, of their ordinary submissions. What prodigy of bounty is this! Cause me then O Lord, if it please thee, that I may estimate myself at the price which thou hast ransomed me for, and that in such sort, that I may live no more, but in loving thee, to die also one day of the same disposition. Let me be humbly-haughty, carrying the lineaments of thy resemblance, that I may always follow thee, though not able to imitate thee. This is that which I will continually implore thee for, until thou hast heard my vows.  
I advow now, 
The magnificence of man hath neither bounds nor limits, since God is his end.  O Mercury Trymegistus, that thou hast reason to publish, that Man is a great miracle, since God himself hath been willing to espouse his condition, ● show us in its miseries the miracles of his Love.  
I confess Pythagoras, that thou hast had no less ground to maintain that Man was a mortal God, 
Though a man still fade away, he is yet a lively portray of immortality.  since except this sweet necessity, which subjects him to the Tomb, he has a thousand qualities in him all immortal. I should finally have been of advice with thee Plato then, when thou preachedst, every where, 
All the creatures are admirable, as the effects of a saveraign and independent cause: but man has attributes of an unparallelled glory.  that Man was of the race of the Gods, since a piece of work so rare, and so perfect, could not proceed but from a hand Omnipotent, I mean this Rivelet of admiration could not proceed but from a source most adorable. I am of thy opinion Plotinus, and henceforth will maintain every where with thee, that Man is an abridgement of the wonders of the world: 
The eight wonders of the world.  Since that all the Univers together was created but for his service, and pleasure. Say we yet moreover, that those wonders of the world, so renowned, are but the works of his hands; so that also the actions of his spirit in divine Contemplation can take their Rise above the Sun, and beyond the heavens, and this too now in the chains of its servitude.  
Great Kings, be it supposed that you are living pourtraits of Inconstancy: 
Man flies away by little and little, from one part of himself, that he may entirely enter at once into himself.  The perfection of your Nature lies in this defect of you powers, for this Vicissitude, which God hath rendered inseparable to your condition, is a pure grace o● his bounty since you wax old only, that you may be exempted from the tyranny of Ages: since (I say) you die every moment, only to make acquisition of that immortality, to which his love has destined you. 
This defest of inconstancy is the perfection of man; since he is changeable to day to be no more so to morrow.   
O happy Inconstancy! if in changing without cease, we approach the point of our sovereign felicity, whose foundations are . O dear Vicissitude! ●rowling without interval in the du●● of our original, we approach b● little and little, to those Age of glory, which beyond all time assign at our End, the beginning of a better Career. 
A man is only happy in the perpetitall inconstancy of his condition.  O Glorio●● Death, since terminated at th●● cruel instant, which separates 〈◊〉 from Immortality.  
It is true, I confess it again Great Kings, that you are subject to all the sad accidents of your subjects; 
The greatest misery that can arrive to a man, is to offend God.  But what happiness is it, if these misfortunes are as so many several ways, which conduct you into the Port. Be it granted, that you are nothing but Corruption in your birth, Misery in your Life, and a fresh infection in your Death: All these truths are as so many attributes of honour to you, since you disrobe yourselves in the grave of all your noisomeness, for to Deck yourselves with the ornaments of Grace, of felicity and glory, which belongs in proper to your souls, as being created for the possession of all these Good Things.  
Who can be able to dimension the greatness of Man; 
Heaven, Earth, Nature, the very Devils are admirers of the greatness. of man.  since he who hath neither bounds nor limits would himself be the circumference of it? Would you have some knowedge of man's power? hear the commandment which Josuah made to the Sun, to stop in the midst of his career. Would you have witnesses of his strength? Samson presents you all the Philistines buried together under the ruins of the Temple, whose foundations he made to totter. Require you some assurances of his courage? Job offers you as many as he has sores upon his body. In fine, desire you some proofs of his happiness. Heaven hath fewer of Stars, than of felicities to give him. 
Man may be what somever he will be.  What name then shall we attribute him now, that may be capable to comprehend all his glory? There is no other than this of man; 
John. 19.5.  and Pilate did very worthily (no doubt) to turn it into mockage before the Jews; 
Ecce homo. Behold the Man.  he shows them a God under the visage of a Man. Let the world also expose the miseries of Man in public; His Image of Earth is yet animated with a divine spirit, 
The name Man is now much more noble than that of Angels. With what new rinds soever a man be covered, he bears still in biforehead the marks of his Creator.  which can never change Nature. We●● may they tear his bark, the Inma●● of it is of proof against the stroke● of Fortune, as well as the gripes o● Death. The Man of Earth may turn into Earth; but the Man of heave● takes his flight always into heaven. That Man I say, fickle and inconstant, kneaded and shaped from dirt, with the water of his own tears may resolve, into the same matter: Bu● this stable and constant Man, created by an omnipotent hand, remains uncessantly the same, as incapable of alteration.  
Rouse then yourselves from sleep great Princes, 
He that would always muse of Eternity, would with out doubt, acquire its glory.  not for to remember Death, but rather to tepresent unto yourselves that you are immortal, since Death hath no kind of Dominion over your Souls, which make the greatest, as being the Noblest part of you,  
Awake then great Monarches, not for to muse of this necessity, which draws you every hour to the tomb but rather to consider, that you may exempt yourselves from it, if your Actions be but as sacred as your Majesties.  
Great PRINCES Awake, 
Man is a hidden treasure, whose worth God only knows.  and permit me once more to remembrance You that you are Men, I mean the Masterpieces of the works of God; since this divine workmaster hath in conclusion metamorphosed himself into his own work, My seathered pen can fly no higher. 
Man only is the ornament of the world.   
Those which have propounded that Man was a new world, have found out proportionable relations, and great correspondencies of the one to the other, for the Earth is found in the matter where of he is form, the Water in his tears, the Air in his sighs, the Fire in his Love the Sun in his reason, and the Heavens in his imaginations. But the Earth subsists and he vaniseth, O Sweet vanishment! since he is lost in himself, that he may be found in his Creator, but the Earth remains firm, and his dust flies away: O happy flight, since eternity is its aim! The Water, though it fleets away, yet returns the same way, and retorts upon its own paces: 
Man may be said to be happy in being subject to all mishaps.  But man contrarily being settled upon the declining stoop of his ruin, rolls insensibly without interval to the grave, his prison, O dear ruin! O sweet captivity! since the soul recovers her freedom, 
Death is a grace rather than a pain.  and this Sepulture serves but as a Furnace to purify his body. The Air, although, it corrupt, is not for all that destroyed the corruption of man destroys its material. O glorious destruction, since it steads him as a fresh disposition to render him immortal. The Fire, though it fairly devour all things, is yet preserved still itself, to reduce all the world into Ashes: But Man perceives himself to be devoured by Time, without ability ever to resist it. Oh beneficial Imporence, since he finds his Triumph in his overthrow! the Sun causeth always admiration in its ordinary lustre, 
The felicity of man in this world consists in the necessity of death.  but Man's reason is impaired in the course of Times. Oh welcome impairment, since Time ruins it but only in an Anger, knowing that it goes about to establish its Empire, beyond both time and Ages. In fine, the Heavens may seem to wax old in their wand'ring course: 
How happy is man in decaying evermore since he thus at last renders himself exempt from all the miseries which pursue him.  they yet appear the same still every day, as they were a thousand years agone: man from moment to moment differs from himself, and every instant disrobes him somewhat of his Being. Oh delightful Inconstancy, since all his changes make but so many lines, which about at the Centre of his stability.  
How mysterious is the Fable of Narcissus; the Poets would persuade us, that He became self-enamoured, 
A long life is a heavy burden to the soul, since it muct ronder an account of all its moments.  viewing Himself in a Fountain. But I am astonished, how one should become amorous of a dunghill, though covered with Snow or Flowers. A face cannot be form without Eyes, Nose, and Mouth, and yet every of these parts make but a body of Misery, and Corruption as being all full of it.  
This Fable intimates us the representment of a fairer truth, since it invites a man to gaze himself in the Fountain of his tears, thus to become amorous of himself, 
If a man could contemplate the beauties of his soul in innocence he would always be surprised with its love. If a man would often view himself in the tears of his repentance, he would soon become a true self-lover.  not for the lineaments of dust and ashes, whereof his countenance is shaps, but rather of those beauties and graces, wherewith his soul is ornamented, and all these together make but a rivelet, which leads him to the admiration of that source from whence they took their original.  
Oh how David was a wise Narcissus! then when he made of his Tears a Mirror, so to become enamoured of himself, for he was so self-loving in his repentance, that in this He spent both days and nights, with unparalled delights. 
All the vain objects of the world are so many fountains of Narcissus, wherein prying may shipwreck themselves.   
But if Narcissus shipwreck himself in the fountain of his self-fondnesse; This great King was upon point to Abyss himself in the Sea of his tears, for their liquid Crystalline showed him to himself so beautiful, that he burned with desire thus to drown himself.  
Ladies view yourselves in this Mirror, since you are ordinatily slaves to your own self love. You will be fair at what price soever; see here is the means. The Crystal Mirror of your tears flatter not, contemplate therein the beauty of this grace, which God hath given you to bewail your vanities, This is the only ornament which can render you admirable. 
Tears are the faithfullest. Mirrors of penitents.  All those deceitful Crystals, which you wear hanged at your Girdles, show you but feigned beauties whereof Art is the workmistrisse and cause, rather than your visages: Would ye be Idolaters of the Earth which you tread on? your bodies are but of Dirt; but if you will have them endeared, where shall I find terms to express their Noisomeness? 
If Ladies would ache as much care of their souls as of their bodies, they would not hazard the loss both of one and tother.  Leave to Death his Conquest, and to the Worms their heritage, and search yourselves in that original of Immortality, from whence your souls proceed, that your actions may correspond to the Nobleness of that cause. This is the most profitable counsel which I can give You: It is time to end this Chapter.  
Great Kings I serve you this Morning instead of a page to awake You, and remembrance You that you are Men: I mean, Subjects to Death, and consequently destinated to serve as a Prey to the Worms, 
The meditation of our nothingness is a sovereign remedy against vanity.  a Shuttlecock to the sinds, and matter for to form an object of horror and astonishment to you altogether. Muse a little, that your life passeth away as a Dream; think a little that your thoughts are vain; consider at the same time, 
Men are so near of blood together, hat all bear the same name.  that all that is yours passes and flies away. You are great, but this necessity of Dying equals you to the least of your subjects. Your powers are dreadful, but a very hand-worm mocks at them: your riches are without number, but the most wretched of men carry as much into the grave as you. In fine, may all the pleasures of Life make a party in Yours, yet they are but so many Roses, whose prickles only remain to you at the instant of Death. The horror which environs You, chaseth away your greatness, 
Man hath nothing so proper to him, as the misery to which he is born.  the weakness which possesseth you, renders unprofitable your absolute powers, and only then in that shirt, which rests upon your back, are comprised all the treasures of your Coffers. Are not these verities of importance enough to break your sleep?  
I awake you then for to remembrance you this last time, 
If the earth be our mother, heaven, is our father.  that you are Men: but destined to possess the place of those evil Angels, whose Pride concaved the Abysses of Hell: that you are Men, but much more considerable for the government of your reason, than your Kingdom. That you are Men, but capable to acquire all the felicities of Heaven, if those of the Earth are by you disdained. That you are Men, but called to the inheritance of an eternal Glory, if you have no pretence to any of this world.  
Lastly, 
Though the body and soul together make up the man, there is yet as much difference between the one and the others, as between the scabbard and the sword  that you are Men: but the living images of an infinite and omnipotent one. Clear streams of immortality remount then to your eternal source, fair rays of a Sun without Eclipse rejoin yourselves then to the body of his celestial light. Perfect patterns of the divinity, unite yourselves then to it, as to the independent cause of your Being. Well may the Earth quake under your feet, your wills are Keys to the gates of its abysses: should the Water or'e-whelm again all, 
Although the puissances of the soul, work not but by the senses, the effects in this point are more noble than the cause.  your hopes cannot be shipwrack'●. That the Air fills all things may be, but your expectations admit of some vacuum. Though the Fire devour all things; the object of your hopes is above its flames, let the heavens pour down in a throng, their malignant influences here below: your souls are under covert from their affaults. Let the Sun. exhaling vapours make thereof thunders for your ruin: 
Man needs fear nothing, being alevated above all.  you are under the protection of him who ejaculates their flashes; insomuch that instead of hurting you, all things do you homage. The Earth supports you, the Water refresheth you; the Air imbreaths you, 
Man could not be more happy than he is, since God is his last felicity. To die is proper to man.  the Fire warms you; the Sun lights you, and Heaven attends you; the Angels honour you, the Devils fear you, Nature obeys you, and God himself gives himself to you to oblige you to the like reciprocation. Is not this to possess with advancement all the felicities which you can hope? I dare you to wish more.  
Awake thyself then Reader, and let thy conscience and thy misery each in its turn serve thee as a Page every morning to put thee in mind, That thou art a Man, I mean a portrait animated with Death, rather than with Life, since thou canst do nothing but die, but in this continual dying, amid the throng of evils and pains which are enjoined to thy condition; Consider also that thou art created to possess an Eternity both of life and happiness, 
How happy is man, thus to be able to be as much as he desires.  and that all these infinite good things are exposed as an aim of honour and glory to the addresses of thy will; for if thou wilt, Paradise shall be thine, though Hell gape at thee; Heaven shall be thy share, its delights thy Succession, and God alone thy Sovereign felicity.   

A PROLUSIVEVpon the EMBLEM of the second Chapter.  
SWell on unbounded Spirits, whose vast hope,  
Scorns the straight limits of all moderate  
Be Crescent still, fix not i'th' Positive, (scope,  
Grasp still at more, reach the Superlative;  
And beyond that too, and beyond the Moon;  
Yet alas but vain, and you shall find too soon,  
These great acquists are bubbles for a spurt,  
And Death will leave you nothing but your Shirt.  
Be Richest, Greatest, Pow'rfullest, and Split,  
Flames Trumpet with the blast on't, there's it,  
That's all, a Coffin, and a Sheet, and then,  
You're dead, and buried like to Common men,  
This Saladine foresaw, and wisely stoops  
Unto his Fate, 'midst his triumphant troops,  
A world of wealth, and Asiaticke Spoils,  
Guerdon his glorious military toils,  
Ensigns, and Banners shade his armies Eyes  
With flying Colours of fled enemies:  
Yet humbly he doth his chief Standard rear  
Only his Shirt displayed upon a Spear.  
Mean while his valorous Colonels were clad  
In rich Coat-armours, which they forced had  
From subdued foes, an't seemed a glorious thing,  
Each man to be apparelled like a King.  
The very common Soldier's outside spoke,  
Commander now, and did respect provoke.  
Their former ornaments were cast aside,  
Which 'fore the victory were all their pride,  
To check their Pomp; with clang'ring trumpet sound.  
A Herald loud proclaim's in Tone profound:  
See what the Emperor doth present your Eye,  
'Tis all, that you must look for when you die.  
This Shirt is all even Saladine shall have  
Of all his Trophy's with him to the grave.  
Then be not over-heightned with the splendour.  
Of your rich brav'ries, which you so much tender.  
Nor let your honours puff you, lest you find  
The breath of Fame jade ye with broken wind.  
This solemn passage of this Monarch story  
With greatest lustre doth advance his glory.  
●ALADINE Monarch of the 〈…〉 with him at his death nothing but this SHIRT. 
Victorious SALADINE caused to be Proclaimed to all his Army that he carried nothing with him to the Grave but a SHIRT after all his Conquests.    

