THE LOVING HUSBAND, And Prudent WIFE; Represented in the persons of St. Eustachius and Theopista, Martyrs.  
Written in Italian by John Baptista Manzini, and englished by John Burbery.  
The History is confirmed by Baronius, with the testimony of Greek and Latin Authors.  
LONDON, Printed for J. Martin, and J. Allestrye, at the Bell in St. Paul's Churchyard, 1657.   

To the most incomparable Pair, and no less happy in affection, than matchless in worth, and honour, the Right Honourable Henry Howard of Arundel, my most noble Patron, and the Lady Anne his Wife.  
'tIS related of the River Alpheus, that by subterranean passages, it runs awhile unseen through the Country of Elis, but afterwards breaking out, repairs to the Sea, though with no great stream. The rivulet of my thanks (for your favour to me, all along my attendance on my Lords of happy memory, your Grandfather, and Father, and since more abundantly expressed during my service with your Honours) which long hath been concealed, (it having no proportion with the Sea of your bounty) now openly runs thither, though blushing all the way, at the smallness of the stream. But since at any rate I desire to be grateful to your Honours, (I publishing with my gratitude my own imperfections) whom can I more worthily entitle to this Book, since the one is so loving a Husband, and the other so prudent a Wife? The Dedication then by right belonging to your Honours, (Valour and Beauty, with the virtues of both Sexes, meeting in you, as lines in the centre) what juster Oblation could be made, if the Offering had resemblance with your Honour's high deserts? But the Sun not secluding the Valleys from the influence of his rays, invites me to hope, your Honours (like the Sun in the lustre of your Families) will descend into this Valley, and seclude not from the influence of your favourable aspect, the humble labours of  
Your Honour's most devoted, and most faithful humble Servant, John Burbery.   

The Loving Husband, and Prudent Wife, etc.  

The first Book.  
THE merit of Virtue is so great, and so glorious with Man, that if Man owed not Virtue to God, he would owe less to God than to Virtue. And what benefit would Life be, if Life were nothing else but a bundle of evils? A good life, said the Moralist, is a greater benefit than life itself. The merit of Virtue (a Treasure we have happily gotten out of the Exchequer of God's grace) is the thing that hath made Man admired many times above all earthly Creatures. And what wonder is it, that an Angel, whose object is so blessed, and whose nature so perfect, should always live burning in the love of that Creator he beholds and enjoys? A wonder it is, and a wonder for a Deity, that is seated on a Throne of Omnipotency, to see that a worm of the earth, oppressed with the weight of his carnal desires, wrestling with the distraction of so many flattering objects, and opposed by Hell's treacheries and power, should be every where invincible, and triumphing over all dangers, by a heat of love, mount above the sphere of all corporeal things on the wings of Charity; and flying into the bosom of his Maker, miraculously engraff, and transform himself wholly into his Creator. If the reverence (due to the profound depths of heavenly wisdom) commanded not my silence, I should presume to say, that to so rebellious an Angel as Lucifer, a man so pious as he I speak of, should in reason have been Guardian. Perhaps his example might have kept him in his duty, who hath reared with a handful of Clay, an Altar to his God, to the shame of a noble spirit, whose sacrileges lasted but a while, to make him more eminent in his sin, than his nature.  
Of such men renowned for Virtue, the Stories of Christian Religion relate many. And because to arrive at the perfection of so holy a state, Virtue is necessary, and cannot be better learned than by an Example, I have thought it fit to give the Reader a Pattern, which we by imitation may improve to our advantage.  
In the life of Eustachius you will read the Idea of Perfection. His Heart was Love's Forge; his Bosom a Shop of Martyrdom. Whatever we believe of all the Unfortunate, we may pity in Eustachius alone. His life made him a Martyr, perhaps too a greater than his death; yea nothing but only death hath contributed to his rest, among the intolerable and uncessant torments of so painful a life. Whosoever hath not read his life, knows not yet how God plays at Tennis. Job in the old Testament would have been envy's subject, if Eustachius had not been born. Eustachius hindered Job from being singular, and Job him from being the first. Whosoever gives not credit to Miracles, let him forbear reading this Story; in which its a Miracle to me, my heart doth not break in running it over, much more in writing it. He that denses Tribulation in a good man is a gift of God, shall see by reading here, whether it were possible a man of ill life could suffer, without despair, the thousandth part of the disasters of this heart without heart. I call the heart of Eustachius a heart without heart, supposing Christ did there the office of a heart. And I cannot think it possible, that had not God assisted particularly, he could have opposed, much more overcome the power of Hell, so much at liberty, and set on to ruin him, who being only flesh, in the end would have showed his weakness.  
Of the Father of Eustachius, his Nativity, and Country, we have no light at all from Antiquity; were it that the Writers employed about the miracles of his life, had no leisure to celebrate his birth; or were it, that God (being always mysterious) would not let him be known to descend from the Earth, whom he had predestined to be a great Ornament to his Heaven, and our Law. It's the fate of the famous Rivers, Euphrates and Tigris, to derive their springs from Paradise.  
He was born, and lived long in the errors of the Gentiles, and barbarous Infidels: but true it is also, that in the whole carriage of his life, nothing could be ever observed to be barbarous, but his Paganism. He lived in Trajan's time, God would not permit him, or his Prince, to be born in an age of impiety. Trajan deserved to be born in a time when the justice of his Faith must be purged, as that of his Government. But Almighty God, who was pleased to try his Church, to make it victorious, designed that age for Princes, the hardness of whose hearts was to serve for a resemblance with the mines of a rising Faith.  