THE MIRROR WHICH FLATTERS NOT.  
CHAP. II.  
ARrogant spirits, 
The horror and ● misery of the grave, mkes the hair stand on end to the proudest.  ambitious Hearts be silent, and lend an ear to the public, cry of this Herald, who with a voice animated with horror, and affright, as well as with compassion and truth, proclaimeth aloud, in the view of heaven and earth, and in the presence of a world of people: That, this Great SALADINE, magnificent Conquer ●ur of Asia, and Monarch of the whole East, carries away to the grave for fruit of his vistories but only a shirt, which covers the mould of his body, and even this scarp of linen too, Fortune leaves him, but to give the Worms.  
Absolute Kings, puissant Sovereigns, what will you reply to these discourses, for to you they are addressed? I doubt well, 
This necessity of dying, serves for temperament to the vanity of the greatest Monarches of the world.  that shame, confusion and astonishment, bar your speech, and that this sensible object of your proper miseries, affects you so with ruth, to force from your bosoms a thousand sighs. The greatest Monarch of the earth becomes at a clap so little, as not to be found, no, not in his miseries, for the wind gins already to carry away the dust whereof he was form. The powerfullest King of the world, is reduced to such a point of weakness, that he cannot resist the worms, after vanquishment and subjugation of entire Nations. The richest Prince of the East, takes a glory of all his treasures, to carry away but only a shirt to his Sepulchre. What can you answer to these verities?  
This famous Saladine, the terror of men, the valour of the earth, and the wonder of the world, esteems himself so happy, and so advantaged by fortune, in respect she leaves him this old rag to cover his corruption, 
Man cannot complain of the world, since at his death he gives him a shirt, which at his birth, his mother Nature refused him.  that he makes this favour, to be published with sound of trumpet in the midst of his Army, that none might be in doubt on't: what beyond this can be your pretensions? I grant you may be seated like Xerxes, upon a Throne all of massy gold, canopied with a glistering firmament of precious stones; and that on what side soever you turn your menacing, regards, you see nothing but objects humbled before your Royal Majesties. You never seat yourselves upon these Thrones of magnificence, but as it were to take leave of the assembly, 
All the ● speeches of Men are but discourses of adieu and leave taking, since● every day he marches strait forward toward Death.  continuing still to give your last God-bwyes, like a man who is upon point to departed continually, since he dies every moment. Insomuch, that all this Pomp which accompanies you, and which gives shadow to the lustre wherewith you are environed, vanishes away with you, and all those who are its admirers, and idolaters, run the same fortune, being of the same nature.  
Be it from me granted, that the report of your glory, admits no vacuity, no more than the air do, and that your name is as we known as the Sun, and more redoubted than the thunder, This voice of renown is but as the sound of a Bell, 
To what purpose doth the renown of a Man make a noise in the world the noise ceaseth, the renown passeth,  which redoubles a noise to its own detriment, to advertise those that doubt on it; and this name so famous, and dreadful, finding no memory here below to the proof of ages, buries itself at last, in the nothingness of its beginning.  
Be it again, that all the Gold of the Indies can be valued but to a part of your Estate, and that all the world together; possess less treasure than you alone; what advantage think you to bear away, more than the most miserable of the world that in this you should be vain? Enjoys not he the same Sun which lights you? 
The tranquillity of the mind and the health of body, are the only riches of the world  hath not he the same usage of the Elements, whereof you make use? But if you have more than he, a gloriousness of apparel, and a thousand other superfluous things (which are altogether estranged to virtue, as being imaginary goods, whose appearance alone is the only foundation) he may answer you with Seneca, that with whatsoever coverture a man hides the shame of his nakedness, he shall pass for well-clothed among wise men. And to come to the point; a man hath always enough where with to follow his way, and to finish his voyage. The surplus is but a burden of cares, which are metamorphosed into so many briars, when Death would discharge us of them. Besides Riches consist but in opinion, though their treasures be palpable and sensible. A man is Rich, equal to that which he believes himself to be. And though he hath nothing, 
He is the most rich, who is most content.  this grace wherewith he is treasured to find rest in his miseries, is above all the Gold of the world.  
What differrnce think you there is betwixt the Rich and the poor? both the one and the other, are equally pilgrims and travellers, and go alike to the same place. Then, if the rich pass through the fairer way, they reencounter when they die, all the thorns of those roses which they have passed upon. 
All mortals together maze a dance of blind men, who in dancing run to death without seeing the way they pass.  There is no arrival to the Haven of the grave, without being tempested sooner or later, in the storm of those miseries, which accompany u●. And methinks it is a comfort, to suffer in good time those evils, which we cannot avoid.  
Rich-ones, how miserable do I hold you, if the goods of the earth be your only treasures I Rich-ones how unhappy are you, if your felicities be but of Gold, and Silver! Rich-ones, 
The treasure of good works only enriches us eternally.  how you compel my pity of your greatnesses, if you have no other titles than those of your Lordships! Rich-ones how frightful only at the hour of Death are your names, since the misery, wherein you are born, accompanies you in the sepulchre.  
True it is, that the Air of the region where you dwell, may be very temperate, the seasons of it fair, and the lands fertile: but you consider not, that while you live, you often sigh back the air which you receive; that this sweet time, which smiles on you, entraines you in flying to the season of tears, and that very soon the dunghill of your bodies shall perhaps render the lands yet more fertile. 
The content of riches is like an odor serous fume, but ● passes, and so doth their enjoyment also, and there is all.   
The Rich Men of the world have done nought but pass away with the ages, that gave them birth: you are born in this, and this very same goes away, and leads you with it, and all the rest of Men, without skilling what you are, or in what fashion you are vested, well may you possess an infinite number of treasures; you must always troth, and rise as soon in the morning as others: but if you play the slugs, and sleep too long, 
It is strange, whether we shift place and seat or no weyet run incessantly to Death.  Death comes in the end to awake you, and interrupt your repose with an eternal disquiet. What will you say to this? The fable of Midas comprehends in it important verities; Apollo grants him all that he demands, he satiates the appetite of his unmeasurable ambition by the virtue which he gives to his touch, to be able to turn all things into gold. See him now rich for a day, his hands are as new philosophersstones, which make the grossest, and most impure metals, change both nature and price, 
To what purpose is it to be environed with riches? they are a strange kind of good, Whereof one can enjoy the usage but for a moment only  he sees himself enrounded in a moment with so great a number of treasures, that he gins to apprehend the enjoyment of those goods, which he desired with so much passion; and from fear he comes to astonishment: then, when pressed with hunger, all the Viands which he touches with his hands, lips, or tongue, are metamorphosed into Gold. O inseparable amazement; from a mortal grief, caused by a semblable regreet, that he could not limit his ambition, but to the desire of his own ruin!  
Rich-men, you are as so many Midass', since with all your treasures, you never importune heaven for any other thing, but to increase their number, to which effect you destinate your cares, your watching and your labours. But make no more imploring vows; behold yourselves at last heard. The glistering of your riches dazzles me, your greatnesses and magnificences give you cheerful tincture; yet let us see the reverse of the Medal.  
After your so many strong wishes for Gold and Silver, 
The covetous grow poor in measure as he grows rich, since in increasing his treasures, increases the famine of his insatiable avarice & thus of what be possesseth he enjoies nothing.  their treasure remains to you for to satiate, at least in dying, the unruled appetite of the ambition of your life. Riches I say environ you on all sides, after your so passionate covetise of them. But in this last instant, their possession is the saddest object, which can be presented to your thoughts. And notwithstanding 'tis the only nourishment which rests to you, amid the hunger which torments you uncessantly, as if for punishment of part of your crimes, heaven did permit, that the instruments of your pleasure should also be the same of your punishments, considering the greatness of your miseries, 
A Man carries away nothing with him at his death, but either a regreet or else a satisfaction of an evil or a good life.  by that of your unprofitable treasures: for after all you must die, and though you carry with you this desire, to bear away with you your riches into the tomb, they remain in your coffers, for to serve as witnesses to your heirs of the vanity of their enjoyment.  
The Silkworms, which have so much trouble to spin out their mouths their little golden threads, think to establish to themselves a shelter of honour, to the proof of all sorts of atteints, and on the contrary, they warp the web of their own ruin. Just so is it with the Rich ones of the world, who by an ingenious industry, 
To what effect is it to seek repose in this world it is never to be found but in God.  employ all their assays, to lay  foundations here below of an immortal life, and yet all their actions cannot but terminate in an end contrary to their designs; since they search Eternity in the circles of Ages, always in revolution, and repose in the perpetual instability of all worldly things. Insomuch, that they trouble themselves to suffer much, and all their cares and pains, are but as fresh sowings of 
* See the ambiguity of the French word Souties, in the first Chapter.  Marigolds, which dying in their gardens, respring in their hearts, there to die never. Behold the end of their journeywork.  
Treasures, to what effect serve you me, if I must enter all naked into the grave? Pleasures, what becomes of your sweets, if my last sighs are but bitterness? Grandeurs of this life, in what stéad you meif you cannot exempt me from the miseries of death?  
LORD, I am rich enough in that I serve for an object of pity to thy adorable Providence, whose o'er liberal boundry furnishes me for all my day's nourishment enough to pass them, what can I wish more? on what side somever I take my way to go the course of Death, 
Heaven is an object of consolation to the most miserable.  I can never lose from view the heavens, which are the Gates of thy Palace. Insomuch, as if any thing fail me, I have but to strike there with my regards, thou art always upon a ready watch, to secure the miserable. Supply me then, O LORD, if it please thee, with thy ordinary charities, and since that hope dies after me, I will rather cease to be, then to hope in thee. These are the strongest resolutions of my soul.  
We read of the children of Israel, 
We beg of God every day new favours and every day we render ourselves unthankfully for those we have received.  that having received of God an infinity of riches, at their coming out of the red Sea, by the wrack of their enemies, they made of their treasures, Idols, and joining in this sort Idolatry to Ingratitude, they erected altars to their brutality, since under relief of a brute beast, they represented their God.  
But leave we there the children of Israel, and speak of the Father● of BABYLON, I mean those wicked rich ones of the world, to whom God hath done so great favours, in heaping them with so many goods. Are not they every day convicted of Idolatry, in their unacknowledgement, since the coffers of their treasures are the Idols of their temples? 
Are we worthily Christians, when idolatry is more familiar to us then to infidels since we make idols of all the objests of our passions?  More beasts than brutes, in their voluntary depravedness; they offer incense to their brutish passions; and no otherwise able, but to erect them secret altars in their souls, they there sacrifice every hour a thousand sighs to a● unsatiable abition. Insomuch, that the God of heaven is the God of their dissimulation, and the Calf of Gold, the God of their belief, and opinion.  
Say we then boldly, that the objects of our passions are Golden Calves to us, since our hearts become their Idolaters. One here will sigh for love of honours, as well as for his Mistress, with design to hazard a thousand lives, and as many souls, for the conquest of their vain felicities: and see here his idolatry, making his God of these Chimeras of honour, which vanish away like a Dream, at the rousing up of our reason.  
Another there, 
What folly is it, to seek repeses in the world, which subsists only in revolution?  will lose quite and clean, all the peace wherein he is of a quiet life, for to set up a rest purely imaginary in the amassement of treasures. And if heaven hearing his votes, with design to punish him, gives some favourable success to his cares, and watch, he becomes an Idolater now indeed, an Idoloter of those goods, which as yet he adored but in hope, and renders himself miserable, sor having desired too ardently felicities, which only bear the voice to be so, 
The goods of the earil are right evils, and at Death each one shall so experiment them.  but their usage and possession may prove as dangerous upon the earth, as Rocks within the Sea.  
One will have his heart wounded, and his Soul attained with a new trick of ambition, and as all his desires and thoughts are terminated to the objects of his designs, he is never in health, while the fever of his passion is continual. I leave you to consider of what ratiocination he can be capable, during the malady of his spirit. All sorts of ways seem equally fair unto him, for to guide him unto the port whither he aspires, having no other aim but this to acquire, at what rate some-ever that good whereof he is in Quest; and of this Good, it is whereof he makes his Idol, after a shameful immolation of the best days of his Life, to the anxieties of its possession.  
Another-will establish his repose in the turmoil of the word, turning his spirit to all winds, to be under covert from the tempests of fortune. Blind as he is, he follows this Goddess with the hoodwinked eyes. Wavering as he is, he aspires but after the savours of this inconstant Deity, of which he is secretly an idolater, but if perchance she elevate him very high, there is no more hazard of his fall, the laws of this necessity are inviolable, and one cannot avoid the rigour of them, if not avoiding their servitude. Insomuch, that after he hath sneaked himself a long time amongst the grandeurs of the earth, he finds himself enlabirinthed in the miseries, wherein he is born without possessing any thing in propritie, but the usance of a puff of wind, which enters once again at last into his entrails, to force thence the last sigh. And thus he becomes the Victim of the Idol of his passions, without purifying nevertheless from the sacrifice of his life the soil of those offerings, which he hath made upon the altars of Vanity. Behold the sad issue of this Dedalean labyrinth, 
If the fruition of all the world together were to be sold, it were not wort so much b trouble a to open s the mouth only to ● say, I will not buy it  wherein so many of the world take pleasure to intricate themselves in.  
O how Rich is he, LORD, who hath thy love and fear for his treasure? O how happy is he, who hath for object of felicity the contempt of these things of the world! O how Contented is he, who thinks always of eternal delights! To have many riches for a hundred years, is not this to possess at the end of that term a Good, which is as good, as never to have been. Taste greedily the sweets of every sort of prosperity, during the reign of a long life; is it not ready to die by little and little for grief to abandon them since in flying away, they intrain us into the grave. To pant continually for joy in the presence of a thousand pleasures is it not to prepare in one's breast, the matter of as many griefs? 
A wicked rich Man is much astonished at his Death, to have his conscience void of good works, and his coffers full of money, since with all the gold of the world, he cannot purchase the grace of the least repentance.  since every contentment is a disposition to a kind of martyrdom, by the necessary and infallible privation of its sweets, whereof while we taste on't, it menaceth us. In fine, to have all things at wish, is it not to possess vain businesses since the world has nothing else to offer us? The riches which Fortune gives and takes away again when she will, can never enrich a Man, it behoves him to seek his treasure in the mines of his conscience, so to be under covert from sin; for otherwise he runs the same hazard, as of the goods which he possesses, I mean in their decay, to lose himself with them. The prosperities of the earth, are once more fresh flowers of the garden, fair to the eye, and of good sent, but 'tis to much purpose to gather them, and make nosegays; in holding them one holds nothing, because their fragility renders them so slippery, that they 'scape both from our eyes and hands, and though their slight be be slow, one day only is all their durance. The pleasures of the world are of the same nature, I grant they may have some agreeableness to charm our senses, yet it were too vain to vaunt of their possession, though one en joys them, for so much as they slip a way, 
The arrival of pleasures annunciates us always their speedy departure.  & vanish without cease from our eyes, like the always flitting water trills. Their sway hath so short limits, that each moment may be the term on't. Solid contentments are only found in heaven, and the only means to relish them beyond all sweets, is continually to Muse on them, for having always our spirit arrested upon meditation of an object so delicious, our thoughts draw thence by their virtue this efficacy, to ravish us with joy. I return to my first proposition.  
That the greatest Monarch of the world, 
The good or ill which we do, accompanies us to the grave.  after possession of all things to his wish, and having led a thousand times fortune herself in triumph, upon the territories of his Empire should in conclusion be exposed all naked in his Shirt, at the end of his career, to serve for a prey to the worms, and a shuttlecock to the winds, certes a man must needs be very insensible, not to be touched with affright at these truth●.  
Great Kings, 
The misprizall of riches, is the only treasure of life.  if you have not other Mines of Gold more precious than those of the India's; you shall die as poor as you were born: and as tearer were the first witnesses of your misery, sighs shall be the last of your poverty, carrying with you this regreet into the grave, to have possessed all things, 
If we would acquire Heaven, we ought to have to presence to Eatrh.  and now to find yourselves in estate of enjoying nothing.  
Great Kings, if you have no other marks of sovereignty, but this of the large extent of your territories, the tribute which your subjects shall render you at the end of the journal, shall be very little, since the long spaces of your Empire shall be bounded with sevenfoot.  
Great Kings, if you have no other treasures than those of the rent of your Demeanes, all those goods are false, and the regreet of their privation too true. But if you doubt of this yet, 
The rents of virtues demeanes are not subject to fortune.  consult the dumb oracle of the Ashes of your Ancestors, and the truth will answer for them, that they never have had any thing more proper to them than misery, nothing more sensible than disasters, and that with all the riches which they have enjoyed during life, they have not been able to procure at the hour of Death, more than that piece of linen, wherein they are enveloped.  
Great Kings, 
True valour hath no other objest, but the conquest of eternal things.  if you have no other Philosopher-stone but this, the conquest which your valour may make, all your greatness, and all your riches, shall be enclosed in the coffins, wherein you shall be buried. For, all that Fortune shall give you to day, death shall take from you to morrow, and the day after, one may count you in the rank of the most miserable. I will again change tone.  
What a contagious malady in this age, wherein we are; is this passion of amassing treasures! All the world would be rich, as if Paradise were bought with ready money, 
If one knew the peril of being rich be would only be in love with poverty.  and that the commerce of our safety were a public Bank, where the most covetous render themselves the most happy. Every one makes bravado of his acquists, and poyzeth his felicities to the balance of his riches, being never able to be otherwise content, but in reference to the measure of what he is estated in.  
There one will assume a pride to have ten thousand Acres of wood, whose revenue, 
We may call man a tree, whose root is-the immortal soul, and the fruits which it bears are of the same nature, either for glory or punishment.  nourisheth his passions, and entertains his pleasures. Insomuch, that he considers not that these trees are laden but with the fruit of these world-miseries; and of all togethet he shall bear away, but the branch of one only, which shall serve very soon for a Bier to his carcase. See in what consists the profit of his rents, after their account made.  
Another will be rich only in meadows, and changing his hay into Gold which is but Earth, he fills therewith his coffers. But Fool, that he is, he thinks not that his life is a Meadow his body the hay thereof and time the Mower, 
The world is a Meadow, and all the objects which therein we admire, are flowers, which fade every hour.  who by his example makes public traffic of the same merchandise, changing by little & little the hay of his body into Earth. And is not this to be very ingenious to cheat a man's self?  
Another's aim is only to be rich in buildings, some the country, some the city, and assuming vanity from the number, as well as the magnificenee of his Palaces, he believes that they are so many Sanctuaries of proof, against the strokes of fortune, or the thunders of heaven. What a folly is this, to esteem one's self happy, for having divers cabins upon earth, to put himself under convert from the rain, and wind; during the short journey of life? The rain ceases, the wind is past, and life dies, and then the tempest of a thousand eternal anguishes comes to entertain him, without possibility of discovery, even from hope, one only port of safety. To be only rich then, in aedifices, is to be rich in castles of paper and cards, such as little children lodge their petty cares in.  
To what purpose steads it us to be richly lodged, 
We must build upon the unshakeable foundations of eternity, if a man would be sheltered from all sorts of storms.  if every hour of the day may be that of our departure? Men trouble themselves to build houses of pleasure, but the pleasures fade away, and we also, and these houses remain for witnesses of our folly, and for sensible objects of sorrow, and grief, in that cruel necessity to which we are reduced to abandon them. It is to be considered that we are born to be travellers and Pilgrims & as such, are we constrained to march always strait to the gis● of Death, 
Though we say Sun sets every night, yet it rests not: and so Man, though he lay himself to sleep, rests not from hisvoyage to Earth.  without ever resting, or being able to find repose even in repose itself. To what then are all these magnificent Palaces, when our only retreat beats on to the grave? To what end are all this great number of structures, when we are all in the way, and point to end our voyage? O how well is he housed, that lodgeth his hope in God, and lays the foundations of his habitation upon Eternity! A good conscience is the richest house that one can have.  
Another designs his treasures in numerous Shipping, traficking with all winds, in spite of storms and tempests: but be it granted a perpetual calm as heart could wish, and imagine we, (as himself does) that he shall fish with Fortune's nets, all the Pearls of the Ocean; what can he do at the end with all his ventures? if he truck them away, he can gain but stuff of the same price, if he sell them, he does but change white purified earth for yellow, which the Sun purifies as well within the mines what will he do now with this new merchandise, or this his gold? behold him always in trouble to discharge himself of so many burdens. If gold were potable, he might perhaps nourish himself therewith for a while; but as Midas could not do it in the fable, he will never bring it to pass in the verity: he must needs keep watch then day and night to the guard of his riches; and well may he keep sentinel, Death comes to rob him of them, since at his going out of the world she takes them away from him. What appearance is there, that the treasures of the Sea should be able to make a man rich, since the possession of all the world together cannot do it. 
The treasure of good works, is eternal riches.  A hundred thousand ships are but a hundred thousand shuttle-cockes for the wind and a hundred thousand objects of shipwreck. Suppose they arrive to the Port, the life of their Master is always among rocks, for 'tis a kind of ship, which cannot arrive at other shore, but at the bank of the grave. And I leave you to consider what danger he may run, 
Our life is a Ship, which losing from the Haven, to the cradle at the moment of our birth, never comes ashore again, till it run aground upon the grave.  if there the storm of his avaricious passion cast him. The sand-blind-sighted may foresee his ruin, and the most judicious will believe it infallible. Behold in fine a man rich to much purpose, that would have drained by his ambition, the bottomless depths of the Ocean, and now to find himself in the end of his career, in the abysses of hell, having an Eternity of evils for recompense of an age of anxieties, which he hath suffered during his life.  
Lord, if I would be rich in wood, let it be in that of thy Cross, & from henceforth let its fruits be my revenues, and my rents. If I would traffic in meads; Let the meditation of the hay of my life, be my only profit. If I set myself to build houses, 
He which puts his trust in God, is the richest of the world, how poor soever he be.  let it be rather for my soul than for my body, and in such sort, that my good works may be the stones, & the purity of my conscience the foundation. And lastly, If I would travel the seas to go to the conquest of their treasures: let my tears be the waves thereof, and my sighs the winds, and thy grace alone, the only object of my riches.  
Make me then rich, O LORD, if it please thee, by the only misprise of all the treasures of the Earth, and teach this secret language to my heart, 
It is already sufficient enjoyment of rest and quiet to set up ones rest in God only.  never to speak but of thee in its desires, nor of other than thyself in its hopes, since of thee alone, and in thee only lies the fullness of its perfect felicity and sovereign repose. Let us not rest our selves in so fair a way.  
I cannot comprehend the design of these curious Spirits, who go seeking the Philosophers-stone in that Spittle, where an infinite number of their companions are dead of regreet to have so ill employed their time. They put all they have to the quest of that which never was, and burning with desire to acquire wealth, they reduce all their own into cinders, and their lungs also with vehement puffing, without gaining other recompense at the end of their labours, 
The love of God is the only Philosopher-stone, since by it a man may acquire eternal treasures.  but this, now to know their folly: but the Sun sets, the candle goes out, the bed of burial is prepared, there must be their Enter at the Exit of so many unprofitable pains. To what purpose serves it now, to know they are fools, having no more time to be wise.  
What cruel Malady of spirit is it to sacrifice both one's body and soul in and unlucky alymbick, for to nourish a vain ambition, whose irregular appetite can never be satisfied? Is not this to take pleasure in kindling the fire which consumes us? to burn perpetually with desire of being rich in this world, 
An inclination toward the misprise of Earth, is a presage of the getting of Heaven.  and yet get nothing by it: And then to burn again eternally in hell, without possibility to quench the ardour of those revenging flames: is not this to warp ones-self the web of a fate, the most miserable that ever was?  
Produce we then of nothing the creation of this Philosopher-stone, and grant we it made at present to the hearts of the most ambitious. I am content that from the miracles of this Metamorphosis they make us see the marvels of a new gallery of silver, like to that which bare NERO to the Capitol. I am content that they make pendant at the point of a needle, as SEMIR AMIS, the price of twenty millions of gold. I am content that after the example of 
* Atabili, King of Peru. The World is aptly compared to the Sea, since as the storms of this, so are the miseries of that, and like flitting billows ever rolling so are all the objects which we here admire.  Atabalipas, they pave their halls with Saphires. I am pleased, that imitating Cyrus, they enround their gardens with perches of gold. I am content, that the Dryads of their fountains be composed of the same material, following the magnificences of Cesar. I am content that they erect with Pompey an Amphitheatre all covered with plates of Gold. I am content they build a Palace of Ivory, there to lodge another Melaus, or a Lovure of Crystal to receive therein an other Drusus, and let (I am content still) this Lovure be ornamented with court-cupboards of Pearls equal to those of Scaurus, and with coffers of the same price as that of Darius. To what will all this come to in the end? What may be the reverse of all these medals? The scorching heat of Time, and the Suns-beams have melted this gallery of silver, its admirers are vanished, and its propriety. Even Rome itself hath run the like fate, and though it subsist yet, 'tis but only in name, 
'Tis a Rule without exception, that all that it included in the revolution of Time, is subject to change.  its ruins mourn at this day the death of its glory. That so Precious Pendant of Semiramis could not be exempt from a kind of Death, though it were inanimate. I mean that in its insensibility, it hath received the attaints of this Vicissitude, which altars and destroys all things, since it now appears no more to our eyes. All those Saphir-paved halls are passed away, though Art had enchained them in beautiful Workemanships. They have had otherwise a glittering lustre, like the Sun; but this Planet jealous of them, hath refused in the end its clearness, so much as to their ruins; insomuch that they are vanished in obscurity. These gardens environed with rails of gold, have (like others) divers Spring-times, to renew their growth, but one Winter alone was enough to make them die. Those Dryads which every these fountains are fled upon their own water-trils, and scarce remains us their remembrance. That proud Amphitheatre of Pompey could not eternize itself, but in the memory of men, and yet we scarce know what they say, 
Meditate here a little, how oft the face of the Earth hath been varied since its first creation.  when they speak on't. That Ivory Palace of Melaus goes for a fable in histories, being buried in the Abysses of non-entity. That famous Lovure of Crystal having been bustled against by Time is broken, and shivered into so many pieces, 
There it is othing so certain in the world, as its uncertainty.  that not so much as the very dust on't subsist, but in the confused Idea of things, which have been other-while. All those high cup-boards of Pearl, 
† Fui, & nihil amplius.  and all those coffers of great price have indeed had an appearance like lightning, but the thunderbolt of inconstancy hath reduced them into ashes, and the memory of them is preserved in ours, but as a dream, since in effect it is no more at all.  
But if the precious wonders of past ages; have done nothing but passo away together, with their admirers and owners, is it not credible, that those covetous rich ones, did run the same fortune with all the treasures of their Philosopher-stone, and at the end of their career, what device could they take but this very same of SALADINE, since of all their riches, there remains them at their Death, but only a poor Shirt, * I have been, says this great Monarch and behold, here's all.  
Why, Rich-ones of the World, do you trouble yourselves so much, to establish your glory here below, for to persuade us at the end of the journal only this, That you have been? An atom has the same advantage, for this creating power, which we adore, after he had taken it out of the abysses of nothing, wherein you also were buried, made it to subsist in nature. Be it that you have been the greatest on Earth, 
Yet thus is it a blessedness of our condition, thus to escape by little and little the miseries which are incident unto us.  yet now the fair light of your fair days, is extinguished for ever. The Sun of your glory is ccclipsed, and in an eternal West. And that your fate which interloomed the web of your greatnesses, together with your lives, lies entombed with your Ashes, to show us that these are the only unhallowed relics which your Ambition could leave us.  
You have been then otherwhile the only Minions of Fortune, like Demetrius, but he and you are now no more any thing, not so much as a handful of Ashes; for less than with an Infinite power, 'twere impossible to any, to reunite into a body, the parcels of the Dust, whereof your Carcases were form, behold in what consists at this day, the foundation of your past glory.  
You have been then otherwhile the same as SALADINE the only Monarch of the East, and have possessed (as he) treasures without number, 
If virtue eternize not our memory, our life passeth away like the wind, without leaving any trace.  and honours without parallel: But (as He) also you have done nothing else but pass away, and like him again you have not been able to hid your wretchedness, but under a Scarp of Linen, whereof the Worms have repasted, to manifest you to all the World.  
In fine, you have been other-while the wonders of our days, but now you are the horror of this present, for the only thought o● the dung-heap of your Ashes po●sons my spirit, so delicate is't, and ● leave farther provocation to the in credulous, if they be willing to 〈◊〉 stronger witnesses of it, but let 〈◊〉 now leave persovall reflections, an● trouble we not the repose of Churchyards.  
I grant that you may be at th● instant that I speak unto you, so ri●● and happy, that you cannot wi●● more of Fortune, nor She able ● offer you more: 
He which esteems himself rich and happy in this world, knows not the nature of worldly happiness and riches.  Yet thus ought you to consider where you are, who you are, and what are the goods which you possess. You are in the World, where all things fly away, and 'tis in this way of flying away, that you read these verities: my meaning is, you dwell upon the same earth, whereof you are form, and consequently you lodge upon your buriall-places, whose entrances will be open at all moments. To say whoyou are, I am ashamed, in calling you by your proper names, for to remembrance you your miseries: Corruption conceives you, Horror infants you, Blood nourishes you, infection accompanies you in the Coffin. 
There is nothing so constantly present with us, as our miseries, since always we are miserable enough at best.  The treasures which you enjoy are but Chimaeras of greatness and apparitions of glory, whereof living you make experiment, and dying you perfectly know the truth on't.  
To what end then can stead you your present felicities, since at present you scarce enjoy them at all? for even at this veric inst●● another, which is but newly upon pass, robs you of part of them, and even thus giving you hi●● of the cozenage of his companions, cheats you too, as well as they; and thus they do altogether to your lives, as well as your contentments; in ravishing these, they intrain the others: then what remonstrance can you exhibit of esteeming your sel●es happy for past felicities, and which you have not enjoyed but in way of departed? And if this condition be agreeable unto you, still there is a necessity of setting up your rest at the end of the career, and there it is, where I attend to contribute to your vain wail, as many resentments' o● pity. 
How much better it is to be so happy in fishing, as to angle for grace, in the tears of penitence?  Take we another tract without losing ourselves.  
How ingenious was that famous Queen of Egypt, to deceive with good grace her Lover. S●● caused underhand dead fishes to be ensnared to the hook of Antony, as often as the toy took his to go a fishing, to the end to make him some sport by those pleasant deceits. May we not say that Ambition doth the same? for when we cast our hooks into this vast Ocean of the vanities, of the world, we fish but Dead things without soul, whose acquirement countervailes not a moment of the Time, which we employ to attain it.  
Had I all the goodliest farthels of the world laded on my back; I mean, had I acquired all the honours, wherewith fortune can tickle an ambitious soul, should I thence become greater of body? my growing time is past, 
'Tis to no purpose to be passiorate for such goods as a man may lose, and the world can give no better.  would my Spirit thence become more excellent? these objects are too weak to ennoble her Powers. Should I thence become more virtuous? Virtue looks for no satisfaction out of itself. Should I thence be more esteemed of the world? This is but the glory of a wind, which doth but pass away. What happiness what contentment, or what utility, would remain me then, that I might be at rest? A Man must not suffer himself thus to be fooled All honours can be but a burden to an innocent soul, for so much as they are continual objects o● vanity, which stir up the passion and only serve but for nourishment to them in their violences to hurry them into all sorts o● extremities. And after all, the necessity of dying, which makes an inseparable accident in our condition, gloomes the glittering of all this vain glory, which environs us. In the anguishs o● Death, a man dreams not of the grandeurs of his life, 
'Tis an irkssome remembrance of past happiness  & being eve● and anon upon point to departed finds himself often afflicted m● with those good things which 〈◊〉 possesseth, measuring already the depth of the fall by the height 〈◊〉 the place whither he is exalted.  