He was called Placidus from his Cradle, perhaps with less expression of his mildness than his happiness. Even his name assured him, he should be very acceptable to God.  
Being born in a Country (if we may believe his valour, which persuades us to think he was a Roman) and in an age that reduced all Virtues to Courage, he went to the Wars, to train up his Youth in the School of Mars. In a short space of time, his Valour was so cried up by all, that he (like another Leonides) was supposed to have a hairy heart in his breast. In dangers he was greater than dangers, and less only than his own Gallantry, which was swayed by his Prudence alone. The Soldiers had him always for a object to imitate, the Commanders for a subject to commend, and the Enemy for a Thunderbolt to fear.  
If he fought, he overcame; and if he conquered, he fought not. He never showed more valour, than when he had occasion to pardon; and never more generously pardoned, than when the Enemy despaired more of Pardon than Victory. He rejoiced in conquering, not in killing; and only then killed, when Clemency was Cruelty, or dangerous. He was not enamoured of a great, but good report; neither measured he his Victories by the space the Dead took up, but that the Suppliants filled. To affirm, he had a calm mind; it is enough to say, his mind would never yield to be conquered. He that is magnanimous, loves Victories, and not Slaughters. Whosoever spills blood with delight, may well boast of being a valorous Tiger, but cannot be a Soldier.  
As he went not temerariously to the Wars, but was invited thither by Glory; so his forward spirit never engaged him in their errors; who running more impetuously than warily after Fame, fall into a thousand precipices. His good service, and prudence, gave him presently the character of a worthy Commander; which the Emperor hearing of, he was not long a Pretender to Employment for the Armies, whose noblest part he was. His singular Valour more advanced him in the end, to the highest Commands, than the favour of his Master. How he warred, the Jews can tell, to whom was more terrible the sweet name of Placidus, than were at other times the Chariots of Pharaoh.  
As soon as the Wars were at an end, Placidus went to Rome, where by his mild nature, his unblemished deportment, but more by his great charity, in relieving all necessitous persons, he made himself so infinitely famous, and was by all the Empire so beloved, that he made the Politicians rule fail, enjoying at once the love of the People, and the favour of the Prince. I might speak something of his inclinations, but let this suffice. He was such a man, that albeit an Infidel, he got the love of God. His house was a very safe refuge to all that were unfortunate. Whosoever was in misery, and came to him for succour, was certain of relief. Whosoever wanted counsel, found him his surest Oracle. His counsels were so wise, that his mouth seemed to be a womb of wisdom. They were so candid and sincere, that Solomon would have called them, the sons of a tongue of choice silver. They were so useful, and so wholesome, that with the Holy Ghost we may say, The mouth of the just is a vein of life.  
His good disposition was transparent through the sweetness of his carriage. Every man knew he was a man, but they who hold intelligence with Heaven, would have taken him for an Angel.  
He carried himself with a gravity that was graceful, and had nothing of the haughty; neither did his mildness ever lessen his respect, or his rigour his love. He had the majesty, not the pride of his equals. He was like Nilus, which only of all Rivers is not subject to wind. He had the air of a Soldier, both in his demeanour and countenance: but his sweet disposition and mildness assured, he had in his breast erected a Temple to Peace. He resembled the propitiatory Cherubins, was Gold without, and of Olive would within; as the Wand which Brutus presented in the Temple of Delphos to Apollo, a Rind of the Cornel tree, a Soul of pure Gold. In fine, our Placidus was so mild, and so just, that the Public would have sent none but him to receive the Mother of the Gods, if she again sailing on the Seas, had arrived on the Roman Coast.  
At length he resolved to marry, persuaded not only by the pleasures enjoyed in Peace, and prefermonts by War, but the ordidinary inclination of man, to have a Consort for his own content, and the good of the Universe.  
And it succeeded well, he espousing Trajana, a Gentlewoman of rare chastity; and in her affection and deportment so conformable to her Husband, that her Habitation was a School of Music, in which, from several voices, an excellent harmony resulted. They loved one another, they mutually submitted, and had a reciprocal compassion, and esteem for each other. The husband beheld with no eyes but his wives, and the wife looked in no other glass but her husband. She conformed herself so naturally to his will and disposition, that both in her mind and actions, as it were in a glass, every man saw the solid image of her husband. A prudent woman (says Plutarch) will frame herself by Geometrical discipline to her husband's affections and nature, as the lines and superficies move not alone, but always with the body, so a virtuous woman should move, or be at quiet, will, or not will with her husband, making one single Will of two Understandings.  
Of this happy Graff grew two Sprouts, which degenerated in nothing from the ancient Stock. Their two little Sons, although young, fairly promised to imitate the virtues of Placidus and Trajana, living the followers, and dying the companions of their Parents.  
In the mean time, Placidus, ordained for great things, was infinitely weary of the idleness of Peace; and because no where better, and more to his genius, he could employ himself, than in War, he spent in hunting the greatest part of his time.  
Hunting resembles a War; but resembles it so naturally, that 'tis no absurdity to say, War is a Hunting, and Hunting a War. Does't not happen frequently in a Battle, that the Enemy flies? in Hunting, that a Beast makes resistance? Because they that run away in a time of War are not Beasts, shall not therefore War be a Hunting? Because all that in Hunting make resistance, are not Men, shall not therefore Hunting be a War? But be it what it will, our gallant Cavalier still employed, and diverted himself in hunting, where his labour, his stratagems, and the combats he had, (though they never produced glorious Victories) still exercised his body, many times his judgement, and sometimes his courage; and though sometimes they were dangerous to him, and sometimes painful, yet always they served to entertain and delight him.  
His Huntsman once telling him, he had found at feed a little way off, a great Herd of Stags, he joyfully, (and he could not but be joyful, if our soul still retaining some sparks of the Divinity, from which it proceeds, presages good luck) ranged the Hunters into order, distributed the Dogs, had fresh Horses at hand, and sending to watch the leaps, so contrived his design, that the hunting might prove as successful, as he hoped 'twould be delightful, in respect of the game.  
O loving God, by how many, and what ways, contriv'st thou the salvation of the senseless sinner? The Wood hath no retreat in all its dreadful horrors, and secret lurking holes, where the soul may so lie hid, as God doth not seek it, to beseech it to receive of him Graces, Mercies, Heaven, and Divinity.  
In the morning, by break of the day, which was to show the Sun of Mercies to a Hunter, Placidus well furnished with Men and Horses, road towards the fore mentioned Forest; where no sooner they arrived, but discovered the Herd they sought. Every one there fingling out his game, began to pursue the flying Deer, to see who could bear away the Prize; which while they endeavoured, a Hart so great, and breathed, fell to Placidus his share, that it led him amain into so uncouth and remote a place, that (his Horse now beginning to fail him) he was hopeless of the Prey he had promised so fairly to himself. Placidus losing the Deer, road sadly away; but when he was under a cliff, and casually lifted up his head, he spied again the Stag, who (leaping o'er the top of the rock, with his head spreading out with knotty beams, and at bay, being turned towards him, as if he stayed there to devour him) stood proudly expecting him.  
The Stag (as Saint Jerome and Saint Basil write) draws the Serpents by panting out of caves, & destroys them. 'Twas the work of a Deity to send a Stag to purify his breast, which had been a cave to harbour the Serpent of Idolatry.  
Placidus (greatly terrified at the stratagems of the fact, and not a little amazed) stood musing what to do; but it seeming absurd to give the weary Beast any time to take breath, leaped hastily to the ground, making sure of his game, if he could gain the top of the cliff.  
He had scarce begun to go on, but he heard a voice thunder in his ear, which though weak and sad, carried with it, I know not what of horror, which disordered all the blood in his breast, where his troubled spirits strayed out of the way, to meet in the heart.  
Casting about his eyes to find from whence the voice came, he discovered (O sight never to be desired enough) betwixt the horns of the Hart, a Christ crucified, who bathed with tears, and full of brightness, beheld him with such tenderness, that perhaps he might have died of delight, if the confusion of hearing himself guilty had not qualified it. Placidus, ah dear Placidus, why persecutest thou me? What have I done unto thee? So Christ, who descended from Heaven into the Woods, to make a Sinner a Seraphin, renewed his instance, weeping more than ever, and full of love and zeal for his salvation.  
O Lord, ay me, O Lord, no more lest I die; no more, O sweetness, O sorrow, whatsoever it be, I feel the Hart that strikes me to the heart. Behold me prostrate at thy feet, wholly penitent, and all thine. Dispose of me as thou pleasest. But who, who art thou Lord, that so gently reprehend'st me? So Placidus, who dazzled with a heavenly ray of Christ's brightness, had been comforted in a moment, illuminated, and inflamed, languishing and lying on the ground, fell into an amorous ecstasy.  
Who am I, dear Placidus? who am I? Does not the sweetness thou tastest witness it? Does not the excess of my charity teach thee? Does not the remorse of thy conscience speak me to thee? Ah, who am I? I am Jesus Christ, who created thee, redeemed thee, and will save thee, if thou obey me. I am that God, who descending from the Throne of my Glory, dear Placidus, for thy sake have vested my Deity with flesh, it seeming too little for my love to contribute no more to thy salvation than that pure act of my will, which alone was sufficient to save thee. I desire thou shouldst see, that for thy sake I used all occasions to suffer myself willingly to be trampled on, and torn in pieces.  
Ask but these veins, these arteries, these bowels, and they'll tell thee, whether I have in them all one single drop of moisture to keep me alive; what I could not spill, I have vented by sweat; what I could not sweat, I have caused to be drawn out by lances from my heart. And thou Placidus, what dost thou for me? what dost thou for thyself?  
So answered the Father of Mercies, when Placidus began to cry out, No more, my God, no more Graces, this plenty is too great, a breast of flesh cannot hold a whole Paradise. Ah me, wilt thou bury Beatitude in a vase of Perdition, my dear and sweet God, now indeed that I know thee? But how canst thou endure, and much more love, so wicked a Creature? Why dost not unnail those hands, and pierce this breast, which is not ashamed to harbour so ingrateful, wicked, and rebellious a soul?  
Then weeping abundantly, like a devout Penitent, he consumed himself in the fire of Charity, God Almighty giving him an essay of the unspeakable and incomprehensible sweetness of eternal felicity.  
Rise Placidus, go hence to the City, and there with thy Wife and children, have recourse to my Priest, and be baptised: then coming back hither, thou shalt here enjoy my presence; where unveiling to thee the deep mysteries of my faith, and telling thee some particulars of thy future condition, I will again dismiss thee with comfort and fortitude.  