* Galba.  He which found Fortune at 〈◊〉 gate, found no nail to stay he wheel: But if She on the one 〈◊〉 takes a pleasure to ruin Empire to destroy realms, and to precipitate her favourites: Death on 〈◊〉 other side pardons no body, altars the temperament of all sorts of humours, perverts the order of every kind of habitude, and not content yet to beat down all these great Colossuses of Vanity, which would be taken for the world's wonders, calls to the sharing of their ruin the elements, thus to bury their materials in their first abysses, where she hath designed the place of their entombment.  
What can a Mau then find constant in the world, 
All things pass away, and by their way tell us that we must do so too.  where constancy doth no where reside? Time, Fortune, Death, our passions, and a thousand other stumbling blocks shall never speak other language to us but of our miseries, and yet we will suffer ourselves like ALEXANDER to be voiced immortal. Our prosperities, our grandeurs, our very delights themselves, shall tell us, as they pass, a word in our ear, that we ought not to trust them, and yet for all this, we will never sigh but after them. Be it then at last for very regreet, to have vented to the wind so many vain sighs, for Chimaeras of sweets, whereof the remembrance cannot be but full of bitterness.  
Vain honours of the world, 
No security of pleasure, to enjoy such things as may every moment be lost.  tempt me no more: your allurements are powerful, but too weak to vanquish me. I deride your wreaths of Laurel, there grows more on'● in my garden than you can give me. If you offer me esteem, and reputation among men, what should I do with your presents? Time devours every day the like of them; and yet more precious. I undervalue all such Good-things, as it can take away again from me.  
Deceit full greatnesses of the Earth, cease to pursue me, you shall never catch me, your charms have given some hits to my heart, 
Worldly Greatnesses are but like Masking● , which serve him and the other but for that time.  but not to my soul, your sweets have touch my senses, but not my spirit; what have you to offer me, which can satisfy me? Time and Fortune lend you all the Sceptres and Crowns which you borrow, and as you are not the owners, they take them away again when they will, and not when it pleaseth you. So then, I will have no Sceptres for an hour nor no Crowns for a day. If I have desire to reign, 'tis beyond Time; that I may thus be under shelter from the inconstancy of Ages. Trouble not yourselves to follow me. This world is a mass of mire, upon which a man may make impress of all sorts of Characters, but not hinder Time to deface the draught at any time. Ambitious Spirits, fair leave have you to draw the Stell of your designs upon this ready primed cloth: Some few years wipe out all. Some ages carry away all, and the remembrance of your follies is only immortal in your souls, by the eternal regreet which remains you of them.  
SCIPIO made design to conquer Carthage, and after he had cast the project thereof upon mould, he afterwards took the body of this shadow, and saw the effect of his desires: But may not one say, that the Trophies of his valour have been cast in rubbish within that mass of dirt, whereof the world is composed, since all the marks thereof are effaced? Carthage it self though it never had life, could not avoid its death. Time hath buried it so deep under its own ruins, that we seek in vain the place of its Tomb. I leave you to ruminate, if its subduer were himself able to resist the assaults of this Tyranny.  
If ALEXANDER had sent his thoughts into heaven, there to seek a new world, as well as his desires on earth there to find one, he had not lost his time; but as he did amuse himself to engrave the history of his ambition and triumphs upon the same mass of clay, 
There is more glory to despise the world, than to conquer it: for after its conquest, a man knower not what to do with it.  which he had conquered; he writ upon water, and all the characters on't are defaced. The Realms which he subdued, have lost some of them their names, & of this Triumpher there remains us but the Idea as of a dream, since men are ready to require Security even of his Memory, for the wonders which it preacheth to us of him  
May we not then again justly avow, that of all the conditions, to which a man may be advanced without the aid of virtue, either by Nature or Fortune, there is none more infortunate, then to be to these a favourite, norany more miserable than to a Great-one? 
All those who engage themselves to the service of fortune, are ill paid; and of this, every day gives us experience.  This inconstant goddess hath a thousand favours to lend, but to give, none but halter's poisons, pomards and precipices. 'Tis a fine thing to see Hannibal begging his bread even in view of Scipio, after he had called in question the price of the world's Empiredome. Is it not an object worthy of compassion, to consider Nicias upon his knees before Gillippus, to beg his own and the Athenians lives, after he had in a manner commanded the winds at Sea, and Fortune ashore, in a government sovereignly absolute, who will not have the same resentments of pity, reading the history of Crassus, then when by excess of disaster he survived both his glory and reputation, constrained to assist at the funerals of his own renown, 
All those who hound after fortune, are well pleased to be deceived, since her deceits are so well known.  and undergo the hard conditions of his enemies, attending death to free him from servitude? Will you have no regreet, to see enslaved under the tyranny of the Kings of Egypt, the great Agesilaus, whose valour was the only wonder of his Time? What will you say to the deplorable Fate of Cumenes, to whom Fortune having offered so often Empires, gives him nothing in the end, but chains, so to die in captivity?  
You see at what price Men have bought the favours of this Goddess, when many times the severity of a happy life produceth the storm of an unfortunate Death. You may judge also at the same time, of what Nature are these heights of honour, when often the Greatest at Sun-rise, finds themselves at the end of the Day, the most miserable. And suppose Fortune meddle not with them, to what extremity of misery think you is a man reduced at the hour of his departure? All his Grandeurs, though yet present, are but as past felicities, he enjoys no more the goods which he possesses, greess only appertain to him in proper, and of what magnificence soe'er he is environed, 
I wonder not if rich men be afraid of death, since to them it is more dreadful then to any.  this object shows him but the image of a funeral pomp, his bed already Emblems the Sepulchre, the Sheets his winding linen, wherein he must be enveloped. So that if he yet conceit himself Great, 'tis only in misery. Since all that he see●, hears, touches, smells, and tastes, sensibly persuades him nothing else.  
Give Resurrection in your thoughts, to great Alexander, and then again conceive him at last gasp, and now consider in this deplorable estate, 
Fortune sells every day the gtory of the world to any that will, but none but fools are her chapmen.  wherein he finds himself involved upon his funeral couch, to what can stead him all the grandeurs of his life past, they being also past with it. I grant that all the Earth be his: yet you see how the little load of that of his body weighs so heavy on his soul, that it is upon point to fall grovelling under the burden. I grant that all the glory of the world belongs to him in proper, he enjoys nothing but his miseries. I yield moreover, that all Mankind may be his subjects: yet this absolute sovereignty, is not exempt from the servitude of pain. Be it, that with the only thunder of his voice he makes the Earth to tremble: yet he himself cannot hold from shaking at the noise of his own sighs. I grant in fine, that all the Kings of the world render him homage: yet he is still the tributary of Death.  
O grandeurs! since you fly away without cease, what are you but a little wind? and should I be an Idolater of a little tossed Air, 
Omnis motus tendit ad quietem.  and which only moves but to vanish to its repose?  
O greatness! since you do but pass away, what name should I give you but that of a dream? Alas, why should I pass my life in your pursuit, still dreaming after you?  
O worldly greatnesses, since you bid Adieu to all the world without being able to stay yourselves one only moment; Adieu then, your allurements have none for me, your sweets are bitter to my taste, and your pleasures afford me none. I cannot run after that which flies: I can have no love for things which pass away; 
worldly Greatnesses are but children's trifles, every wise man despises them.  and since the world hath nothing else, 'tis a long while that I have bidden adieu to it. It had promised me much, and though it had given me nothing, yet cannot I reproach it, finding myself yet too rich by reason of its hardness. But I return to the point.  
Men of the World would persuade us, that it is impossible to find any quiet in it, to say, 
The only means to be content is to settle the conscience in peace.  a firm settling of Spirit, wherein a man may be content in his condition, without ever wishing any other thing. And for my part, I judge nothing to be more easy, if we leave to reason its absolute power. What impossibility can there be, to regulate a man's will to Gods? And what contradiction in't, to live upon earth of the pure benedictions of heaven? What greater riches can a man wish then this, to be able to undergo the Decrees of his Fate, without murmuring and complaint? If Riches consisted only in Gold, Diamonds, Pearls, or such like things of like rarity, those which have not of them, might count themselves miserable. But every man carries his treasure in his conscience. He which lives without just scandal, lives happily; and and who can complain of a happy life?  
But if to have the hap of these felicities of this life, 
Riches are of use to human life, but not of necessity, for without them a man may live content.  a man judge presently, that he ought of nececessity to have a great number of riches: This is to enslave himself to his own opinion, abounding in his proper sense, and condemning reason: for being of the contrary part. I know well that a man is naturally swayed to love himself more than all things of the world, and that this love proceeds from the passion of our interest, seeking with much care and pain, all that may contribute to our contentments; and whereas Riches seem to be Nurses of them, this consequence is incident to be drawn, that without them is no contented living. But at first dash, 
When Reason reigns, the passions obey.  it is necessary to distinguish this love into Natural and Brutal, and believe, that with the illumination of reason, we may purify the relishes of the first, even to the point of rendering them innocent, without departing from our interests, and consequently the enjoyment of our pleasures, giving them for object, the establishment of our settled content, in misprision of all those things of the world, which may destroy it.  
As for this brutish Love, which estranging us from God, separates us also from ourselves; the passion of it becomes so strong by our weakness, that without a special grace we grow old in this malady of Spirit of contenting our Senses, rather than obeying our Reason, making a new God of the Treasures of the Earth. But in conclusion, these Gods abandon our bodies to the Worms, and our souls to the Devils. And for all their riches, the greatest Great ones can only purchase a glorious Sepulture. Is not this a great advantage, and a goodly consolation?  
Maintain we boldly, 
He whose will submits to Gods will, lives ever content.  that a man may find quietness of life in all sorts of conditions, with the only richness of a tractable Soul, resigned to take the time as it comes, & as God sends it, without ever arguing with his providence. There is no affliction, whereto our Soul cannot give us assuage. 
The Spirit of a Man will bear his infirmity.  There is no ill whereto itself is not capable to furnish us a remedy. A man, how miserable somever, may find his contentment amidst his miseries, if he lives for his soul more than for his body's behalf. God makes us to be born where he will, and of what Parents he pleases: if the poorness of our birth accompany us even to death, he hath so ordained it; what can else do but let him so do? Can he be accounted miserable, that obeys with good grace his sovereigns decrees?  
O, 
'Tis a greater danger to be very rich, than viry poor: for riches often makes men lose their way, but poverty keeps 'em in the strait path.  how is it far more easy to undergo the burden of much poverty then of great riches! For a man extremely poor, is troubled with no thoughts more important, then only how to find means to pass his life in the austerities whereto he is already habituated, without repining after other fortune, as being estranged equally both from his knowledge and reach; in which respects, he may well be styled happy. But a man very rich, dreams of nothing but to eternize the continuance of his days (although his fancy be in vain) instead of letting them quietly slide away; insomuch, that being possessed with no passion more than love of life, he thinks always to live, and never to die. But Death comes ere he thinks on't, and taking from him all to his very shirt, 
Death cannot be said to deceive any body, for it is infallible, and yet the world complaint of it.  constrains him to confess, that riches are only profitable by misprision, since by the contempt a man makes of them, he may become the richest of the world.  
O what a sensible pleasure 'tis to be Rich, say worldly men always! but I would fain know, in what consists this contentment? what satisfaction can there be had to possess much treasure, knowing what an infinite number of our companions are reduced to the last point of poverty? Some in Hospitals, where they he in straw, over whelmed with a thousand fresh griefs. Others at the corner of a street, where a piece of a Dunghill serves them at once, both for bed and board. Some again in Dungeons, where horror and affright, hunger and despair tyrannize equally over their unfortunate spirits. And others in some Desert, to which ill fate has confined them, to make their ills remediless, as being far removed from all sorts of succours. How with the knowledge of these truths, 
There is no emptiness in nature, for miseries fill all  a man shall be able to relish greedily the vain sweets of worldly riches, it must needs be for want of reason or pity, and consequently to be altogether brutish or insensible. I shall have (suppose) a hundred thousand crowns in rents, and all this revenue shall serve but to nourish my body and its pleasures, without considering, that a hundred thousand poor souls sigh under the heavy burden of their miseries every Day: and yet men shall esteem me happy in being rich in this fate. O how dangerous are the treasures, which produce these felicities!  
Is it possible, 
It is a brave generosity, to be sensible of othermen's miseries.  that the Great-ones of the world do not think at all in the middle of their Feasts, of the extreme poverty of an infinite number of persons, and that in themselves they do not reason secretly in this sort. What? in this instant that we satiate the appetite of our senses, with all that nature hath produced most delicious for their entertain; a million and many more poor souls, are reduced to this extremity, as not to have one only crumb of bread. And in this serious thought what relish can they find in their best-cooked cates, and in their sweetest condiment? does not this important consideration, mingle a little bitterness? But if their spirits estrange themselves from these meditations, and fasten to objects more agreeable. O how hard of digestion is the second service of their collation! He which cannot love his neighbour, hath no love for himself.  
To speak ingenuously, every time when I consider in that condition exempt from want, wherein God hath given me birth, and wherein his goodness (which is no other than himself) keeps me still alive. I say, when I consider the misery to which the greatest part of the world is reduced, I cannot be weary of blessing this adorable Providence, which grants me to see from the haven, the tempests wherein so many spirits are tossed which grace to me alone (me thinks) is all extraordinary to see myself under shelter, 
All in God is adorable, and all incomprehensible; we must then adore, & be silent.  from so many evils, wherewith so many persons are afflicted. By what means could I deserve, before the Creation of all things, that this sovereign Creator should design me from the Abysses of nothing, to give me Being, and a being moreover of grace, making me to be born in a Golden age, in a Christian Kingdom, and in a City of the Catholic Faith, for to be instructed and brought up as I have been in the only Religion, wherein a man may find his Salvation? and with all these benefits, moreover, to elevate me above the temptations of poverty & misery.  
Are not these most pure favours which would require of this Eternal ONE, (who hath bestowed them me) the term of an Eternity, that I might be able to arrive to some small condign acknowledgement of them? The most miserable wretch of the world, wherein did he differ from me in way of merit of some portion of these favours, which he possesseth not; since that before time was; he and I were nothing at all, and yet from all eternity God hath bestowed these things on me in precedency, rather than on him? At least (say I) it did behoove me, that since the first moment, I was capable of reason; I had employed all those of my life passed in the continual meditation of so many, and so great benefits, whereof to reach the reason 'twere to find the bottoms of the Abysses of this infinite mercy, to which I remain infinitely indebted? And coming to the point, ought not I in this pre-eminence of mine contribute all my power to the succour of him, who enjoyeth not my happiness, to the end, thus to deserve in a manner, 
The nearest way from Earth to Heaven is by Charity.  some party of them under the favour of merits from this great God, who only gives reward to those good actions, which he makes me do. Can I refuse to be charitable to him, who only begs some good of me, but to render me worthy of that, which I have received from heaven? I shall have all things to my wish amidst my pleasures, when Death itself is dease to his plaints, in extremity of his pains And shall not I give him some sort of consolation, either in good office, or in pity, being thereunto obliged by yet more powerful reasons?  
Great-ones of the World, 
Earthly greatness it the least gift of Heaven.  you are more miserable than these miserable ones, even in the midst of your felicities, if the recite of their evils give you not some touch. You have riches more than they, but God hath given you these, but to cheer their poverty. As well also, though they now are yours, shall they take leave of you, at the Even of your depart, and if of them you carry any thing away, it shall be only the interests of that which you have lent these Poor-ones.  
Great worldly-ones, how is your fate worthy of compassion rather than Envy, if you have no other Paradise then your riches?  
Grandees of the World, how soon will the source of your contentments dry up, if only your treasures give it springhead?  
Great worldly-ones! 
He whose hopes are only on the world, must needs at last despair.  of how short endurance shall be your prosperities, though an Age should be limit to their course, since at the end of that term you must die eternally, and die in a pain always living. Suggest to yourselves often these importancies. Visit and turn over the leaf to read more of them.  
When I consider the great number of Emperors, Kings, Princes, and Lords, which have governed the World, and the Battles which they have given for its conquests, since the moment of its creation, I remain all amazed not able to find bound● nor measure in this amuzement. How many several Masters may a man imagine then, that the World hath had? 
Hours, Days, Years, and Ages may well be different, but the world is still the same.  and how many times conquered, dividing it into divers Empires, Kingdoms, and Lordships? Well, yet the World hath still remained the same, and in the same place still: but its Emperors, Kings, Princes, and Lords, are vanished away, one at the heels of other, and all their conquests have served them only as matter of Pastime, since all their combats & battles, have had no other price of Victory, but upon the same earth, where their glory and bodies remain together interred.  
O goodly childish sport, to amuse themselves about conquering some little point within the limits, wherewith the Universe is bounded! Ask but Alexander what he hath done with the booties of his Conquest. When he had taken away all, he had yet nothing, and of himself now remains there nothing at all. Ambition, behold the reverse of thy Medal.  
LORD, Preserve to me always, (if it please) this humour wherein I now find myself, 
Why should any love the world, which deceives all that trust in it?  to misprise all the things of the world, and It too with passion. Give me a heart wavering and inconstant, to this end, that it may uncessantly change from all worldly Love, till it be subjected to the sweet Empire of thy Love. Render, render evermore my spirit unquiet, until that it hath found its repose in thee alone, the foundations of such a rest are unremovable. I will give for nothing all my pretensions on earth, for thereto pretend I nothing at all. Heaven only is my mark and aim. Now you shall see soon the end of the Chapter.  
How was it possible that the glory of those brave Romans of  time, 
These wise worldly ones have had no other recompense of their folly, but such a blast of Fame's Trump.  could any way arrive to that point (though they aimed at it) whereto the renown of Rome itself could never attain? What a folly was it, that they sought immortality amidst this inconstancy of Ages, where Death only was in his Kingdom, for they assisted every day, at the funeral of their renowned companions, and after they had seen their bodies reduced into ashes, they might with the same eye, more over, contemplate their shadows, I mean their statues, metamorphosed into dust, and all their reputation served but as a wind to bear them away into an infinity of Abysses, since as a Wind, being nothing else, it flies away with these heaps of ruin, so far both from the eye, and all memory, that in the end, there is no more thought on't.  
In effect, all these great men of the World did see buried every moment the hope of this vain glory, whereof their ambition was always labouring to make acquist; and yet not one of them for all this, flipt back; as if they took a pride in their vanities, and the folly of them were hereditary. 
Ambition never elevates, but to give a greater fall.  CAESAR had seen the death of Pompey, and with him all the glory of his renown, and Pompey, had seen buried in the tomb of Time, and Oblivion, the renown of that great Scipio, whose valour more redoubted then the thunder had made the Earth tremble so oft. Scipio in his turn might have read the Epitaph, which despair, shame, and disaster had graven in letters of Gold upon the Sepulture of Hannibal, and Hannibal might have learned to know by the unconstancy of the Age, wherein he lived, before he made experiment of them, the misfortunes, and miseries, which are inseparable to our condition. And yet notwithstanding, all of them stumbled one after other, upon one and the same Stumbling-stone.  
I am not come into Persia, 
The richest of the world at last is found as poor as the poorest companion.  for the conquest of treasures, said Alexander to Parmenio: take thou all the riches, and leave me all the glory: but after good calculation, neither of them both had any thing at all. These riches remained in the world still, to which they properly appertained, and this vainglory saw its lover die, without itself being seen. Insomuch that after so great conquests, the worms have conquered this great Monarch, and as the dunghill of his ashes has no sort of correspondence with this so famous name of Alexander, which otherwhile he bore, 'tis not to be said, what he hath been, seeing what he is now, I mean his present wretchednesses efface every day the memory of his past greatnesses.  
Ambitious spirits, though you should conquer a thousand worlds, as he did this one, you should not be a whit richer for all these conquests. The Earth is still as it was, it never changes nature. All her honours are not worth one tear of repentance: all its glory is not to be prized with one sigh of contrition. I grant that the noise of your renown may resound through the four corners of the Universe: That of SALADINE which went round it all, could not exempt him from the mishaps of life, nor miseries of Death. After he had encoffered all the riches of the East, yet finds he himself so poor for all that, hardly can he take along with him so much as a Shirt.  
Embalm then the Air which you breathe, with a thousand Odours, be Served in Plate of Gold, Lie in Ivory, Swim in Honours, and lastly, let all your actions glitter with magnificence; 
'Tis the greatest horror of death, to render account of all the moments of life.  the last moment of your life shall be judge of all those, which have preceded it: then shall you be able at your Death, to tell me the worth of this vain glory, whereof you have been Idolaters, and after your Death, you shall resent the pains of an eternal regreet, having now no more opportunity to repent you to any effect.  
Believe me, all is but Vanity, Honours, Glory, Riches, Praise, Esteem, Reputation, All this is but smoke during Life, and after Death, nothing at all. The Grands of the world have made a little more noise than others by the way. But this Noise is ceased, their light is extinguished, their memory buried. And if men speak of them sometimes, the answer is returned with a shake of the head, intimating no more words of them, since such a Law of silence, Time hath imposed hereon. Seek your glory in God, and your Honour in the contempt of this earthy Honour, if you will eternize your renown, in the perpesuity of Ages. I have no more to say to you, after these truths.   

A PROLUSIVEVpon the EMBLEM of the third Chapter.  

A Funeral Hearse with wreaths of Cypress crested,  
A Skeleton with Robes imperial vested,  
Dead march, sad looks, no glorious circumstance  
Of high Achievements, and victorious Chance,  
Are these fit Trophy's for a Conquerous?  
These are the Triumphs of the Emperor  
ADRIAN, who chose this Sable Heraldry  
Before the popular guilded Pegeantry,  
' Stead of Triumphal Atches he doth rear  
The Marble Columns of his Sepulchre. 
* Moles Adriani nune Castrum S. Angeli.   
No public honours wave his strict intent,  
To shrine his Triumph in his Morument.  
The Conscript Fathers and Quirites all  
Intent his welcome to the Capitol.  
The vast expense one day's work would have cost,  
He wiser far (since tother had been lost)  
To build a Mausolaeum doth bestow,  
Which now at Rome is called Saint 
* Pont Aeliu.  Angelo;   

ADRIAN Emperor of Rome Celebrates himself his Funerals, and causes his Coffin to be carried in Triumph before him.   

Where to this Day, from Aelius Adrian's Name,  
The Aelian, Bridge doth still revive his fame.  
Now was the people's expectation high,  
For wont pomp and glittering Chivalry:  
But lo their Emperor doth invite 'em all,  
Not to a Show, but to his Funeral.  
They look for Gew-Gaw-fancies; his wise scorn  
Contemns those Vanities, leaves their hope forlorn.  
For since all's smothered in the Funeral Pile,  
He will not dally with 'em for a while.  
This was self-Victory, and deserveth more  
Than all the Conquests he had won before.  
What can Death do to such a man, or Fate,  
Whose Resolutions them anticipate?  
For since the Grave must be the latter end,  
Let our preventing thoughts first thither tend.  
Bravely resolved it is, knowing the worst  
What must be done at last, as good at first.    