So speaking, vanished our most merciful Father, who, rather upon a Cross, than the shoulders of Seraphins, would appear unto him, to let the World know, that when the salvation of a Sinner is in question, if the Jews will not crucify him, he will again crucify himself.  
Here the new Christian much amazed, yet full of confidence and love, was about to complain of God, that he had so soon taken from his sight so sweet an object. But he was reprehended by that light, which had more illuminated his mind, than beatified his eyes. Ah no (said he, having recollected himself) I will not take it ill, no my God. If I had still enjoyed thy sweet presence, I should have lost that happy time which I own to the obedience of thy Commandments. My God; thy most holy will be done, I go hence, my dear God. Be pleased to give me strength and constancy to serve thee, in order to the will and zeal thou hast given me to desire it.  
Speaking thus, and burning with zeal for the service of God, he was even ready to creep on his hands and feet to Rome, in the posture he then found himself. Every thing tends to its centre in the most direct line. Placidus had already left all his understanding in the tract of his will, and would outrun himself, to show his prompt obedience to his God.  
This zeal made him think of his Horse, whose natural swiftness might carry him with more speed to his Baptism. Then leaping into the saddle, and spurring him on, he posted towards Rome. His earnest desire of getting thither, made him impatient of delay. The memory of the pleasures he had newly enjoyed, transported him, and his wishes, to get out of the dangerous state of Paganism, were a torment to him. O how many times, recollecting himself, did he say, Let's moderate this pleasure, my soul, let's look to ourselves, lest the Horse by going out of the way with his errors, prolong ours. O let's go hence, let's make haste away, God will direct us. O dear, O sweet, and loving God, and when deserved I ever these favours? and how at any time was I worthy of them, who always, and in all things, and in every place, have been void of all justice, and full of all iniquity? Ah dear Wife, what wilt thou say, when I shall inform thee of the favours God does us? what wilt thou say? will thy bosom contain them? canst thou resist this sweetness, and not receive comfort, and be fortified by the rays, which out of compassion, most loving and most merciful God, and God too late known, I have beheld and tasted.  
With these, or the like meditations, the Christian Actaeon (having seen in the Woods the D●ana of Christ's Humanity, Sister to the Sun of Divinity) road along, sometimes feeling his heart torn by the barking and biting remembrance of his former offences; and at other times, finding himself a new man, flew with his soul to the feet of Christ, as the Hart to the fountains of waters, with as much thirst as confidence.  
Being come at last to the City, lighting off his Horse, and going up to his Wife (who flying, came to meet him with her extended arms) he began. What wilt thou say, my dear Wife, when thou shalt understand the news I bring? When Trajana, weeping through abundance of affection, replied; I have great things to tell thee, O Husband come too late, and too long expected.  
Having received one another with mutual embraces, and the kindness used by persons, who loved each other according to their merit, and reciprocal obligation, Placidus (having something in his eyes which looked like amazement, and resembled a trance) rid himself of his servants officiousness, who employed about the service of his person, deprived him of his liberty; and departing with his dear Trajana, to impart unto her the wonders he had seen, gave his Wife opportunity to prevent him in this manner.  
And where hast thou been so great a while, my dear Placidus? What toilsome occasion returns thee to me so disordered and troubled? What sad thoughts have sunk thy eyes? At the time I expected to enjoy with thee those eternal felicities, which even the last night were promised me by a Crucified Man, who was clothed with the Sun. Why dost thou meet me so sad, and so pensive?  
Placidus, at the name of Crucify'd, (a voice more pleasing, because little expected) was all on fire; and lifting up his hands to Heaven, with floods of tears falling from his eyes, broke out in this manner.  
Ah good God what! every where graces? every where graces? Go on cheerfully, dear Wife, for we have a bountiful God, who is all hands, a God whose torn bosom is replenished with graces, a God all honey to comfort us, and all fire to warm us. Thou hast seen our God, dear Wife, thou hast seen our salvation. I was not in trouble, but an ecstasy of pleasure. The heat that breaks out at mine eyes, my breast was not able to contain. Glory be to God, my dear Wife, that God will be with us; praised be God, my dear Wife, that the God of all truth seeks us for himself. Then as well as his tears would permit him, Placidus informed his Wife of the wonders he had seen in the Wood; in the relation of which, how often these souls were transported, with how many ecstasies, and how often with a melting affection they now comforted, now commiserated one another, good Lord declare you, who occasioned it; I, for my part, can easier desire than describe these delights. I know Trajana (called by the Holy Ghost, whom we never more worthily answer, than when we quickly answer) hastened her Placidus, Up quickly, let's away, let's readily consent to so many graces; let the jealousy of losing them be our rule how to love them.  
O expressions, that deserve to be sung on the Harp of a Seraphin, in the hearing of a Deity.  
All the Curtains of night being drawn, as if it meant likewise to contribute to the salvation of this fortunate Couple, securing them under its Mantle, from the injuries, or at least the impediments might rise against their good, but then sharply condemned resolution, taking with them their two little Sons, and two Servants, whom they long had found faithful and affectionate, they went to the sacred Font, to be baptised.  