THE MIRROR WHICH FLATTERS NOT.  
CHAP. III.  
O How glorious is the Triumph over Death? O how brave is the Vistory over a Man's life! You see how this great 
* Adrian.  Monarch triumphs to day over that proud Triumpher Death, after the happy vanquishment of his passions. He enters into his Empire by the Port of his Tomb, thus to reign during his life, like a man that dies every moment; he celebrates himself his own Funerals, and is led in Triumph to his Sepulchre to learn to die generously. What a glory's this to over-awe That, which commands the whole world? what Courage is this, to assail and combat That, which none could ever yet resist? and what a power is it to tame That which never yet yielded? Echo herself hath not rebounds enough to resound aloud the wonders of this Victory.  
This is not the Triumph of Alexander, when he made his entry into Babylon, mounted upon a Chariot as rich as the Indies, and more glistering than the Sun.  
In this we see no other riches, but the rich contempt, which ought to be made of them; no other lustre, but of Virtue.  
This is not the Triumph of Caesar then, when be was drawn unto the Capitol by forty Elephants, after he had won twenty four battles. In this we see nought else but a funeral pomp, but yet so glorious, that Death herself serves for a Trophy to it.  
This is not the Triumph of Epaminondas, where the glorious lustre of the magnificence shamed the splendour of the day, which yet lent its light to it. The marvels which appeared in this here, seemed as celebrating in black the Exequys of all the other braveries of the world, since nothing can be seen more admirable than this.  
This is not the Triumph of Aurelian where all the graces are led captive with Zenobia. 
To triumph over vice, is the noblest Trophy.  In this are to be seen no other captives but the world, and all its vanities, and their defeat is the richest Crown of the Victor.  
This is not the Triumph of that pompous Queen of Egypt entering into Cilicia, where she raised admiration to herself in a Galley of unutrerable value, but in this we contemplate the more than human industry of a Pilot, who from the midst of the storms and tempest of the world, recovers happily to the Port, the ship of his life, though yet but in the way to approach to it.  
In fine, this is not the Triumph of Sesostris, whose stately Chariot four Kings drew. Passions are the only slaves of this, and Death being here vanquished, this honour remains immortal, and the name of the Triumpher.  
Say we then once again, 
All the glory of men vanisheth away with them.  O how glorious a Triumph is this, over Death! O how brave is the victory over ourselves! and the only means thus to vanquish a mans-self, is to bury his ambition before his body be ensepulchred, preparing nevertheless the tomb of both; to the end, that the continual remembrances of Death, may serve for temperament and moderation to the delights of life.  
We read of Paulus Aemilius, that returning to Rome laden with wreaths of Laurel, after the famous victory over the Persians; he made his entrance of triumph with so great pomp and magnificence, that the Sun seemed to rouz itself many times, as if upon design to contemplate these wonders.  
Pompey desirous to expose to the view of day, all the magnificent presents, which Fortune had given him in his last conquests, entered now the third time in Triumph into the City of Rome, where the noise of his valour made as many Idolaters, as admirers, gaining hearts, and now conquering souls, as well as before Realms and Provinces: But it seems, that the glory, which accompanied him in this action had this defect, not to be sufficiently worthily known, even of those that were witnesles of it, as surpassing by much, all that they could possibly express of it.  
There was seen advanced before his chariot, 
Vanity! is a dangerous enemy, it flatters, only to surprise.  in ostentation, a Checkerworke composed of two sorts of precious stones, whose beauty set them beyond all price: But yet (me thinks) their sparkling might have in good time been a light to him, if by a feeling of foresight, touching the inconstancy of his fortune, he had caused to have been graven thereon the history of his mishaps. There was admired in sequel; a Statue of the Moon, all of Gold, in form of a Crescent, and I am astonished, that this Image of change and Vicissitude, made him not foresee the deturning of the Wheel, I mean the storm, that was to succeed the calm of his happiness. He caused moreover to be carried before him a great number of Vessels of Gold, never thinking that Death might soon replenish some part of them with his ashes. There was seen to follow a mountain all of Gold, upon which were all sorts of animals, and many Trees of the same matter, and this mountain was enrounded with a Vine, whose golden glittering dazzled the eyes of all that considered its wonders. This proud Triumpher was the Orpheus which to the Lyric sound of his renown, 
Ambition is an incurable disease of the soul, if in good time it be nor looked too.  attracted this mountain, these Animals, these Trees, this Vine. But as Orpheus, so him also, Fortune destinated a Prey to the fury of Bacchinals, I mean the Eunuches which put him to Death. Three Statues of gold, first Jupiter's, than Mars, and then of Pallas, came after. These were his Gods and his Goddess: what succours could he expect from these Deities, which had no subsistence, but in statue, and the copy of whose portrait had no principal? There was had in admiration moreover, thirty garlands all of gold, 
A man had need to have an excellent memory, not to forget himself among his honours.  and Pearls: but these Crowns were too weighty for his head, from whence it came to pass, that he tell under the burden. A golden Chapel followed after, dedicated to the Muses, upon which was a great Horologe of the same materials. And as the Index still turned, ought not he to have considered, that the hour of his triumphing began to pass away, and that of his overthrow would presently sound, being sequel to the Laws of that vicissitude, to which Face hath subjected all things? His statue of gold enriched with diamonds, and pearls whereof nor he himself, nor he that enwrought them, knew the value followed in its course, and in fine, this his shadow, was more happy than the true body, as having never been scuffled with, but by time, and the other was vanquished with misery. Then appeared the great Pompey, seated upon a throne where he and Fortune seemed to give laws to the whole world, ●or his triumphal Chariot was ●o richly glorious, so magnificent ●n rarities, so splendide in new, and ne're-before-seen wonders, that a ravishment surprised men's ●pirits, elevating them at once ●rom admiration to ecstasy, not giving them leisure to make relection upon the present realties. 
Be it our constant meditation, of the inconstancy to which all worldly things are subjected.  But this Triumphal Chariot still ●owled about, and though the Triumpher remained seated in his place, yet his Fortune turned about likewise. Insomuch that in going to the Capitol, he approached by little and little to the ●ank, where his life and happiness were equally interred.  
In fine, for the fullness of glory, These proper names of the conquests, which he had made, were read in golden Characters: 
See Pliny's Nat. History, 7 Book, 26 Chapter. Pride is the passion of fools: for what a senselessenesse is it, to be proud, having so many miseries about us, which are incident to mortal man.  The Kingdom of Pontus, Armenia Cappadocia, Paphlagonia, Medea Colchis, the Hiberians, the Albanians, Syria, Cilicia, Mesopotamia, Phoenicia, Palestina, Judea, Arabia, and the Rovers of all the Seas. Who can be comparable to this proud Conqueror? and yet (I say it) having conquered and subjugated the greatest part of the Earth, Fate permits him not so much, as to expire upon it, and the Sea yet more treacherous, prepares him shipwreck in midst of the Port.  
What resemblance, and what correspondence can there be now between this Triumph so sumptuous, so stately, and magnificent and that, whose presentation show you, 
How poor is the vanity of man, having no other grounds but humane frailty?  where lowliness, humlity and misery hold the first rank and possess the highest places. Assuredly the difference is grea● but yet this inequality here is glorious, since it brings along with it the price of that virtue, where of Pompey despised the conquest. He in his Triumph, raised wonder to the beauty of those two great precious stones. But the sepulchral Marbles, which appeared in this of ADRIAN, were of another estimate, because prudence values them above all price, putting them to that employment, to which she had destinated them. Again, if he expose to view in vessels of gold, Mountains, Animals, Trees, Vines, Statues of the same matter; This Hearse covered with black, which serves for ornament to this Funeral Pomp, contains yet much more treasure, since the contempt of all together ●● graven therein. He makes ostentation of his statue of gold, enriched with Pearls: but our Monarch ●akes as much glory without ●hem, showing in his own bare Portrait, the original of his ●●iseries. 
Except the crown of virtue all other are subject to change.  That proud conqueror ●ad a thousand Garlands and ●olden Coronets, as a novel Trophy: But ours here crownes himself with Cypress during his career of life, to merit those palms which await him in the end. In fine, Pompey is the Idol of heats, and souls, and his Triumphal Chariot serves as an Altar, where he receives the vower and Sacrifices: But this-Prince, instead of causing Idolaters, during the sway of his Majesty, immolates himself up to the view of Heaven, and Earth, dying already in his own Funerals, and suffering himself to be as it were buried by the continual object which dwells with him of Death and his Tomb. But if Pompey lastly boast himself to have conquered an infinite number of Realms, of all the world together: 
* Adrian.  Th●● Man having never had worse enemies than his passions, hath sought no other glory but to overcome them, and in their defeat, a Ma● may well be styled the conqueror of Conquerors; for the Coro●● wreaths of this Triumph, fear● not the Sun's extremity, nor th● Ages inconstancy. We must passer farther.  
Isidore, 
All the objests of Vanity are so many enemies, against which we ought to be always in arms.  and Tranquillus, do assure us, that to carry away the glory of a Triumph, it was necessarily required to vanquish five thousand enemies, or gain five victories, as it is reported of Caesar. The consent of the Senate was also to be had. And the Conqueror was to be clothed in Purple, and Crowned with Laurel, holding a Sceptre in his hand, and in this sort he was conducted to the Capitol of Jupiter, where some famous Orator made a Panegyricke of his prowess.  
What better Allegory can we draw from these profane truths, ●hen this of the Victory, which we ●ught to have of our five Senses as of five thousand enemies) whose defeat is necessary to our riumph. These are the five Victories, which he must gain, that would acquire such Trophies, 
Still to wage war against our passions, is the way to live in peace.  whose glory is taken away, neither by time nor Death.  
This consent of the Senate is the Authority of our reason, which alone gives value and esteem to our actions, and 'tis of her that we may learn the means in obeying her to command over ou● passions, and by the conquest o● of this sway, triumph over ourselves, which is the bravest Victory of the World.  
These Sceptres and Crowns are so many marks of Sovereignty, which remain us in propriety after subjection of so many fierce enemies, Heaven is the Capitol, whither our good works conduct us in triumph, and where the voice of Angels serves for Orators to publish the glory of our deeds, whose renown remains eternal.  
These great Roman Captains which made love to virtue though without perfect knowledge of it, 
'Tis not all, to love Virtue, 'Tis the practice  have sought for honour and glory in the overthrow of their enemies, but they could never find the shadows of solid Honour, which thus they sought; from whence it came to pass, that they have fashioned to themselves divers Chimeras, for to repast their fancy too greedy of these cheating objects. Nor that there is no glory in a Conquest: but 'twas their ambition led them along in Triumph, amidst their own Triumphing.  
What honour had Caesar born away, if he had joined to his Trophies the slavery of Cleopatra? he had exposed to view a Captive Queen, who otherwhile had subjected him to her Love-dominion. 
He triumphs with an ill grace, ●'rewhom his vice triumph.  But if the fortune of the war had delivered him this Princess, the fate of Love would have given, even himself into her hands. Insomuch, that the Death of Cleopatra immortallized the renown of Caesar.  
Asdrubal, according to justin, triumphed four times in Carthage, ●ut this famous Theatre of honour where glory itself had appeared ●o often upon its Throne, serves ●n conclusion for a Trophy to ● Conqueror, insomuch, that it ●uried at once the renown, and ●emory, even of those that had presented themselves triumphant personages.  
To day Memphis is all-Triumphant, and on the morrow this proud City is reduced to slavery. To day the report of its glory makes the world shake, and on the morrow Travellers seek for it upon its own site, but find it not. O goodly triumph! O fearful overthrow! What continual revolution of the wheel! Marcellus shows himself at point of day upon a magnificent Chariot of Triumph, and at Sunset his glory and his life finish equally their career. I mean, in the twinkling of an eye, Fortune takes away from him all those Laurel-wreaths which she had given him, and leaves him nothing at his death, 
It may be some consolation in all our miseries, to see all else have their changes, as well as we.  hut the regreet of having lived toolong.  
Marius' trump head divers times, but with what tempests was the Ship of his fortune entertained? Behold him now elevated upon the highest Throne of Honour but if you turn but your head you shall see him all naked in his shirt, half-buried under the mire of a common Sink, where the light of the day troubles him, not being able to endure the Sun, a witness of his misfortunes. Behold him first, I say, in all abundance of Greatness, and Sovereignty, whereof the splendour dazzles the world; but stay a little, and you shall hear pronounced the sentence of his death, being abandoned even of himself, having no more hope of safety.  
How pompous and celebrious was the Triumph of Lucullus? In which, he raised admiration to the magnificence of an hundred Galleys alarmed in the Prow; a thousand Chariots charged with Pikes, Halberts●, and Corselets, whose shocking rumbles sounded so high, it frighted the admirers, though they celebrated the Fetivall of the Victory. The number of Vessels of Gold, and other Ornaments of the Triumph, was without number. The Statue of Mithridates also of Gold, six foot high, with the Target all covered with precious Stones, served anew to the Triumph. And of this Glory all the world together was an adorer; for the renown of the Conqueror had divers times surrounded the Universe.  
But, what shame after so much glory! 
Great Men cannot commit little faults.  What infamy after so great honour! Lucullus, victorious over so many Empires, is found in fine subjected under the dominion of his pleasures: his valour has made may slaves every, where, and yet his sottishness renders him in the end slave to his own passions. Insomuch, that after he had exalted the splendour of Rome's beauty, by his brave actions, worthy-admiration, he again blouzeth its lustre by his excessive deboshes, all black with vice. And now 'tis in vain to seek for Lucullus triumphant, since he is only to be found overthrown in reputation, in which he survives; thus rendering himself doubly miserable.  
We read of Epaminondas, 
Plutarchu, in Apophtheg. Reg. & Imp. Tr●●lis sollicitusque circum ivit urbem.  that returning victorious from the Louctrians, he received with regret the Present of the honour of Triumph, which the Senate had prepared him, apprehending evermore the deturne of the Wheel: so that the next morrow after the Festival, he took on him mourning habit, to prepare himself betimes to suffer the change of his fortune.  
It is remarked in the history of Demetrius that entering in Triumph into Athens, the people cast flowers, and an infinite number of golden Globes up and down the streets, for a sign of a sumptuous congratulation. But what sign of Vicissitude and frailty, 
We are but as so many flowers planted by Nature in the garden of the Earth, & only Death gathers us.  could there ●e more apparent, than this, which these flowers represented, ●nce there is nothing more frail a Nature than they? And these ●alles shown also by their round, ●nd still rolling figure, that the Glory whereof they were the ●mbole, and Hieroglyphic, could ●ot be firm, and stable according as Truth itself soon after published by a sudden change, which rendered the fate of this Victor deplorable.  
Consider a little upon the same subject, what revolutions hath the Ball of Empire made since the first Monarch, 
In like respect also we are as Bowls, for still we roll along to the grave.  let it fall at his Death is it not credible, that it hath ●u● over divers times the circuit of the Universe, and its figure instructs us, that in the inconstancy which is proper to all created things, it will still roll incessantly from one to another; without ever staying, since its Centre is n● where at all? For so long as the world shall endure, a continual vicissitude will be its foundation And what means can there be ● find a seat upon the earth, which may be sheltered from inconstancy which reigns sovereignly an● necessarily, as essential to a● whatsomever subsists here below I have not been far, behold me up●● return.  
Tertullian assures us, that in t●● Triumphs of the Romans, the ● was a man waged to cry aloud to the Triumpher,  Remember thou art a Man. 
Pliny passeth farther yet, 
Worldly honours are so many temptatiom, to make us idelatrize ou● selus.  and tells us, that they were accustomed to put an iron ring upon the conquerors finger, in sign of servitude, as if silently to intimate unto him, that he was besides himself, by an excess of vanity in this amplitude of honour, wherein he saw himself elevated above his companions. And upon the same subject, a great number of Historians do add, that about the Chariot of the Triumpher, there were two men assigned, the one carrying a Deaths-head, the other the Image of a Peacock, and both continually crying, 
Vanity is a dangerous enemy, since it betrays us while it seems to oblige us, by the complaceace which it gives us,  REMEMBER THAT THOU ART A MAN.  
Certainly, vanity makes great Prize of us, then when we are elevated to some eminent degree of honour. And though our heads be but as of dead-men's, for we are dying uncessantly, and our miseries resemble us to those Images of Peacocks, which cannot bear uptrain but upon ugly Feet: Yet our blindness is so great, and this Self-love so extreme, that men are dazzled with too much splendour and ama● becomes slave to himself by loving himself with too much passion Greatness and prosperity never let themselves bepossest, but to take greater possession of us. And as they have allurements to charm us, and sweets to ravish us; a Man had need implore the succour of Divine grace, if he would escape their pleasing tyranny, and not thing but flight from them, or contempt, can give us weapons to resist them. Let us still return to the point.  
We read of Judas Macchabens, that returning victorious from Galilee, the people conducted him to the Temple, by a way all tapistred with flowers. Abraham after he had vanquished five Kings, was received in Triumph into Salem, now called Jerusalem.  
judith received the honour of Triumph by the destruction of Holofernes, and all the people of Bethulia laden with Palm, to make her triumphal wreaths, cried out in her favour, Behold the glory of Jerusalem, and the joy of all her Nation.  
Joseph shows himself in Triumph also upon the Chariot of Pharaoh, 
Gen. 41.41, 42. etc.  who puts his royal Ring upon his finger, gives him his chain of gold and makes him publicly, to be acknowledged for the second person of Egypt.  
David triumphs over Goliath, with a magnificence worthy of his victory, and the Virgins chant to his glory, Saul hath killed his thousands and David his ten thousands. 
1. Sam. 18.7.   
Mordecai also had his turn of Triumph, mounted upon the horse of Ahasuerus, and had his praises Heraldized by Haman, in these terms: Thus shall it be done to the man, 
Esther 6. 1●.  whom the King will honour  
All these triumphs are worthy of admiration, I avouch it: but the Triumph over ourselves, is worthy astonishment, as having to combat our passions, and consequently the winning'st enemies of the world, I say, the winning'st, or the pleasing'st, since they guard themselves only with such kind of weapons, whose hurting make us often sigh rather for joy than grief.  
Certainly, the Victory of reason over all the revolten faculties of our souls, merits alone the honour of a Triumph; and what advantage soever a man hath over his enemies, he himself is yet still vanquished, if his vices be not subdued. I pursue my design.  
They which have enthronised Virtue in their breasts, have laid their foundations upon the ruins of their passions, to testify to us, that a Man cannot be virtuous with their predominancy. And after essay of divers means upon design to vanquish them, I have found none more powerful, than this, The Meditation of Death, but if any doubt this, the trial on it will be profitable for him.  
How is it possible that a Man should let himself be mastered with the passion of Revenge, if he but muse of that Vengeance, which his sins may draw down every moment upon his head, as being every hour in estate to dic? He shall hear rumble in his ears the thunder of Divine Justice, by the continual murmur of his sighs, which advertise him of the approaches of Death. What courage can he have to avenge himself, being upon point himself to suffer the torment of eternal vengeance?  
Thou that art Vindicative, wilt thou then quench the ardour of thy Choler, feel thine own pulse, and consider that this petty slow fever, wherewith thou art stormed, leads thee by little and little into the grave.  
Who can be Ambitious, 
It is more honour for a man to avenge himselfe● of his choler, than of his enemy.  if musing of Death, since he must quit all with his life? Let us ponder a while the fate of those arrogant spirits, which have mused themselves to conquer the vain greatnesses of the Earth. What hath been in fine their share at the end of the career? They have had nothing but unprofitable regreets to have so ill employed their time, finding themselves so poor with all their treasure, as if they had been born the wretched'st of the world. Thou Ambitious-one, wilt thou be cured of the disease of thy Passion, think each hour of the day, that that which thou now hearest strike, may be thy Last.  
Who would sigh for profane love, 
Mortal frailty brings blemish to the fairest visages, and mightily takes from their opinion being well considered.  after these objects of dust, and ashes, if he often considered, that he himself is made of nothing else, and that this noisome and corruptive matter seeks nothing more, than abysses of the grave, there to hid within its loath someness, in effect who would give his flesh a prey to pleasures, if he would consider that the worms do in expectation, make their fees thereof already. The meditation of Death, serves for temperament to all sorts of delights. And if a Man be capable of love in this muse, it cannot be other than of his Salvation, since this object is eternal, but all others of the world perishable. Infortunate Lovers search the solace of your immodest passions in the Anatomy of the subject whereof you are Idolarers. Be assistant at that dead view. Think of your own Death. Behold you are cured.  
What wretched rich man would be so much in love with his treasures, 
He which considers of that wretchedness which is adjunct to Death, easily mispriseth the riches of this life.  if he would consider, that Death robs him from them every day, making him die continually, and that at the end of the term of his life, he carries along with him but the good, or the evil which he hath done, to be either recompensed or punished, but with a glory or a punishment, whereof Eternity alone must terminate the continuance? Covetous Misers, the only means for you to be so no more, is to celebrate your own funerals, by your Meditations, and often to consider the Account, not of your riches, but that which you must render one day of their fruition, since your Salvation depends thereon.  
Who, in fine, would make a God of his Belly, seeking with passion all the delights, which may tickle the sense of Taste, it he represented to himself the miseries of the body, which he takes so much pains to nourish, and the rigour of those inviolable decrees, which destinate him a prey to the worms, and the remains of their leave to rottenness? This consideration would be capable to make him lose both appetite, and desire, at the same time, to nourish so delicately his carcase, O souls all of flesh, repasting yourselves with nothing else, there is no invention to make you change nature, but this, to Hear yourselves die by the noise of your sighs, to See yourselves die by the wrinkles which furrow every day upon your visages, and to Feel yourselves die by the beat of your pulse, which indexeth this your hectic fever, wherewith you are mortally attainted. This is a Probatum-remedy, the experience thereof is not dangerous.  
May not a man then maintain with much reason, 
If a man should forget all things else but the miseries of his condition, this last were enough to exercise the vastest memory.  that the thought of Death alone is capable to cure our souls of the disease of their passions in doseing them both the means, and the Virtue to triumph over them. But if of this you desire an example, call to mind that, which I have proposed you in the beginning of the Chapter. How marvellous is it that a great Mornarch, who is able to maintain all manner of pleasure in his heart, with all the delights which acompany it; celebrates himself his Funerals in midst of his career of life, beginning to reign at the end of his reign, since that last object is always present before his eyes. His Passions do assail him, but he vanquisheth them, they give him combat, but he leads them in triumph, and buries them altogether in the Tomb, which he prepares himself. Consider a little the glory which is relucent in this action.  
We read of the Kings of Arabia, that they triumphed upon Dromidaries, the Kings of Persia upon Elephants, of Croatia upon Bulls, the Romans upon horses, and yet 'tis remarked of Nero, that be made himself be drawn in Triumph by four Hermaphrodite Mares. Camillus by four white Horses. Mark Antony by four Lions, Aurelian by four Hearts, Caesar by forty Elephants Heliogabulus by four Dogs.  
Moreover, the Poets do assure us, that the triumphant Chariot of Bacchus was drawn by Tigers, Neptunes by Fishes, of Thetis by Dolphins, Diana's, 
This Vanity is a most contagious malady, and the only preservative, is the remembrance of Death.  by Hearts, of Venus by Doves, Juno's by Peacocks.  
All these objects of pomp, and magnificence, whereof histories, and Fables would eternize the vanity, have for all that done nothing but pass away, and though a little remembrance of them stay with us; 'tis but the memorial of a Chimaera, and of a fantasme, since it preaches nothing else to us, but the ruin, and nonentity, of that which hath been otherwhile. O how glorious a Triumph is it, 
These things ruminated on, will make us wise.  when we ourselves are encharioted over our passions now enslaved and subjected under the Empire of Reason? There is nothing so glorious, there ' is nothing so magnificent: For these Dromidaries, these Elephants, these Bulis, these Horses, these Hermaphrodite Mares, these Lions, Stags, and Tiger's , are but brute beasts, which draw along in train after them others as as brutish as themselves, as suffering themselves to be transported with vanity, which only reduceth them to this beastly-semblant vanity. Let us turn our face unto another side.  
SA●●LLIC●S in his ENNEADS, actively peswades us to believe, that the Christians of Aethiopia do carry in their processions, great vessels full of ashes, 
Let the fire of Divine Love glow upon our ashes.  to emblematize apparently the frailty of our nature. But may not we say upon too much reason, that we are earthen vessels full of ashes; and what object more sensibly can be presented before our eyes, to show us the truth of our miseries, than this of ourselves? From Earth is our production, and the same serves us with nourishment, and for sepulture also, as if ashamed the Sun should afford his light to out wretchedness.  
Make we then every day Funeral processions, or at least visit in meditation every hour our Tomb, as the place where our bodies must take so long abode. Celebrate we ourselves our own Funerals, 
The thought of our end is a sovereign remedy against our passions.  and invite to our exequys Ambition, Avarice, Pride, Choler, Luxury, Gluttony, and all the other Passions, where with we may be attainted, to the end to be Conquerors, even by our own proper defeat: For when a Man yields to the Meditation of Death, than reason commands sense; All obey to this apprehension of frailty, and feebleness. Pleasures by little and little abandon us, the sweets of life seem sour, and we can find no other quiet, but in the hope of that, which Truth itself hath promised us, after so much trouble.  
Proud Spirits: be ye Spectators of this Funeral Pomp, which this great Monarch celebrates to day: He invites the Heaven and the Earth to his Exequys, since in their view he accompanies his portrayed Skeleton unto the Tomb: his Body conducts thither its shadow, the original the painted figure in attendance, till a Metamorphosis be made both of one and tother. O glorious action! where the Living takes a pride to appear Dead, as dying already by his own choice, as well as necessity. O glorious action! where the Triumpher takes a glory in the appearance of his overthrow. O glorious action! where all the honour depends upon the contempt of the world's honour. O glorious action! where Garlands of Cypress dispute the pre-eminence with Laurel and Palm. O glorious action! where the Conqueror under-going the Laws of Nature, elevates himself above it, making his puissance to be admired, in his voluntary weakness. But I engage myself too far in't.  
Herodotus remarks, that the Queen Semiramis made her Sepulchre be erected upon the entrances of the principal Gate of the 
* Babylon.  City, to the end, that this sad object of wretchedness might serve for a Schoolmaster to passengers, to teach them the Art, to know themselves. O blessed Lesson is that, which the Tombs can afford us. O gracions Science is that, which they instruct us!  
Strabo testifies, 
No better School than the Churchyard.  that the Persians made Pipes of dead-men's bones, which they used at Festivals; to the end, that the sad harmony which issued thence, might temper the excess of joy. But may not we say our Lungs to be to us such kind of Whistles, and that our dolorous sighs, which produce thence the harmony, are capable to moderate the violence of our contentments? A strange thing it is, that all the animated objects, which are affected by our senses, bear the image of Death, and yet we never think but of Life. Let our eyes but fairly turn their regards on all sides, All that lives, they may see dies; and what has no life, passes away before 'em. Our ears are tickled with the sweet harmony of Voices, or Instruments, or Tabors, or Trumpets: But these sonnds are but Organs spirited with blasts, whose borrowed wind is lost, when the motion ceaseth; and there behold the Fail of their life. And for Instruments, 
The objest of our nothingness has a grace and allurement capable to ravish the best spirits.  'tis true they warble delightfully, yet their melody is often doleful to the mind, when it considers that it proceeds from certain guts of dead beasts, which Art hath so contrived. Tabors being of the same nature, must also necessary produce the same effects and Trumpets also do but sob in our ears, since their clangor is forced only by the violence of a blast of sighs: Our Taste cannot satiate the hunger of its appetite, but with dead and breathless things: and all our other senses are subject to the same necessity. Insomuch, 
Death is ever present, and at hand, to our heart, but still absent from our: memory.  that Death environs us on all sides, though we be always her own, and yet we never think on't, but in extremities: as if we were only to learn at the last instant, that we are Mortal, and the hard experience which we make on't, were the only Lesson, which by Nature is given us.  
LORD render me capable, if it please thee, of this Science, which may effectually teach me the Art, to know myself; to the end, that this knowledge may represent to me always the reality of my wretchedness. Make me that I may see myself, may understand and feel myself to die every moment: but so, that I may see it with the eyes of my heart, perceive it with the eyes of my soul, and feel it, by the sense of my conscience, therein to find my repose and safety. I know well, that Nature mourns uncessantly the death of its works, which are devoured every hourby time; and though no where thus can I see but Sadness itself, yet nevertheless remain I insensible of the horror of these objects; and though they be terrible, my spirit not is affrighted. Render me therefore, if it please thee, render me fearful, and make me even to tremble in thinking of it, since the thought of it is so important, suffer me not to live a kind of Death, without meditating of that life which is exempt from Death, and whereof Eternity is the Limit. All my votes do terminate at this, and all my wishes, which I address to thy bounty, that I may one day see the effects of my hopes. Let us advance on our first proposition.  
O how celebrious, and glorious is the Triumph over our selves! Let us leave the Laurels, 
A Mnn hath no greater enemy than himself,  and Palms to those famous conquerors of Sea and Land. Their Crowns are now metamorphosed into dust, their renown into wind, themselves into corruption, and for a surplusage of mishap after the conquest of the whole World, they die in the miseries, whereunto they were born.  
Cyrus could not bound his ambition less, than to the vast extension of the Universe; and yet a 
* Tomyris  simple woman only prescribed him an allay, and placed his head in the range of his own Trophies, Arthomides plays jupiter upon Earth, his portrait is the only Idol of his subjects: 
There is nothing more vain, than Vainglory: 'tis a body without soul or life, having no subsistence, but in imagination.  and yet one turn of the wheel casts him a sacrifice upon the same altar, which he had erected to his glory his life glistering with triumphs, but his death in such a ruin, clouded even the memory of his name All those stately Triumphers, of whom Antiquity trumpets-out wonders, have had no other recompense of their labours, but this vain conceit, that one day men would talk of them. But what felicity is it to be praised in this world, to which they are dead, and tormented in the other, wherein they live even yet, and ever. I care very little, that men should talk of me after my Death, the esteem of men is of so small importance, that I would not buy it so dear, as with a wish only. It behoves to search reputation in the purity of the conscience, if a man would have the glory of it last for ever. The renown of a good man is much greater, than that of Caesar or Alexander; for this hath no other foundation, than the soil where it was sowed, and where the goodliest things display themselves like flowers, and like flowers also have but a morning-flourish: But the other having for a firm stay Eternity, 
The renown of a good man only lasts always.  this object ennobleth it to perfection, and thus desiring nothing else but heaven, it remains to us at the end for recompense.  
Blondus in his Treatise of Rome, in its triumphant glory, reckons up three hundred and twenty triumphs, all remarkable: but where are now these pomps, these magnificences, this infinite number of Trophies, and a thousand other ornaments, which rattled out their glory. Where are I say these conquerors? where are their slaves? their Idolaters, their admirers? These pomps have but flashed like lightning, and so passed away with the day, that accompanied their lustre. These mngnificences have been but seen; 
It is some comfort yet to a wise man though himself fade away, to see that all things else do so too.  and so took their passage in flight. These trophies being only bravadoes of the time, times inconstancy made them vanish in an instant, and all those other ornaments made but ostentation of their continual vicissitude, as being an inseparable accident of their nature. These vanquishers only had the name on't, since Death led them away also in triumph, for all their triumphings. Their captives were rather slaves of the miseries whereunto they were born, than so by the absolute power of him who captived them. Their idolaters have been immolated to the fury of years, which spare none; and their admirerers have incurred the same fate with the subject, which they admired: Insomuch, that of all together, remains nothing but a faint remembrance, which as it waxeth old, is effaced by little and little out of memory, and scarcely will it subsist so much in the imagination, as to be in the end buried among fables. 
Since Eternity only triumphs over Time, we should only strive to attain that.  Behold here the Anatomy of the glory of the world, see the true portrait of its false Image. Contemplate, meditate, you will avouch with me, that All is full of vanity.  
O how stately and magnificent is the Triumph of Ages! what trophies may a man see at their ever-rowling Chariot! what Conquerors are not in the number of their subjection? what sovereign power can resist their violence? what newer Triumph ●en this of years? Who can give in account the number of their victories, and less the captives which Death serves in for their trophies? What newer triumph again evermore then of months, of days, of hours, & moments? For consider to yourself, how many Kings, Princes, and Lords, die in one age in all the places of the world. All these vanquishers are vanquished, and led in triumph to the grave. Every Year makes its conquest apart, giveth battle, and carries away the victory over so many, 
A righteous man only stands exempt ●● from the terror of death.  and so many men, that hardly can one conceive so lamentable a truth; Months, Days, Hours, and Moment's, triumph in their courses; who can number all those who died yesterday outright, or are dead to day? Nay more, how many die at this hour, and at this very instant, that I entertain you with this discourse. And all these defeats of mortality mark out to us the Triumphs, whereof time only bears away the glory: But let us not pretend to share in't, 'tis not worthy our Ambition. Let Ages, 
A good conscience is ever under shelter from all the inconstant tempests of Age.  Years, Months, Days, Hours, and Moment's, triumph over us: Virtue always limits their puissance, and with it we may prescribe a bound to all these Triumphants. Fair leave may they take to ruinated outward beauty, but that of innocence is of proof 'gainst all their strokes. Well may they impair outward graces; but those of heaven contemn their assaults. No doubt they may change the visage of all the marvels of Art, and miracles of Nature: Our Resolution is a rock in midst of all their storms, and may remain always itself without undergoing other rules then its own. So that thus we may lead Time itself along in triumph, if we live for nothing more than for Eternity.  
I scorn the Tyranny of Ages, 
He which lives for eiernity, dreads no death.  my aim is beyond 'em all. I despise the power of years, my Ambition reigns already out of their reach. Let Months, Days, Hours, and Moment's, entrail all things along with them; I for my part, franchise their career, since my scope is much more farther yet. Let them triumph fully, my very defeat shall lead them in triumph at the end of their term, for the eternity whither I aspire, already assigns out their tomb. Let us stay no longer in so cragged a way.  
The Emperor Trajan caused his Sepulchre to be enframed in the midst of Rome's greatest place, as upon a stately Theatre, on which his successors were to act their parts. Every man dies for himself; 
Serius aut citius metam properamus ad unam.  sooner or later we must arrive to the place, to which uncessantly we walk. Be it to morrow, or to day, at the end of the term all is equal. Nor old nor young can mark the difference in their course, being arrived to the end of their career, for a hundred Ages when past, and one instant make but the same thing. 'Tis only necessary to muse of our last gist in the grave, since thither we run till we are out of breath, from moment to moment.  
The Trojans would have the burying-places of their Princes to be in the most remarkable places of the City, 
Places of burial are sad theatres, where every day are acted none but Tragedies  to the end, that this sad object might serve as a fixed Memento to remembrance them, that the Tragedy, which had been acted by these yesterday, might again be represented by some other to day.  
The Philosophers know that objects move the faculties, and that according to the quality of their impressions, they work upon the spirits, which contemplate them. Let us say now, that of all the direful objects, which are presented to our eyes, there is none more powerful over our apprehensions, than this of the Meditation of Death, and the horror of the grave. The most courageous yield themselves to these assaults, the most valiant resist not their violences. All droop at approach of an enemy so redoubtable. But our defeat, it rightly carried, is more glorious than our Triumph. What success is this, by being overcome, to bear away the crown of victory? such submission is a mark of Sovereignty.  
Petrus Gregorius tells us of the Emperor Charles the fifth, 
If the meditation of death make not a sinner change his life, nothing will do it.  that he caused his winding head-kercher to be carried before him for a standard in all his Armies, six years before he died, to the end, that the continual object of his greatness, might not be too powerful to tempt him to misconceive himself.  
We do the same every day, without thinking on it, for our shirts are in a manner as so many winding sheets, which we carry always with us in all places where we go: But if this sad object be not enough to moderate our ambition, and rebate our vanity, this voluntary is inseparable from pain, we must needs undergo the Law, 
'Tis best to let Death be welcome. to us, since 'tis inevitable  which we impose upon ourselves.  
LORD suffer me not, if it please thee, so far to mistake myself, as never to come to the point of meditating of this blessed Decree, which thou hast imposed on me, to die one day. But illuminate my spirit with the light of thy grace, which may stead me as a Pharos, to show me the haven of the grave, where the ship of my life must put ashore. Make me also, if it please thee, to be ignorant of all things else, but the knowledge to live well, that I may also die so; and thus, let the miseries which accompany me, the mishaps that follow me, and all the other afflictions which thy goodness hath subjected me to, be the ordinay objects of my thoughts, to the end, that I stray not from the way of my salvation. And now have I no other passion, but to see the effects of these prayers. Let us go to the end.  
Those that have averred, that the world is to us an hostile Army, composed of so many Soldiers as there are objects in nature, capable to agitate the power of our passions, had very good reasons to defend the truth of their Thesis. These objects of it make war against us continually, with all the assaults, inventions, and stratagems of a cruel enemy. Beauty, that assaults our souls, by the way of our eyes, with as much cunning as force; for at first view, it amuseth the Sense with admiration, by a slight of complacence, to which its sweets and allurements insensibly engage it. Afterwards the Sensus Communis, receiving the fair Species of the Idea of this fair enemy, presents them to the Fancy, the Fancy to the Understanding, which after it hath examined them according to its capacity, offers them to the Will, which by a natural apprehension finds itself obliged to love the subject from whence these amiables do proceed. And now then it is the Cue of Reason, either to condemn or authorise this love; but most often that becomes charmed itself, and we vanquished. Not that Reason is not sufficiently strong and powerful, 
Our passions are the flatteringest enemies of the world, for they assault us with those semblant satisfactions to us, as may seem most agreeable; and thus they are most ●o be feared.  but whereas its force and virtue depends merely upon grace, the contempt which ordinarily it makes of this, renders both alike unprofitable. This is that which obliges us in all these conflicts, to implore the help of heaven, rather than to trust upon our strengths, and evermore to have a jealous eye to this our subtle enemy, which yet can never get other advantage upon us, then that which our wretchlesness suffers it to acquire.  
The very fairest objects of the world, 
We cannot justly complain of our defeat, since it is voluntary.  may well enforce admiration, but not love, since love cannot be form in our hearts, but by a powerful reflection of the amiable qualities which are found in the subject, and in this it is necessary, that the understanding do operate, and the will consent. And this cannot be done without a free deliberation, which we absolutely authorise. Insomuch, that we cannot be overcome, if we rush not into it with desire of our own overthrow. And this not so neither, as if there were no trouble in the resistance; but rather it is a way to acquire much more glory in the victory over beauteous objects, by the power of reason. which is more troublesome and difficult, then that which one gets over an enemy by force of arms. But the honour also surpasseth always the difficulty, 
The rewards which God hath prepared after all our troubles, do infinitely surpass our deserts.  and what pain soever a man can possibly take, the prize and crown at last can admit of no comparison.  
We must then bravely combat those proud beauties, which make public profession to enchain our hearts in irons, and put our souls upon the rack, and let them see, to their confusion, that the natural Magic of their charms is to us a new Art of Logic, which informs us to make Arguments, both to give for granted their power, and yet destroy their force. Fair leave have they to expose to view their blandishments, and graces: the light of Reason produceth a livelier Day, whose lustre duskes the midday-splendour; for by the aid of this light a man may see, that all their quaintnesses are but daubings, their delicacies but artifice, and their attractives but only composed by distillatories. And how can one Idolatrize them then, after meditational presentment of these verities? Behold the only means to prescribe a rule over these Sovereigns, who would impose it on the whole world. 
He commands best, that can obey reason.  Not that this kind of combat requires force of courage, but rather of prudence, after first a misprise of them to fly away, and not to put the victory into hazard.  
There are yet other enemies, which render themselves as redoutable as the former, such are Ambition, riches, etc. what means is there to resist them, or to speak better, to vanquish them? they have no less allurements, and sweets, than the beauties afore-spoken of, and though the force of them be different, they cease not nevertheless, to excite and move the passions with all sort of violence.  
Ambition has its particular delicacies, and charms, to ravish men's hearts, and soveraignize, over their souls; and I believe, that its Empire extends itself far beyond that of Love: for all the world is not capable of this latter passion, but of the other every man has a smatch from that defect, from our original, where with a man is tainted. 
Vanity is bred and born with us, but it is in our choice, whether to let it ever keep us company.  And this passion is so much the more to be seared, as it is natural, and growing up with us in measure as we grow ourselves. The means to vanquish it, is to study to know ones-self, and thus plainly to see the frailty of our foundation.  
What Ambition can a man have, that knows the number of the greatest part of the miseries and mishaps which accompany his life! To what can he pretend, being not able to dispose of one only moment? Nay, what can he wish for beyond himself, since for any long time together, 
It is the best Mystery of all humane Trade, to learn to die daily, and in this Vocation they that are active apprentices, are Masters.  he has not strength enough to look down to his own feet? What high aim can he give his designs, since all his thoughts, his desires, and hopes, have their limited scope beyond his power, as depending upon the Future, whereof he cannot dispose. All lies then in this, to know ourselves, that is, to consider the certainties thus sensible, both of our defects & infirmities.  
The Passion for Riches is always extreme, allowing no moderations in our hearts. It is a kind of hydropic malady, wherein thirst increaseth the more one drinks. A rich man of ten thousand pounds a year, wisheth thirty thousand, and if perhaps he see the effects of his desires, he soon conceives new ones, being never able to find content in the enjoiment of the goods which he already possesseth.  
That temperament of spirit, which Philosophy teacheth us to live content in, 
The true knowledge of Vertae, would soon insinuate its love.  whatsomever condition a man is in, is a virtue so chaste, that it suffers itself to be possessed by no body in this age, wherein we are; not that a man cannot enjoy it, but it is to be sought in the purity of the conscience, rather than in the world, where it is unknown but only barely in name.  
This greedy passion of heaping treasure upon treasure, is so proper to our criminal and corrupt nature, that a man cannot guard himself from it, without a special help from Heaven. Since that robbery, which our first Parents made in the terrestrial Paradise, all our thoughts and hopes are so thievish, that they would rob the future of those goods, which we wish for then, making no esteem of those which we already possess; our hearts sigh uncessantly with impatience, in attendance of a new acquist. What remedy now is there to cure so contagious a malady, whose insensible dolour makes us often contemn a remedy? 
Poverty of spirit is the greatest riches.  what means I say, to triumph over a passion so strong and puissant, and to which our nature itself lends a hand? It is certainly an action of study, where reason with time must get the advantage. It is necessary to consider every time that this desire to amass riches, doth press and force us; what shall we do with all these treasures, after we have heaped them up? To leave them to our heirs, it is to make them rich with our own loss, which they too perhaps will laugh at, in the possession. It is, I say, to damn ourselves for others profit, as if we had never lived for ourselves. To carry them into the grave with us, is to have laboured for forms; what shall then become on them? We must of necessity leave ' embehind. 
It is the best providence in this world, to lay up treasures for the other.  O cruel necessity! but yet most sweet and pleasing in its continual meditation, since it teaches us to undervalue all that may be lost.  
There are a great number of other Passions, which may master us with the same violence, according to the disposition of the predominating humour which possesseth us; such are Choler, Envy, Detraction, etc. but with the only force of Reason, assisted with the usual grace, which concurs in all good actions, we may easily be able to triumph over them.  
We read of Pyrander King of Egypt, that being one day in choler against one of his slaves, he heard a clap of thunder so terrible, that he became suddenly quite appeased; as if he had had this thought, that the gods were angry with his fury, since they clamoured louder than he. Let us have often the same thoughts, but with more truth and illumination, every time that this blind passion would exercise over us its tyranny. My meaning is, that in the violentest heat of our choler, we lend an ear of imagination to the noise of the thunder of divine Justice, that thus we may be appeased at the same time, 
It is a good methed, first to fear God, then to love him.  for what ground have we to be armed with fury, against our neighbours, when heaven is animated with just vengeance against ourselves?  
The Passion of Envy as black as hell, and the most criminal of all together proceeds from an envenomed mischievousness, to which nature contributes nothing at all. It is a devilish passion, 
Envious men are most their own enemies, and rob themselves of their own quiet.  whose fury and rage keeps the soul in fetters, and whose thievish jealousy robs away the goods of others in a hounding after them, and yet possesses none of them. What means is there then to vanquish this untameable vice? No other but this, to consider the Justice of that adorable Providence which imparts never its favours and graces, but with weight and measure. God cannot do but justly, since his Justice is no other than himself. Then if this man have 10000 pounds a year, and I but a 100, whereof can I complain? shall I doubt the reason from Reason itself? shall I accuse Justice of injustice? To take for granted that the Sovereign of all does what he will, and the Almighty what he pleaseth, I will always rely to that balance which God bears in his hand, and by which himself weigheth his actions to the poise of his will, and consequently to the measure of his Justice. What objection can be made against this truth?  
Envious Maligner, 
The envious man is nover is health, tortured with the Hectic Fever of this ever-burning passion.  adore that, which thou canst not comprehend, and then instead of pining for the good, which thou enjoiest not; give thanks to Heaven for those which thou possessest, and how small soever they be, they are ever great enough to amuse thee all thy life-long to the study of thankful acknowledgement.  
The Passion of Detraction is easily overcome by a fresh consideration of our own proper defects, for of all the Vices whereof we accuse one another, our hearts may convince us. If I call a man thief, am not I a greater thief than he, since against the Laws of charity, I rob him of his honour by this injury? Suppose he be a false villain, yet in calling him by this name, I betray the secret, which his fault should in charity impose upon me. But if he be nothing so; 
It is more important to learn to bold ones peace, then to hold up the talk.  lo I myself am now a Traitor both at once of his reputation, and mine own conscience. There is no fault more unpardonable, than this of Obloquy, and in regard that for a just expiation of the crime, it is fitting that the tongue which did the hurt, should give the remedy.  
Thou Detractor, if thou canst not moderate thy passion, speak ill only of thyself, Study thine own vices, Meditate thine own faults, and Accuse thyself of them before Heaven, which is already witness of thy crimes; and by this way of reproaching, thou shalt obtain one day to be praised eternally. Behold me now at the end of the Chapter.  
After all these particular remedies with which a man may learn easily to resist the tyranny of the Passions, 
He that often muzes of Death, will every day learn to live well.  there is none more sovereign than this of the Meditation of Death. All the rest abbut at this only, as the most authorized, by daily experience.  
Great Kings, suffer yourselves to be led in triumph by your own thoughts to the grave, and by the way consider how your greatnesses, your riches, your delights, and all the magnificence of your Court, follow you step by step, being brought along by the same fate, whose absolute Tyranny spares none. And since you may die every hour, think at the least sometimes of this truth, to the end that that hour of your life's dial surprise you not. Much good do it you to nourish up yourselves deliciously, yet all these Viands where with you repast yourselves are empoisoned, as containing in them the 
* Caliditas, Frigiditas, Humiditas, Siccitas.  four contrary qualities, whose discord puts into skirmish your humours, and this battle is an infallible presage of your overthrow: well may you chase away Melancholy, by virtue of fresh pleasures, these very contentments cheat away your life, for though you think of nothing but how to pass away the time, it passes ere you think on it, and Death comes before you have foreseen his arrival. Well may you cocker up your bodies, content your senses, and satiate the appetite of your desires: 
Pleasures make us grow old as well is griefs.  the Taper of your life has its limited course, as well as that of the day. Every man pursues his career, according to the inviolable Laws of Heaven, which hath assigned them out at once, both the way, 
Fata volentem ducunt, nolentem trahunt.  and the bounds. Suffer Time to lead you by the hand to the Tomb, for fear he hale you thither. But in dying muse at least of that Life, which never shall have end. All the felicities which you have possessed, are vanished with the flower of your age, and all those which you will yet enjoy, will fly away with the rest. What will remain with you then, at the last instant of your life, 
Those pleasures cost very dear, which are worth nothing but repentance.  but an irksome remembrance, to have tasted a thousand pleasures, which are past, and to have lost so many means of having had others which would have lasted eternally. Disinvest yourselves then, for one hour every day, of all your greatness, and in the presence of your own selves, meaning in review of all your miseries, and mishaps, which are proper to you, confess the truth of your nullity, and of your corruption; by this search you shall recover yourselves, and by this confession thus shall you Triumph over yourselves.   