A good religious man, called John, was chief in Rome over the Sacramental Treasury of the growing Church. He (hearing and admiring the desire, but much more the vocation of the new Believers, and giving God the praises, which a Pastor should do, who saw his Flock every day increase) sought, I'll not say to confirm them, for he knew by their zeal, the Holy Ghost assisted them, but to show them with what love and pleasure he resented the favours God their Benefactor had so graciously conferred upon them. The humility with which they approached to the sacred Font, together with the tears they let fall, in witness of the comfort they received, and the love they expressed in their gratitude to God, were such as might become two Souls, that had spoken face to face with a living and loving Deity.  
To him that understands these Love-extasies, the Writer is not useful; and to him that is not capable of them, he is too superfluous. Yet I'll not omit to remember, that God showered abundantly his graces on them, and the treasures overflowing their souls, were sufficient to enrich, and beatify the best of men.  
The good Priest melting in devotion, was touched with a generous and spiritual emulation; perhaps desiring more to be their Companion, than rejoicing in the title of Father. They thanked him for his charity, and he recommended himself to their devotion. They besought him, (knowing the ill life they had lead) to pray to God for them, that he would be pleased to make them new Creatures; and he entreated them to sue for his pardon, since having been so ancient a Servant in God's House, he could learn of Children (yet Babes in the state of grace) devotion and wisdom. He lamented his own coldness, and they much rejoiced they were come into God's House, where every thing was fervour. In fine, they here contested about charity, humility, and reverence. His was the Victory that lost, and God at the same time was the Cause of it, the Spectator, Judge, and Recompense.  
Eustachius and Theopista, (who had left in the sacred Font of Baptism the names, as well as the belief of Placidus and Trajana) at last took leave of the Priest. They parting thence, and returning homeward full of unspeakable consolation, went kissing their Chiildrens; as if they had but newly brought them into the World. O bowels of our bowels (said they) how much are we indebted to God, who even at this time hath bestowed you on us? Ah! wretches that we are, how long have we kept you, hanging by the small thread of so brittle a life, o'er the infernal precipice of a gulf of mortal eternity! Ah! blind that we are, who loved you so little! How happy are ye, who being yet innocent, and regenerated by your God, may no sooner use your reason, but begin to do good! Would we had been-so fortunate, who obdurate so often, and so long, have not only lived in sin, but frequently to sin; Courage, dear Wife, said the Husband; Courage dear Husband, said the Wife, since God in his infinite mercy hath pardoned us; let's think now at last, how to make ourselves worthy of the pardon we have had, and operate in that manner, our God repent not he hath pardoned us. So speaking to themselves, by the virtue of the charity of God, which possessing a breast, turns it all into heart, they resolved not to yield even to the Seraphins themselves, in loving so bountiful a God. But what said I of Seraphins? Not to yield to God himself, in loving God.  
He will love (said they) more than we; for being all knowledge, and all goodness, he can have correspondence with himself, and condignly love himself: but he shall not surpass us in love, in what we are able, because we will love him with our will; we'll only desire him, only covet him, and only seek him. We'll do so dear Wife, we'll do so dear Husband; and let us declare our resolution to God, that he may be pleased to further our desire.  
With these, or the like passions, they came home, where Eustachius (repairing the forces of his body with meat, and recovering himself of the weariness caused by his pains in the Wood, and the restless agitation of his mind, after he had ordered a new hunting the day following) fell asleep: how he rested, you may guests, if you know how one rests who lies down full of serious thoughts. His sleeping was a watching, he contemplated, slept not, since the meat in his stomach could not send up fumes to cloud and darken his mind, in which the eternal Sun of the Cherubins did shine.  
O how happy are they that are capable of this happiness? A good man is a Tabernacle of the grace, and a Theatre of the glory of God. Every thing he doth, hath contentment joined to it. He neither eats, drinks, nor sleeps, but with this consolation, that God seasons everything to him. What wonder is it then, that loathing these things of the world, he sometimes leads a life, which fools call Madness? These, these are the souls God loves to converse with: with these, as with some rare work of his hands, he is so well pleased, that he hath at other times declared by word of mouth, to love them as his delight, as his Children, and things made according to the rule and contentment of his heart. And is not man mad, if (while he lives here upon Earth, and may converse with God) he neglect it? O fools if we know it not, and desperate men if we know it!  
Eustachius risen early in the morning; Mad man! what said I? at midnight; and before his heavy eyes had satisfied the necessity of nature, the enamoured Eustachius left sleeping, and suddenly leaping out of his bed, God grant, said he, with a heart full of sorrow, that I have not slept too long. He goes solicitous to the window, to spy out the morning, but finds, that the night hath not run yet half its course. Being satisfied that he had not slept too long, he was still impatient, as unable to sustain an expectation, which was very painful, by the violence of so earnest and amorous a desire. He supposed Aurora had wronged him, in suspending so long the coming of that Sun which was to conduct him to the feet of the Sun of Justice. He thought to have returned to his bed, to have slept out the remainder of the night, but his zeal persuaded him it was sacrledge to refer to the arbitrement of sleep, a Vision that deserved to be longed for with impatience by the Angels themselves. He would have been glad that sleep had overcome him, to rest without offence, and pass away the time, which he knew not how to know without passion. He would have been waking, though it had been with pain, if he could have only thought on what he should do when his God should appear: but the more he thought on it, the more he perceived his desire and longing to be there, was augmented in his heart.  
In these sweet afflictions, Eustachius enjoyed the time he desired to spend; and while he expected this longed for Vision, he prepared himself so, as not to be made expect any longer, the other he desired and sighed for in a higher degree.  