A PROLUSIONVpon the EMBLEM of the last Chapter.  

VIewing the Ranges of a Library  
Of Dead men's bones piled in a Coemitarie  
Great Alexander finds Diogenes,  
And thus they Dialogue.   Alex. 
Cynic, among these  
Ruins of frail Mortality, what dost look?  Diog. 
For that wherein I fear to he mistook,  
I seek thy Father Philip's Scull among  
This pellmell undistinguishable Throng.  Alex. 
Let's see, which is it? show me.  (Diog.) 
Sure 'tis that,  
Whose nose is bridge-faln.  Alex. 
Dead men's all are flat.  Diog. 
Why then 'tis that where shrowds perpetual night,  
Caved in those hollow eye-holes, void of sight.  Alex. 
Still all are so,  Diog. 
Why 'tis yon skinless brow,  
Chap-faln, lip sunk, with teeth-disranked row,  
Yond peeled scalp  Alex. 
Thus still are all alike.  Diog. 
So shall both You and I. and let this strike.  
Thy knowledge Alexander, and Thy sense,  
'Twixt King and slave once Dead's no difference.  L'envoy. 
THere is no difference, 
Mors sceptra ligonibus aequat. Her.  Death hath made  
Equal the Sceptre, and the Spade.  
No dreader Majesty is now  
I'th' Royal Scalp, then Rustic brow.  
Fair NEREUS has no beauteous grace,  
More than Thersites ' ugly face,  
Now both are dead, odds there is none  
Betwixt the fairest, and foulest One.  
Tell me amongst the huddled pile  
Of Dead men's bones, which was ere while  
The subtlest Lawyer's, or the Dull  
And Ignoramian Empty Skull?  
Was yond some valorous Samsons arm?  
Or one that ne'er drew sword for harm.  
Or wink and tell me, which is which,  
Irus the poor, or Croesus, rich?  
What are they now, who so much stood  
On Riches, Honours, and high Blood?  
there's now no Difference, with the Dead  
Distinctions all are buried,  
Only the Soul as Ill, or Well,  
Is Differenced or in Heaven, or Hell.  

Alexander, and Diogenes discoursing among th●● Sepulchers of the Dead, the Cynic tells the Ki●● That in the Grave, Monarches and Meaner M●● are all alike.    