At break of day, having distributed in fit places his Dogs and Huntsmen, (armed with the breastplate of faith) he road solicitous towards the Wood; there to arrive, and separate himself from the company, as a Fugitive, was the thing he intended. The centre of his heart, and career, was the Paradise of the Forest, where he thought to find his Christ. The horror accompanying solitude, increased amazement and terror in his heart, while he stayed for that Divinity, whose coming every moment he attended. Each whistling of the air, and noise of the leaves, he reverently supposed were the Angels, singing praises to that Deity, whose sacred presence represented the Wood, as a Sanctuary to him.  
Being come to the cliff, where at first he saw his Christ; and lighting off his Horse, with a breast full of reverence, he prostrated himself to adore that Divinity, whose Vision he attended, with no less fear than confidence. A Light, like that of Paradise, broke out of the bosom of a little cloud, and Eustachius was again made partaker of the presence of Christ, who spoke in this manner.  
Eustachius, thou hast begun well, persevere; for if thou holdest on to the end, thou wilt advance my service, and save thy own soul. The favours I have done thee, will be envied by Satan, whose temptations, if thou shalt resist valiantly, thou shalt overcome gloriously. I myself, for thy good, will permit him to assault thee; resist, and be victorious. I will be sure to help thee, do not waver in thy faith. Thy honours, thy children, thy wife, and thy riches, I have given thee; and 'tis necessary thou make it appear of whom thou dost acknowledge them, and with what affection; Thy faith and thy constancy must assure me of thy love. I have resolved to try, how much of thy heart thou art willing to give me in thy love, who have, to save thee, spilt my blood and life.  
What may we, O Christians, believe he replied, whose perfections we may measure by the love of God to him. I speak not of the love by which God complied with his perfections, I mean the love by which he made him perfect. I imagine he answered thus: And why shouldst thou give me so abundant a knowledge of thy goodness, most amiable God, but to love thee, and in order to the tribulation I must suffer? And what sort of tribulation (able to balance the infinite love I owe thee, and thou dost deserve) can a body of dirt, more brittle than glass, be able to support? If thou wilt bestow a love upon me, proportionable to my sufferings, employ, I beseech thee, all thy power, in inventing and devising an affliction, as great as the love I bear thee, as the love I beg of thee. But this is not enough, O love of my love, this is not enough, 'tis necessary thou give me a nature, which encountering all these evils, will not cry before 'tis hurt. Thou call'st me to affliction, and I run to affliction. And what can I ever endure, that may expiate such a multitude of sins, much less return so many favours? And what tribulation can at any time be displeasing to me, if so sweet and so beloved a God, a God of consolation and comfort, will assist me? If I have with me, or rather within me, the vigour, health, and life of all things, what evil will be able to hurt me? what grief make me grieve? If I must do thee service with affliction, I would be afflicted when I am not in thy service; for I cannot e'er imagine, how that he that serves thee, can suffer affliction. And how wilt thou value the afflictions, which e'er they torment, thou asswagest? Grant, O my God, grant I conjure thee, by the merits of that infinite love with which thou lov'st thyself, grant I may love thee as well as I desire, and grant I may desire it as much as thou deserv'st it, and then come Hell, and let Men arm themselves together with the Angels, and join with thee in putting me to torment, I shall not at all value them. I love a God, too sweet, too dear, and too loving. When he should cast Thunderbolts at me, he comes with his nailed hands to comfort me. When he will have me suffer, he comes to tell me of it, to animate and encourage me. And for such a God can I suffer? I may, but I do more desire, than believe it. I believe it, because he tells me so; but I doubt he will not tell it me, to make me please him by consenting to it; and I would by suffering do something that might please so bountiful a God.  
With these, or affections of this kind, he overflowed, who in the eyes of Christ learned the most profound Divinity that is practised in Love's School.  
The more scorching and inflamed the Earth returns the Sunbeams to the Sun, the more vigorously the Sun both waters and makes fruitful the Earth. God is as the Sun to our soul, the more fervently we return him our love, the more vigorous he is in the heat of his love to Mankind. They seem to scorch, yet make the soul fruitful; which the more it is inflamed, the more it prevaileth with God, for the oil of his heavenly grace.  
So affectionately answered Eustachius; but Christ more affectionately replied: These replies I should prosecute, but how to comprehend and express them, though I wanted not the force of understanding, I should want without doubt the perfection of virtue.  
God's conceptions only charity understands, and not reason. To describe them, serves only to desire them, and not to make us fit to comprehend them. God only makes us capable of them; and he that understands them, understands them by grace & not by speculation.  
What Christ did communicate to Eustachius, sure was most true, and I wish we were worthy to partake of the tenderness of the love he expressed to him. He showed him how well he was pleased with the zeal of his good will, & instructed him in the most hidden msteries of his faith. He encouraged & fortified him against the fierce temptations of the Devil, and after very many revelations, (which would have been favours in Paradise itself) he promised to hasten his Martyrdom and Crown.  
When the Vision was ended, (in the period of which, the faster Christ vanished out of sight, the more he adored him in his heart) Eustachius, full of inward consolation, (having kissed the stones, saluted the trees, and reverenced the place, which had been the Altar, the Witness, and Temple of his happiness) road again towards the City.  