THE MIRROR WHICH FLATTERS NOT.  
CHAP. IU.  
WHat a horrid spectacle is this? what a frightful object? See you not this great number of Dead men's sculls, which heaped one upon another, make a mountain of horror, and affright, whose baleful, and contagious umbrage, insensibly invites our bodies on to the grave. What a victory is this over these? but what an inhumanity? what a defeat? but what a butchery? May we not say, that sury and rage, have assassinated, even Natures-self, and that we now alone remain in the world, to celebrate its funerals by our lamentations, and regreets. Fathers, Mothers, Children, Nobles, 
Death is a severe judge, and pardons none.  and Plebeians, Kings, and their subjects are all pellmell in this stack of rotten wood, which Time like a covert, but burning fire consumes by little and little, not able to suffer, that ashes should be exalted above dust.  
Proud Spirits, behold here the dreadful reverse of the medal. All these sad objects of mortality, and yet actively animated, with horror and affright, by their own silence enjoin the same to you thus to amuse your Spirits in the contemplation of their deplorable ruins. If you be rich, See here those, who have possessed the greatest treasures of the world, are not now worth the marrow of their own bones, whereof the worms have already shared the spoil. If you be happy; The greatest savourities of fortune, are reduced to the same noisomness as you see the filth that enrounds them. If you be valiant, Hector, and Achilles, are thus here overcome, behold the shameful marks of their overthrow. If you be men of Science, Here lies the most learned of the world. 'Tis the Epitaph on their tomb, Read it.  
I grant moreover, 
Death may be contemned, but not avoided.  you may be the greatest Princes of the earth. An infinite number of your companions are buried under these corrupted ruins. Suppose in fine, that your Sovereignty did extend itself over all the Empire of the world; A thousand and a thousand too of your semblables, have now nothing more their own, than that corruption, which devours, even to the very bones.  
Ambitious Heart, see here a Mirror which flatters not, since it represents to the life the realty of thy miseries. Well mayst thou perhaps pretend the conquest of the Universe; even those, who have born away that universal Crown, are now crowned, but with dust, and ashes.  
Covetous wretch, behold the book of thy accounts, 
'Tis no wonder the Miser ne'er thinks of Death, his thoughts are only taken up for this Life.  calculate all that is due to thee, after payment of thy debts: learn yet after all this, that thy soul is already mortgaged to devils, thy body to worms, and thus, notwithstanding all thy treasures, there will not abide with thee one hair upon thy head, one tooth in thy chaps, nor one drop of blood in thy veins, nor ne'er so little marrow in thy bones, nay the very memory of thy being, would be extinguished if thy crimes did not render it eternal, both here, and in the torments of hell.  
Proud arrogant man, measure with thy bristled brows, 
Pride is but like the nooneflourish of a flows or, which at Sunset perisheth.  the dilatation of the earth, Brave with thy menacing regards the heavens, and the stars. These molehills of rottenness, whereof thy carcase is shaped, prepare toward the tomb of thy vanity. 
Seneca Epist. Quotidie morimur, quotidie enim demitur aliqua par, vitae.  These are the shades of Death inseparable from thy body, since it dies every hour. If thou elevate thyself to day, even to the clouds; to morrow thou shalt be debased to nothing. But if thou doubt of this truth, behold here a thousand witnesses which have made experience of it.  
Luxurious Wanton, give thy body a prey to voluptuousness; deny nothing to thy pleasures, but yet consider the horror, and dreadfunesse of that Metamorphosis, when thy flesh shall be turned to filth, and even that to worms, and those still to fresh ones, which shall devour even thy coffin, and so efface the very last marks of thy Sepulture.  
How remarkable is the answer of Diogenes to Alexander? What art thou musing on, Cynic, says this Monarch to him one day, having found him in a Charnell-yard, I amuse myself here (answers he) in search of thy father Philip's bones among this great number, which thou see'st; but my labour is in vain, for one differs not from another.  
Great Kings, the discuss of this answer, may serve you now as a fresh instruction, to insinuate to you the knowledge of yourselves. You walk in triumph to the Tomb, followed with all the train of your ordinary magnificences: but by being arrived at this Port, blown thither with the continual gale of your sighs, your pomp vanisheth away, your Royal Majesty abandons you, your greatness gives you the last Adieu, and this your mortal fall equals you now, to all that were below you. The dunghill of your body, hath no preeminence above others, unless it be in a worse degree of rottenness, of being of a matter more disposed to corruption: But if you doubt of this truth, 
Corruprio optimi pessima  behold and contemplate the deplorable estate, to which are reduced your semblables. Their bald scalps have now no other Crown, than the circle of horror, which environs them; their disincarnated hands hold now no other Sceptre but a pile of worms, and all these wretchednesses together, give them to see a strange change, from what they were in all the glories of their Court. 
The seriout meditation of his miserable condition, 'tis capable to make any man wise.  These palpable and sensible objects, are witnesses not to be excepted against. Let then your souls submit to the experiment of your senses.  
But what a Prodigy of wonders here! do I not see, the great Army of Xerxes, reduced and metamorphosed into a hand full of dust? All that world of men in those days, which with its umbragious body, covered a great part of the earth, shades not so much as a foot on't with its presence. Be never weary of thinking of these important truths.  
Seneca in the Tragedy of Hercules brings in Alcmene, 
In Hercule Oetaeo. Ecce, vix totam Hercules Complevit urnam, quam leve est pondus mihi, C●totus aether pondus incubuit leve?  with grievous lamentation, bearing in an urn, the ashes of that great Monster-Tamer; And to this esfect makes her speak; Behold, how easily I carry him in my hand, who bore the Heavens upon his shoulders. The sense of these words, aught to engage our spirits to a deep meditation upon the vanity of things, which seem to us most durable. All those great Monarches who sought an immortality in their victories and triumphs, have missed that, and found Death at last, the enjoyment of their Crowns and splendours, being buried in the same Tomb with their bodies. See here then a new subject of astonishment.  
The Mathematicians give this Axiom, 
The world is a Game at Chess, where every of the Set ha●s his particular Name and Place designed: but the Game done, all the pieces are pellmell●d into the Bag: and even so are all mortals into the grave.  All lines drawn from the Centre to the Circumference are equal, Kings and Princes, abate your haughtiness, your subjects march fellowlike with you to the Centre of the grave. If life gave you pre-eminence; Death gives them now equality. There is now no place of affectation, or range to be disputed: the heap of your ashes, and their dust, make together but one hillock of mould whose infection is a horror to me. I am now of humour not to flatter you a whit.  
We read of the Ethiopians, that they buried their Kings in a kind of Lestall: and I conceive thereof no other reason, then according to the nature of the subject, they joined by this actiotion, the shadow and the substance, the effect with the cause, the stream with its source; for what other thing are we then a mass of mire, dried and baked by the fire of life; but scattered again and dissolved by the Winter of Death; and in that last putrefaction, to which Death reduceth us, the filth of our bodies falls to the dirt of the earth, as to its centre, for so being conceived incorruption, let us not think strange to be buried in rottenness.  
Earth, dust, and ashes, 
'Tis well men hid themselves after death in the Earth, or the enclosure of Tombs, their sulth and noisomeness would else be too discovert.  remain still the same, be it in a vessel of gold, or in a coffin of wood, or in a Mausolean Tomb of marble. Great Kings, well may you cover your wretchedness, with a magnificent Sepulchre, they will for all this not altar condition, the noisomeness of your bones is never without the abhorment, and putrefaction proper to them. And if (suppose) their mass be reduced into dust, and the wind carry it away, the very wings of the wind are laden with rottenness, and can scatter nothing else in a thousand places, where ere they fall. I will a little straggle out of the way without losing my aim.  
Fabius Paulus reports, that upon the Tomb of Isocrates, there was a Siren seated upon a Ram, and holding a Harp in her hand. And this gave to understand, This famons Orator charmed men's souls through their ears, by the sound of his admirable eloquence. But whereas no melodious air was heard from the mute Harp of this Siren, it was required of the Spectators, 
How unsufferable is the vanity of men, who even upon their Tombs, will have the display of their vainglory.  to take for granted in imagination, the harmony of her sweet touches, as emblem of the sweetness of this great Orator's voice: But Death imposeth silence on both, and thus remained they a sad sight, both in object, and mysteries contained under; since now of these passages remains no more but a weak remembrance, and whereof Time by little and little, effaceth even the Ideas.  
Johannes Baptista Fontanus relates that upon the Sepulchre of Q. Martius there was ' graven a Ram supported upon the two fore-feets, & a Hare dead by its side. The Ram represented the generosity of this great Captain in all combats, and the dead Hare, his vanquished enemies: But what honour now remains him after their defeat? This vanquisher of an infinite number of miserable wretches, is at the last overcome with his own miseries. Though Triumphant in a thousand combats, one marble stone now contains all his trophies. and glory. O deplorable fate! to have but seven foot-earth, after conquest of the greatest part of the earth.  
Plutarch assures us, that upon the Tomb of Alexander, there was represented in Emblem Asia, and Europe, appearing vanquished, and in the chains of their captivity, with this mot, which served as a fresh Trophy, The victory of Alexander. O poor victory O sorry triumph! for where are now its Laurels, and Palms? This great Monarch conquered the whole world, but being never able to conquer his ambition, This in the end, hath taken away all the glory, which it made him acquire. Great Princes, advance then on to the conquest of the Universe, 
The misprise of the world is more glorious than all its honour  but I advertise you one thing, All those that are returned from the same action, have much repent themselves, to have taken so great pains for so small a matter. 
* Le jeu ne vant pas la chandelle  The Game's not worth the Candle, as the Proverb. But if you love to Conquer, and triumph; your passions will furnish you with such subjects every hour. Let's once see the end of our career.  
We read of Cyrus, that he caused to be engraven these words upon the stone of his Monument, HERE LIES THE CONQVEROUR OF THE PERSIANS: But what excess of mishap could have reduced so great a Monarch to such an excess of wretchedness, must it be said? Here Lies, of one that lately stood so triumphant? Would he have men admire his past glory in view of that vault, where he was interred? would he have men adore the magnificences of his Life upon the same Altar, where Death exhibits him as a victim? Is not this a vanity more worthy of compassion, than envy?  
The History of the life of Themistocles was to be read upon the marble of his Sepulchre, but 'twas forgotten, there to depaint also the story of his Death. Behold the high deeds of Themistocles, 
'Tis but a poor satisfaction to have for recompense of so much pains, but the estentation of a glorious Sepulchre.  this was the inscription. But to us it may be of importance to consider, that although the wonders, which he had done, were only graven upon the port of his Monument, yet for all that, they also made their entry into it, and followed the fate of their author: so that now rests nothing of Themistocles, but Name, for of all that he hath done, the wind hath carried away the glory, and the small remembrance on't, which sticks by us, is but a portrait of vanity.  
There was represented upon the Tomb of Joshua, the Sun with this inscription. Sun stand thou still upon Gibeon. 
Josh. 10.12.  True it is, the Sun stood still in the midst of his career, to give full Triumph to this great Captain over his enemies: But after they were overthrown, this Planet jealous of his glory conducts him also to his grave, as not enduring to see any thing upon earth, as durable as itself. 
There is no course swister, then that of Life to Death.  So true it is, that all things here flit away, with the swiftness of a Torrent; though their flight to us seem much more slow.  
The Epitaph, which some 
* Sit fides penes Authorem.  writings report us of Adam, has not so much splendour and magnificence, as the others. He is Dead, says his Epitaph, speaking only of him. O excellent Epitaph! Men shall say no more of you one day, Great Kings. Well may you with Q. Martius come off victorious from all combats, and enter in triumph into Cities with Alexander. Well may you cause to be ensculpted the History of your Acts, upon the marble of your Sepulchers, like as Themistocles; & well may you Subpoena the Sun for a witness of the reality of your triumphs, like Joshuah: Yet for all this, men shall say no more of you, than was said of ADAM, HE IS DEAD. They are dead, and there is all.  
The Epitaph of David composed by some, from consequence of Scripture, is worthy remark: Here lies the invincible Monarch, who in his childhood overcame Bears, in his adolescency Lions, in his youth Giants, and in his age himself. Traveller envy not his repose, for thou art in the way to it thyself. These words are express in a near regard to the sense of those, which are couched in Scripture upon this subject, and I thereto can add no more than this discourse of my astonishment, and rapture.  
What! so great a Prince as David, favoured by heaven, and redoubted upon earth, and so endowed by Nature, shall he glimpse out a little but like a flash of lightning, and pass away like a puff of wind? where then shall a man find constancy and assurance? 
Inconstancy is the only foundation of created things.  What can be the site and foundation of all these our new wonders of the world, whose beauty seems to contest for lustre with the very Sun? O LORD, to me it is a most agreeable consolation, to see in my race to the tomb, how all things follow me. I am well apaid, that there is nothing here below durable, but thy Word alone, since this makes me hope for an Eternity, which shall never be subject to the inconstancy of times. Let all things LORD change with me, and thus I love this change for in rolling along, from time to time toward the grave, I still approach towards thee, and consequently to my sovereign repose, and last selicity. Let us follow our first traces.  
The first Epitaph which was was put upon Tombs, was that of the fair Rachel, as is partly remarked from Scripture, and Borchardus assures us it was a Pyramid, which Jacob erected, 
Gen. 35.20.  sustained upon a dozen precious stones, with this inscription, HERE LIES BEAUTY AND LOVE.  
Ladies, let your sweetness and blandishments now change language, and let them tell us no more that you are fair, since Beauty is buried in the Tomb of the fair Rachel: But if you make bravado of your crisped hairs, whose glistering charms dazzle the eyes, and captivate men's souls at once: Her bright locks dispersed into a thousand golden wreaths, had the power to enchain men's hearts, and yet her virtue was to despise this power. But for all this, 
Ladies, if you be fair to day, there is a tomorrow when you shall not.  notwithstanding Nature was never able to exempt from rottenness this M●stris, or Masterpiece of the works of her hands. Suppose that Majesty itself, has no better Mirror then from the clear reflections of your ivory foreheads: Rachel's was so perfect, that it is in vain to seek terms to express its, accurateness, and yet now it is nothing but ashes, if so much.  
Let your Eyes (suppose) be more clear and beatiful than the Sun, able to make a rape upon men's liberties, and enamourate the sternest hearts; those of Rachel were so admirable and bewitching, that she herself redoubted their force and power. Looking herself in a Mirror, 
All the tenors of bodily perfections are held of time, whose inconstancy steals away with them every moment.  her own eyes inflamed her, and of this pleasing heat, she apprehended the influence, being herself even tempted to desire it: But for all this, those two sparkling wonders, quickened with Nature's sweetest, and most amiable graces, are now nothing but rottenness and corruption.  
Be your Cheeks half Lilies, half Roses, your lips Carnation-Gilly-flowers, your teeth Orient Pearl, your bosom purest Alabaster, and all these lovely parts enlivened with a spirit divine: fair Rachel possessed all these perfections sovereignly, and more than ever you saw, or wished, as elevated above your knowledge. But (O mishap) she herself, in whom all these rare beauties were united, and assembled, is now no more ought at all; 
Every thing fades sooner in us, than vanity and sin.  or if she be somewhat, it can be but a little dust, and earth, and ashes, which the worms keep possession of in deposit. O fearful metamorphosis.  
Ladies, will you yet presume yourselves fair, after you have thus now assisted in imagination and thought, to the funerals of Beauty itself after you have read, I say, the Epitaph, which Truth itself hath written upon her Sepulture. I grant you have a thousand sweets, and graces: yet now at least confess ye, that these blandishments are but of so thin aerial worths, that the wind carries them away, as if they were composed of nought else; for scarcely have they birth, but you see them decay, and then the misprise, that each one makes of them, renders them more capable to produce pity then love.  
It is remarked in the life of the happy Francis Borgia, of the Society of the Jesuits, that being engaged in the world to seek a fortune, although the greatness of his birth, and merits, were of very great consideration; the Emperor Charles the fifth committed to his charge the dead body of his dear Spouse, to be conducted and carried to the Sepulchre of her ancestouts, which he undertook, holding for an excess of honour the commandment which he had received, and the particular choice which his Majesty had made of his person. But then, when being arrived to the place, where were to be performed the last Exequys of this Princess, they were desirous to visit the corpse, according to the ordinary formalities accustomed to be practised in an action so important. Never was seen so much horror, and dismay, 
There is no object more affrightful than mortal misery, but the daily habit of our sad experiences, takes away the horror. But O the worm of conscience is to weak souls much more dreadful, than those which devour the body.  as upon overture of the Coffin, on the countenances of the Spectators. They look for the body of this Princess in his presence, and it is not to be found, for none can know it; her visage heretofore full of blandishments, and all the graces, both of Majesty, and sweetness is now but a heap of filth, whereof the worm● in swarms, and still encreafing, keep the Court of guard upon the putrefaction. And the rest of her body is still a fresh stock for these vermin, who have now already reasonably well satisfied their hunger with this prey.  
Even those that enwrapped this Princess in her winding linen, dare not maintain 'twas she, and he to whose care the body was deposited, knows not what to say, finding himself so confounded, and astonished with so sudden and affrightful a Metamorphosis, that he straight resolved at that instant, to quit the world, and divest himself of all his greatnesses, since they are not able to exempt the body from corruption.  
Ladies, suffer yourselves to be no more surprised by vanity, you see to what extremity of horror and misery, are reduceable your allurements and charms. 
All beauties but of virtue are still changing.  The greatest Princess of the world, and one of the fairest as hath been, being now fallen from her Imperial Throne into the grave, not one of her attendants can retain any knowledge of her in so short a space. The worms having effaced the lineaments of her resemblance, have enveloped it so deep into corruption, that no where is it to be found else being but Rottenness. Reader, render up thyself to the hits of a Truth sa sensible.  
It is reported of Semiramis, that she caused to be put upon her Tomb this Inscription. The King that shall have need of money, shall find within this Sepulchre as much as he would have in it. And sometime after, King Darius transported with a violent passion of Avarice, caused this Sepulchre to be opened; but found within no other riches, ●hen of so much gold as was necessarily employed, in the engraving of these words. Covetous wretch, 
It is an insolence to the privileges of nature, to trouble the repose of the Dead.  which comest to disturb the repose of the dead, satiate thy greedy passion upon the treasure of my miseries, since this object is powerful enough to make thee undervalue all the riches of the world.  
You that are Covetous, Enter often, at least in Meditation, into Tombs; visit to such effect the Churchyards, and you shall find therein more riches than you wish for, considering the horror of that rorten earth, wherein your semblables are interred, you will reason without doubt thus;  
To what purpose at last will stead me all the treasures, which I amass up in my coffers, if the very richest of the world be but earth, and ashes before my eyes? What shall I do at the hour of my death, with all the goods which I now possess, if even my body be a prey destinated to worms and rottenness?  
LORD, I aim at nothing of this world, but that glory alone, which a man may acquire by the contempt of it, but as it is a glory, whereof the acquisition depends of thy grace, 
All our hopes depend from grace, nothing from ourselves  more than my force; give me the Courage, if it pease thee, to surmount all the temptations, which shall oppose themselves against my design of Victory, to the end, that my vows may be heard, and my pains recompensed. I return to myself.  
When I consider, that all the world together, is but as it were a Caemitary or Churchyard, wherein every hour of the day, some wretchedness, or other, brings to the grave those whom such their miserable condition hath destroyed, I have no more passionate desire of life, since evils and troubles are proprietaries of it rather than we. 
He which meditates of another's man's death, puts himself in mind of his own, since we are all slaves to to the same fate  Who can keep account of the number of persons, that expire at this very moment, that I am now speaking to you, or the different deaths, which terminate the course of their career? All is universally dreadful, and yet we quake not, either in horror, or astonishment.  
A Walk into Churchyards, & Charnels, though it be sad and melancholy, by reason of the doleful objects there obvious, hath yet nevertheless something in it agreeable to content good souls, 
In many of the Churchyards of France, are thousands of dead men's skulls and bones, piled up, as at S. Innocents' at Paris, S. Croix at Orleans, etc. Meditation upon the vanities of life is a piece of serious felicity before death.  in the contemplation of those very objects, which they there find. How often have I taken pleasure to consider a great number of Deadman's sculls arranged one in pile upon another with this conceit of the vanity, and arrogance, wherewith otherwhile they have been filled? Some have had no other care but of their Hair, employing the greatest part of their time, either to frizle or to empouder them; and represent unto yourselves by the way, what recompense now betides them for all their pains. Others all full of ambition, had no other aims but at coronal wreaths, consider a little in this their misery, the injustice of their pretensions.  
I ha' remarked in sequel how a little worm did gnaw the arm of some late Samson, reducing thus all his force to an object of compassion, and wretchedness, since that arm heretofore so strong, and dreadful, had not now force enough to resist a little worm. Reader muse often of these truths, and thou shalt find therein more joy than sadness.  
Typotius reports of john Duke of Cleveland, that to testify the frailty of our nature and the miseries of our condition, he had taken the Emblem of a Lily, with this device.  
Hodie hoc, cras nihil. 
Hodie Lilium, Cras Nihilum.  It flourishes to day, to morrow 'tis nothing.  
Great Kings, 
Even those things which seem most durable, have in effest but a morning prime like flowers.  your life is like this Lily, it appears like this flower, at Sun-rise with glittering and pomp, but at noon its vivacity and lustre begin to fade, and at the end of the day it vanisheth away with it, and scarce its being is remembered.  
We read in Apianus of Pompey, that after he had triumphed over three parts of the world, he carried nothing away with him to the grave, but these words, Hic situs est magnus Pompeius, Pompey is here buried with all his pomp.  
O World, how poor art thou, since thou hast but such a thing of nought to give? O Fortune, how miserable art thou, when thy favourites are exposed to public view, as objects of compassion? Let him trust in them who will, a man shall never be able to escape their tromperies, but by despiting their favours.  
Here lies Hannibal: Behold all the honour, which posterity rendered to the memory of so great a Captain. 
Time is as inexionable. as Death, and neither of them spare any.  And Time, even jealous of the glory of his name, though not able to bury it in the Abysses of Oblivion, hath yet devoured the very marble of his Sepulchre. Are not these things truths worthy to raise astonishment?  
'Tis remarked in Suetonius, of one of the Roman Emperors, that being now at last gasp, and as it were at a bay with Death, he cried out in excess of astonishment; Fui omnia, sed nihil expedit: I have been all in all, but now it nothing helpeth me. I have tasted all the pleasures of all the greatness of the world, but the sweets are changed into sours, and only their bitter disgust stays with me.  
Experiment all the delights of the Earth, Great Kings, the distaste will ever at last only remain to your mouths, and sorrows to your hearts, and if these do no good on you, a thousand eternal punishments will possess your souls. Represent to yourselves, that all the felicities of Life, are of the same nature as that is, That decays every moment, and they flit away without cease. 
Contentments. cause in their privation as extreme discontents.  The contentments which men receive here below, are like the pleasures of the Chase, which are only rellished running. I draw to an end.  
Belon in his Monuments of the Kings of Egypt, says, that they were interred with such a splendour of pomp and magnificence, that even those who had divers times before been admirers of it, were for all that often in doubt, whether the people went to place the corpse in the Throne again, rather than in their Sepulchre. O how ill to the eyes is the lustre of this sad kind of honour! For if vanity be insupportable barely of itself, these excesses of it, put the spirits upon the rack.  
Diodorus Siculus, speaking of the Tomb which Alexander caused to be erected, for his favourite Ephestion, assures that the magnificences, which were there to be admired, were beyond as well all value, as example, Marble, Brass, Gold, and Pearl, were profusely offered to most cunning Artisans, to frame thereof such works wherein sadness and compassion, might be so naturally represented, that they might affect the whole world with the like. Diamonds, Rubies, and all other precious stones, were there employed, under the Image of a Sun, 
A Man should never be angry with his hard ' fate the decrees on't are inviolable.  Moon, and Stars. It seems this Monarch blinded with Love, thought to hold the Planets captive in the glorious enchainments of those fair Masterpieces, as if he would revenge himself of them for their malign influences, which they had poured upon the head of his dear Ephestion. But this conceit was vain, for the same stars, whose captivity he ostented upon this Tomb, conducted him also by little and little to his grave.  
The Romans transported with passion, to honour the memory of the Dictator Sylla, caused his statue to be framed of a prodigious height, all composed of perfumes, and cast it into the funeral pile, where his body, whereof this was also but a shadow, was to be burnt to ashes: Being desirous by this action, to give to understand, that as the odour of his statue dispersed itself through all the City of Rome, the much more odoriferous savour of his peculiar virtues would spread itself through all the world. But to go to the rigour of the literal sense, it is credible, they had not cast in this aromatical statue into the stack, but only to temper the excess of the stench of the body, which was to be consumed with it. And I proceed to imagine beside, that the odour of this statue, the cinders of his body, and all the glory of the actions of Sylla, had all the same fate, since the wind triumphed over them altogether. Behold the reverse of the Medal of Vanity,  
'Tis remarked in the life of the Emperor Severus, by the report of DION, that he made to be set at the gate of his Palace an Urn of marble, and as  as he went in or out, he was accustomed to say, laying his hand on it; Behold the Case that shall enclose him, whom all the world could not contain.  
Great Kings, have often the same thoughts in your souls, if you have not the like discourses in your mouths, the smallest vessel of earth is too great for the ashes of your bodies, which shall remain of them, after the worms have well fed on them: for the wretchedness of your human condition, reduceth you at last to so small a thing, that you are nothing at all. But if I must give a name to those grains of corrupted dust, which are made of your deplorable remains, 
Man only is considerable in respect of his noble actions.  I shall call them the Ideas of a dream, since the memory of your being can pass for no other together with the time. Behold a fresh subject of entertain.  
Some of our Ethnic Historians report to us, that the Troglodytes buried their kindred and friends, with the tone of joyful cries, and acclamations of mirth.  
The Lothophagis cast them into the Sea, choosing rather to have them eaten of fishes in the water, then of worms in the earth.  
The Scythians did cat the bodies of their friends, in sign of amity, insomuch that the living were the Sepulchre of the dead. The Hyrcanians cast the bodies of of their kindred to the Dogs. The Massagetes exposed them as a prey to all manner of ravenous beasts.  
The Lydians dried them in the Sun, and after reduced them to powders, to the end the wind might carry them away.  
Amongst all the customs, which were practised amongst these strange Nations, I find none more commendable than the first, of the Troglodytes looking for no hell, they had good reason to celebrate the funeral of their friends and kindred, with laughter and acclamations of cheerfulness, rather than with tears, and lamentations.  
For though that Life be granted us by divine favour, 
There is more contentment to die then to live, if we consider the end, for which man was created.  yet we enjoy it but as a punishment, since it is no other than a continual correction of our continual offences. Besides the sad accidents which accompany it inseparably, even to the grave are so numerous, that a man may justly be very glad at the end of his journey, 
The body of Man being made of earth is subject to earth; but the soul holds only of its sovereign Creator.  to see himself discharged of so ponderons a burden. Not that I here condemn the tears, which we are accustomed to shed, at the death of our nearest friends, for these are ressentments of grief, whereof Nature authorizeth the first violences. But neither do I blame the virtue of those spirits, who never discover alteration upon any rencontre of the mishaps, and miseries of the world, how extreme soever they be. 
The living are more to be bemoaned then the dead, they being still i'th' midst of this life's tempest, but these are already arrived to their Port.  And what disaster is it to see die, either our kindred or friends, since all the world together, and Nature itself, can do nothing else. What reason then can a man have to call himself miserable, for being destinated to celebrate the funerals of those, whom he loves best, since the divine Providence, hath sovereignly established this order, & since moreover in this career of Death, to which all the world speeds, the Present on't, being not distinguished but by Time, it will appear when all is come to the upshot, that one hath lived as long as another, since all ages though different during their continuance, are equal then when they are passed. Change we the discourse  
I advow once again, There is no remedy more sovereign to cure the passion of arrogance, than this of the consideration of Caemitaries, and Tombs. The most vainglorious and ambitious are forced to yield themselves at the assaults of these sad objects. For a spirit never so brave and valorous, 
To what purpose is Courage against those perils, which cannot be avoided  cannot but be astonished, when he sees at his feet the bones and dust of an infinite number of persons, who were as valiant as he, what thoughts can he have but of submission, and humility, considering that one part of himself is already reduced into dust and filth? I say a part of himself, since he himself is but a piece of the same matter, which now serves him for object, and to the same last point will be extended one day the line of his life.  
When Virgil tells us of the fate of Priam, 
Aencid. lib. 2. Jacet ingens litore truncus Auulsum que humeris caput, & sine nomine corpus.  he brings in Aeneas astonish'c at it, that so great a Monarch should leave to posterity no other Monument of his greatness, but a Tronck of flesh, a head separated from the shoulders and a carcase, without name: or shape.  
Great Kings, 
He which makes himself rightly sensible of his miseries is partly in way to be exempted from their tyranny.  This truth is a Mirror which flatters not. Gaze here often in these meditations, and you will surely at length consider, that All is full of vanity, and that this glory of the world, whereof you are so strongly I dolaters, is but a Fantasy, and Chimaera, to which your imaginations give that beauty, which charms you, and that delicacy, which ravishes you. What think you is it, to be the greatest of the world? 'Tis an honour, whereof misery and inconstancy are the foundations, for all the felicities which can arrive us, are of the same nature as we are, and consequently, as miserable as our condition, and as changing. This Earth whereon you live, is the lodging of the dead, what eternity believe you to find in it? Eternity of honours, riches, and contentments? there was never any but in imagination, and this Idea, which we have of them, is but a reflection from the lightning of Truth, wherewith heaven illuminates noble souls, 
There is nothing eternal in this world but this scope of truth  thus to guide them to the search of the true source of all, by the aid of these small rivulets. It is time to finish this work.  
I have made appear to you in the first Chapter, the particular study which a man ought to take, 
Seneca.  to come to the 
* Hoc jubet illa Pythicis oraculis adscripta vox. Nosce Te.  Knowledge of himself, wherein lies the accomplishment of perfection. And herein the precept is, The Consideration of the miseries, which are destinated to our Nature, as being so many objects capable enough, to force up the power of our reason, to give credence to the resentments of frailty, which are proper to us. But this is not all to be merely sensible of our wretchedness. Serious Consideration must often renew the Ideas of them in our souls, more than the hard experience of them. And this to the end, that vanity, to which we are too incident, 
He that searches into himself shall not lose his labour  may not surprise us, during the intervals of a meditation, so important. We must often dive into ourselves, and seek in the truth of our nothingness, some light to make us thus to know ourselves. Afterwards making a rise a little higher, it is necessary to consider the End, for which we were creaated, and in this consideration to employ all the powers of the several faculties of our souls, to the generous design of getting possession of that glory. Behold the Corollary of my first Argument, or Chapter.  
The second instructs us a new means, to resist powerfully the hits of the vanities of the world, from the example of the wretchedness of 
* Saladiae.  of one of the greatest Monarches of the world. Fortune had refused him nothing, because she meant to take all from him, 
Poverty and Riches depend upon opinion, and a noble soul is above his fortune in what condition soever he be.  for in the height of his glory he finds himself reduced to the poorness of his shirt only, which is all he carries with him into the grave. And this makes us sensibly perceive that the greatnesses of the earth are Goods, as good as estranged from human nature, since in this mortal and perishing condition we can only possess their usance, and the term of this possession is of so short endurance that we see as soon the end as the beginning. Reader represent unto thyself, how thou shalt be dealt with at thy death, both by Fortune and the world, 
Et quae veneraris, & quae despicis unus exaequabit cinis. Sen.  since the Minion of this blind Goddess, and the greatest of the Universe is exposed all naked in his shirt in sight of all his subjects to be given in prey to the worms, as well as the most miserable of the Earth.  
The Third Chapter, where Life leads Death in Triumph teaches us the Art to vanquish this untamable, 
The horror of Death, is purely in the we aknesse of imagination.  by considering its weakness: for in effect, if Death be but a privation, 'tis to be deprived of reason and judgement, to give it a being, since it cannot subsist but in our impaired imaginations. The fantasme of an Idea is it, whose very form is immaterial, as having no other subsistence, I say but that which the weakness of our spirit gives it. And again, to come to the most important point; Let this be the close of the recapitulation, 
Sen.  that you may have means not to stand in fear on't; 
* Incertum est, quo te loco mors expectet: itaque tu illam am i loco expecta.  Muse on it always, look for it in all places, and overcoming yourselves, you shall triumph over it. Never did an unblemished life fear Death.  
The last Chapter, where the object of Caemiteries, and Sepulchers, is laid before your eyes, may now again serve for the lact touch, since it is a Theatre, where you must play the Tragedy of your lives. All this great number of Actors, 
Hodie mihi Cras tibi. Think on that, Reader, it may be thy turn to morrow.  whose bones and ashes you see there, have every one played their part, and it may be, that the hour will soon Knell, that you must act yours. Reader, live ever in this providence, a Man cannot too soon resolve to do that well, which howsoever must be done of necessity. God Grant, that these last lines may once again reproach thee, the bad estate of thy Conscience; delay not too long this Check to thyself, lest too late the regreets be then in vain. 
Momentum est unde pendet aeternitas  Thy salvation is fastened to an instant, consider the infinite number of them, which are already slipped away, when perhaps at that moment, thou wert in estate (if dying) to incur the punishment of a second Death, and that eternal. If thou trust to thy youth, put thy head out of the window, and thou shalt see carried to the grave some not so old as thyself. If thou rely upon the health, which thou now enjoyest, 
Saepe optimus status corporis periculosissimus. Hip. Sera nimis vita est crastina, vive hodie.  'tis but a false-going dial. The calm of a perfect health, hath oftentimes ushured the Tempest of a sudden Death. What hop'st thou for? hope is deceitful; what stayest thou for. A wise man ought never to defer till to morrow, what should he done to day. Lastly, what desirest thou? The peace of conscience is the only desirable good. Go on then right sorward, thou canst not miss the way which I have chalked thee.  
FINIS.    