Being come to his Wife, who expected him with the anxious solicitude, which is not without hope, while he imparted to her the contents of the past revelation, the Holy Ghost communicated to her its consolations and sweetness; as if he should say, 'Tis justice thou shouldst share in the delights of the Vision, as thou art to share in the torments and afflictions mentioned in it.  
The sharp temptations threatened, raised no fear in this Woman, who only was effeminate in the duties of a Mother.  
Ah, God fights not to conquer; and what glory can a Deity have in the ruin of a Worm? The stronger his assaults be, the willinger he loses, and with greater glory. God's trials are accompanied with his Graces, and his Crucible makes the Gold, tries it not. Let's comfort ourselves, dear Husband, let's comfort ourselves; he will lose if we lose; and what can we lose, who have quitted the propriety of ourselves? And what will God try in us, if we be strong? That cannot by nature be strong, which is naturally weak. If he will have us strong, we shall not be weak; we shall be strong enough, if we be his, yes, yes, his, let's wholly be his; and we shall be so always, and better Volunteers, because we desire it, than because we are so naturally; and neither the force of opposition, nor the rage of temptation, or the terror or pain of death, shall ever have the power to make us not his. And now being his in this manner, shall we not be defended by so gracious a God, who when we were his enemies, and rebels, protected us?  
So said Theopista, in whom the grace of God spoke more than her tongue; for 'twas that which informed her how such things were to be known and deserved.  
But having prescribed new laws to their affections, and regulated their senses, they studied that virtue which accustomes men to goodness.  
Eustachius thought himself obliged to reform, in the first place, his House, as he had done his Soul, and in a short time reduced it to that state of perfection, that knowing what was needless, he quickly began to enjoy the tranquillity, which men by living out of necessity, aim at. Humility chased out of his House the pride of such Furniture, as makes the Master of it the most inconsiderable thing there. His Table did nourish, not nauseate; for he fed not to stir up an appetite, but to satiate hunger. His  did cover, not adorn him; for the habit is too gaudy, which deserves more respect than the man. His Walls were not beautified with Mercury's Thefts, the Adulteries of Jupiter, and the Infamies of Venus. And how can the Soul be held good, whose Body's not thought happy, if even the Walls themselves, which secure its repose, be not wicked? If even the bowls he drinks in, afford not more lasciviousness to gaze on, than wine to please his palate? He was waited on, not idolised, by his Slaves; and his Cupbearer, by his serving him on the knee, feigned not to believe he was a Jupiter. Whosoever named him, did not swear with a preface of radiant titles, he supposed him transformed into a Star. He received not into his House that kind of mad men, called Dancers, (People, all whose learning's in their feet, all whose measure's in their errors) for there was no Feast, but that of a good Conscience; neither Orpheus, Amphion, or Circe, had any thing to do there; their harmony was the sighs, with which, from the remembrance of their former transgressions, they passed to the hopes of a future felicity. There was no discord, they two agreeing to sing perpetually the mercies of so gracious, and so bountiful a God. No revel were heard there, nor tumults caused by Plays. Nor used they there Dice, which while with golden promises they seem to flatter men, do cheat them of their lively hood, and dishonour their death.  
In his House they looked after the manuring of the Soul, not the Garden, where Charity flourished, Piety, and Devotion, and not the Anemone of Thessaly, the Musk-flower of Greece, and Granadiglia of Mexico. Good God, how is't possible the intemperance of man should be so great, as (to please his sense of smelling) to bring fading flowers from the famousest and remotest Eastern Provinces?  
And who would e'er believe it, that the luxury of a prince (why speak I of a Prince, of a Citizen, and often too necessitous) had caused a frail Flower to be brought at his infinite charge o'er the Ocean, through Deserts, and o'er Mountains, into a new World, and only for perfuming the Air for an unfortunate man, who in a whole Hemisphere can find no smell to please him? He that will venture all his fortune in a Flowerpot of earth, deserves to be ruined by each blast of wind.  
Now the example of Eustachius and his Wife, had corrected in that manner, and reformed all the rest of the Family, that even out of reverence they forbore to do ill.  
His Slaves were rather Scholars than Servants, who loved their Master out of wonder, not only out of gratitude, and were used like Children, not Enemies. Authority without contempt, Riches without avarice, Honour without ambition, and Splendour without luxury, remained within his Walls. In fine, his House was become a Pantheon, where Modesty, Temperance, Charity, and each other Heavenly Virtue, were held in great reverence. If a Christian had desired to behold the two Tables of stone, where God with his own finger had written and engraven the Precepts of his Law, he could not where find them better, than in the hearts of Eustachius and Theopista. Each of them was marked, as the Plate of Gold on the Mitre of Aaron, with Holiness to the Lord. They were in that degree of perfection, that I cannot describe it; the Touchstone will tell it: but God must touch them, to tell us their worth. And what will that be?   

The Loving Husband, and Prudent Wife, etc.  
The second Book.  
WE have seen already how this valiant Champion was reformed by the Sovereign Commander of the Christian Militia: I must now relate the actions he courageously performed with his Pike in his hand, on the dangerousest Frontiers of the Enemy.  
He lost in the first charge, all the lives of his slaves, occasioned by a violent and contagious disease, for which there was no remedy. All attempts for their health were in vain; and while some endeavoured to prevent their destruction, and others searched after the cause of the malady, they were by its effects destroyed and consumed themselves: the spectacle of which was so horrid and miserable, that the death of the Physician was often lamented by the languishing Patient.  