PERLECTORI, The TRANSLATOURS' COROLLARY.  
SO, Now 'tis done, although it be no Task,  
That did much Brains, or toilsome Study ask:  
The meaning I 'vouch good, but Merit small,  
In rendering English, the French Principal:  
It is but a Translation I confess  
And yet the Rubs of Death in't ne'ertheless  
May trip some capering Fancies of the Time,  
That Domineer, and Swagger it in Rhyme,  
That Charge upon the Reader, and give Fire,  
On all, that do not (as they do) admire,  
Either their rugged Satyrs cruel vein,  
Or puff-paste Notes 'bove Ela in high strain:  
Then in prevention quarrel like a cursed,  
Scold, who being guilty, yet will call Whore first.  
When any dies whose Muse was rich in Verse,  
They claim Succession, and profane his Hearse,  
They only are Heirs of his Brain-estate,  
Others, are base, and illegitimate.  
All but their own Abettors they defy,  
And Lord it in their Wit Supremacy.  
Others they say but Sculke, as lie i th‘ lurch,  
As we hold Schismatics from the true Church,  
So hold they all that, do decline their way,  
Nor swear by Heaven, Al‘s excellent they say,  
'tTwere well they‘d see the fing‘ring on these frets,  
Can neither save their Souls, nor pay their Debts  
Or would they think of Death as they should do,  
They would live better, and more honoured too.  
'tis base to do base deeds, yet for false fame,  
To Keep a stir, and bustle into Name:  
Whilst each applauds his own contemns another's,  
beacons his own deserts, but his he smothers,  
They fear Fame's out of breath, and therefore they,  
Trumpet their own praises in their own way.  
Or join in Trick of State Confederacy.  
Call Quid pro Quo, Claw me, and I'll Claw thee.  
Marry, at others (Tooth and Nail) they fly,  
That do not tread their Path, but would go by.  
Farewell to these, my aim not here insists,  
Leave we these wranglers unto equal lists.  
To Nobler Natures I my breast expose,  
The Good I bow to in an humble Close:  
To such as knowing how vain this Life is,  
Exalt their thoughts to one better than This.  
'Tis the best Method to be out of Love;  
With things below, and thence to soar above.  
To which effect my souls integrity,  
In L'envoy thus salutes each courteous eye.   

Lenvoy.  
INgenuous Reader, thou dost crown  
The Moral active course laid down,  
By De. la ●erre, what is penned,  
If thy Actions tecommend.   

Relating to the first. EMBLEM.  
WHen haughty thoughts impuff thee, than  
Dictate thyself, Thou art but Man,  
A fabric of commixed Dust,  
That's all the prop of humane trust.  
How dares a Clod of mouldering Clay  
Be Proud, decaying every day?  
And yet there is a way beside,  
Wherein may be a lawful Pride.  
When sly Tempatations stir thee, Than,  
Again the World, Thou art a Man.  
Rouse up thy Spirits, do not yield,  
A brave resistance wins the Field:  
Shall a soul of Heavenly breath,  
Grovel so tar, its worth beneath:  
Foully to be pollute with slime,  
Of any base an ● shameful crime?  
Thou art a Ma●, for Heaven born,  
Reflect on Earth disdainful scorn,  
Be not abused, since Life is short,  
Squander it not away in sport:  
Nor hazard heavens eternal Joys,  
For a small spurt of worldly Toys.  
Do Something ere do thou bequeath;  
To Worms thy flesh to Air thy breath;  
Something, that may, when thou art dead,  
With honour of thy name be read.  
Something that may, when thou art cold,  
Thaw frozen Spirits, when ‘ 'tis told,  
Something that may, the grave control,  
And show thou hadst a noble Soul.  
Do something to advance thy bliss  
Both in the other World, and This.   

Relating to the second EMBLEM.  
WEre both the Indies treasures Thine,  
And thou Lord of every Mine;  
Or hadst thou all the golden Ore,  
On Tagus or Pactolus Shore,  
And were thy Cabinet the Shrine,  
Where thousand Pearls, and Diamonds shine,  
All must be left, and thou allowed,  
A little linen for thy .  
Or if 'twere so thy Testament,  
Perhaps a goodly Monument.  
What better is a golden Chase,  
Or Marble, than a Charnel place?  
Charon hence no advantage makes,  
A half penny a soul he takes,  
Thy heirs will leave thee but a Shirt,  
Enough to hid thy rotten Dirt.  
Then be not Greedy of much pelf,  
He that gets all, may lose himself.  
And Riches are of this Dilemne,  
Or they leave us, or we must them.  
Death brings to Miser's double Woe,  
They lose their Cash, and their souls too.  
Change then thy scope to heavenly gains,  
That wealth eternally remains.   

Relatory to the third EMBLEM.  
BE not curious, to amaze  
With glittering pomp the Vulgar gaze,  
Strive not to cheer with vain delight,  
Those that are catcht with each brave sight.  
How soon will any gaudy show,  
Make their low Spirits overflow,  
Whose Souls are ready to run-ore  
At any Toy ne'er seen before.  
Rather thy better thought apply,  
For to address thyself to die.  
Be ne'er so glorious, after all  
Thy latest pompes thy Funeral.  
Shall a dress of Tyrian Dye,  
Or Venice-gold Embroidery,  
Or new-fash'on-varied Vest,  
Tympanize thy out-strutting breast,  
There's none of these will hold thee tack.  
But thy last colour shall be Black.  
Be not deceived There comes a Day,  
Will sweep thy Glories all away.  
Mean while, the thought on't may abate  
Th' Excesses of thy present' state.  
Death never can that Man surprise  
That watches for't with wary Eyes.  
Do So, And thou shalt make thereby  
A Virtue of necessity;  
And, when thy Dying-day is come,  
Go like a Man that's walking home.  
Heaven Guard thee with Angelic pow‘r  
To be prepared for that hour,  
When every Soul shall feel what 'Tis  
To have lived Well, or done Amiss.   

Relating to the fourth EMBLEM.  
LEt not the Splendour of high Birth  
Be all thy Gloss without true worth,  
Let neither honour, nor vast wealth  
Beauty, nor Valour, nor firm health  
Make thee bear up too high thy head,  
All men alike are buried.  
Stare not with Supercilious brow,  
Poor folks are Dust, and so art Thou.  
Triumph not in thy worldy Odds,  
They die like men whom we count Gods,  
And in the Grave it is all one,  
Who enjoy‘d all, or who had none.  
Death cuts off all superfluous,  
And makes the proudest One of us,  
Nor shall there differ‘ence then between,  
The dust of Lords, or slaves be seen.  
Together under ground they lie  
Without distinctive Heraldry;  
Unless it be that some brave Tomb,  
Do grace the Great-ones in Earth's womb.  
But better ‘ 'tis that Heaven's door,  
ls oft‘nest open to the poor;  
When those, whose backs and sides with sin,  
Are bunched and swollen, cannot get in.  
Beware the Bulk of thy Estate,  
Shock thee from entrance at that Gate.  
Give Earth to Earth: but give thy Mind  
To Heaven, where it's seats as signed,  
If, as it came from that bright Sphere;  
Thither thou tend, not fix it here.  
Live, that thy Soul may White return,  
Leaving it‘ss Partuer in the Urn,  
Till a Blessed Day shall reunite,  
And beam them with Eternal Light.  
Ainsi Souhaite Vostre treshumble Serviteur Thomas Cary. Tower-Hill, Antepenultim â Augusti. 1638.   

To my endeared Friend, the Translator, Mr. Thomas Cary.  

1.  
'TIs Moral Magic; and Wis Chemistry,  
Out of Death's Ugliness  
T‘extract so trim a Dress:  
And to a Constellated Crystalt tie  
Such an imperious spell,  
As who looks on it well,  
By sprighty Apparitions to the the Eye  
Shall See he must, and yet not fear to die.   

2.  
No brittle toy, but a tough monument  
(Above steel, marble, Brass)  
Of Malleable Glass:  
Which also will (while Wisdom is not spent)  
Out-price th‘ adored wedge,  
And blunt Times Sickle‘s edge:  
Usher‘d with gracious safety in its vent,  
For, to disfeaver Spirits fairly lent.   

3.  
Friend, here remoulded by thy English hand,  
(To speak it, is no fear)  
Is now as slick and clear.  
Nay, when Thy own Minerva now doth stand  
On a Composing state;  
‘ 'twas curt‘sie, to Translate.  
But most thy Choice doth my applause command;  
First for thy Self, then for this crazy Land H. L.    

LECTURO.  
COnspice, quod vani undat tectoria Factus:  
Et penetrabundi concipe vera Libri,  
O falsis animose bon is: Sirenane rerum  
Deductus, vitreas exue delicias.  
Interpres Genium, quo vivax Author, habebit:  
Nec tantiem Archetypi claustra decora soni.  
Tam bene Cinname â ping it feralia cannâ,  
Phoenicis miro quae quasi rapta rogo.  
E gemitu solatiolum, è paedore venustas,  
Eque cadavereo vita reculta situ.  
Alter in arcanis sapiat subtile docendis  
Sublimique suus stet ratione liber:  
Alter amet flores, bibuli mulcedo popelli;  
Sur descens tandem plausibus ipse suis.  
Praesentem Libitina librum sibi vendicat illa;  
Corripens artem Rhotoris, illa Sophi.  
H. I.   

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〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.  
HEN. JACOB.   

Advertisement au Lecteur.  
Generous READER,  
'TWas upon occasion of the Summer's sad effects generally over all England, and some ressentments of mine own; when the Reading and Copying English this Author's French Original, seasonably engaged my thoughts, and Pen. I think als not forgotten yet: But in longer interval, and indeed always, there ought still to be a deep apprehension of our Mortality. This our Author inculcates to us in Notions quick and pertinent, though in some historical allusions he may a little o're-trust his Memory.  
Valebis. Thomas Cary.  
— Laudatus abundè  
Non fastiditus—   

Imprimatur.  
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