Solitude inherited his House, which his Friends, afraid of death, retreated from, to avoid the infection, whose Violence made Physic of no use, while it gave them no time to consult what to do.  
What sorrow this loss might occasion to Eustachius, and how vast a sufferer he was, he can best tell, that knows how great a part of the greatness and riches of the Romans, the Slaves were.  
They sowed, plow'd, and reaped. The Yeoman of the Cellar, the Barber, Tayler, Groom of the Stable, and often too the Sumpter-man, were all Slaves. They waited in the Chamber and Hall, and were Sewers and Cupbearers. A Citizen had of them on the rental of his revenue, to the number of a thousand; and Seneca complained, that that Age had built Houses like Cities for greatness, and had Families equal to Nations in number.  
Flesh and Blood so galled in its interest, made Eustachius sensible, that he could not without infinite grief bear so notable a loss.  
Of what use will the Ground be without a tiler? Cattle without a Cow-herd? Houses without a Housekeeper? and Lords without Servants? In one only day, with a single and a momentary disaster, as it were, lies so languishing, and discomfited, all the fortune of his House? And whither shall he run to repair it? Perhaps to Christ, who no sooner was known and adored, but blasted and consumed all his Goods. Can he have fared worse, if he had refused to adore him? Is this the encouraging of his Servants? This a way to comfort and confirm them? Ah poor Eustachius, what wilt thou do? What hopes hast thou left in the progress of thy faith, the first entrance into which hath lost thee all thou hadst? To abandon a Jupiter, who made thee glister every where like the Sun, to follow a Christ, who can only give thee nakedness? Thou never wouldst credit this truth, till thou hadst felt the smart of thy error. Thou too easily hast believed this God, and what God is this that will never suffer thee to be happy, but when thou art his Enemy; nor makes thee unfortunate, but when thou art his Friend? Ah Wretch! return to thyself, return.  
So Satan suggested to Eustachius, in whom the piercing sense of his sudden calamity could not choose but raise a storm of affliction. Fools are insensible of disasters, but wise men bear them valiantly. Nature will have us to resent them, but Reason to manage them. Virtue may restrain our resentment of unhappiness, but cannot so subdue it, but it naturally will rebel. Valour would decay, if it were not kept in action. We are born to fight thus, and remunerated for so doing. God after the Creation would have placed us at first among the Angels, if he had not been willing we should fight for the Victory our activity aspires to. We might have enjoyed without opposition the glory of delight, but not of repose and reward.  
Eustachius (tossed up and down, not dejected) acknowledging every thing from God's hand, did comfort himself. 'Tis a favour (he said patiently) that the scourge we deserve for so many transgressions, vents its fury on the shoulders of our fortune. Let's think on what remains, since that which is passed is irrevocable. Let's be thankful to God for what he hath left us, and thank him for what he hath taken away. Was he not merciful to us, in suffering us to enjoy so much time? Who knows, if his depriving us of our Goods, hath not been a greater favour than his giving them to us? How many have lost their lives, by being Masters of so many desperate fellows? The name of God be praised, we have still so much left us, that living with much less, we shall live with much more than is necessary. Can we part with less than the lives of a few Slaves, to have an occasion of conforming ourselves to Gods will?  
While he was thus reasoning with himself, behold a panting Messenger arrived, whose wan and sad face ushered in his dismal news.  
It grieves me, my Lord, said he, to relate what will doubtless afflict you. But the loss is as great, as the tidings inevitatable. All your Flocks of Sheep, your Oxen, and Horses, are destroyed by a sudden contagion, and have left us as poor, as confounded and amazed.  
When God permits the Devil to command, his Sceptre is of fire. He so fears his authority of destroying should be clipped, that he undermines, esteeming the time lost he employs in demolishing and battering.  
To be poor on the sudden, is a great thing with patience to support, especially for him who is not obliged to Fortune, but owes all he hath to his own virtuous ●●bours.  
Nothing in this World we love ●ore than the fruits of our own labours. We love them, because they are commodious; we love them, because we got them hardly; and we love them, because they are our Children: but yet for all this, their loss would be supportable, if we loved them not as testimonies and assurances of our virtue.  
For this last blow, which ruin'd entirely all the substance, not only the greatness of Eustachius his House, what may we imagine he said, whose only hope was, the sale of his Cattle, or their profits at least, would have repaired the loss he had suffered by the death of his Slaves.  
He said, Praised, blessed, and thanked be God, who hath eased me of the weight of so painful a care. Whom should I have trusted with the government of this Flock, which only was left me, after my Servant's death, to disquiet and tro●… me? Dear Wife, our God takes from us all impediments, that we being freer, and disengaged from all affairs, may attend his service, and be thankful to him. Be he always glorified, and I beseech all the Angels, together with all Creatures, to thank him for me, since I cannot perform it of myself. God alone be my patrimony, my treasure, and substance; by virtue of him, my losses will not hurt me, my gains not distract me, not my miseries afflict me. If my God be but with me, what thing can I want?  
But what should these poor persons do, I should say Lords, if the Pestilence had not killed too this title? By selling the best furniture of their House, and their Lands, which for want of looking too, were wholly out of order, they both patiently supported, and consumed too their poor Family. Their Friends quickly left them, since 'tis a usual fault in the world, to fly away from thence, whence Prosperity is departed.  
Many blame Fortune for this, and say, she's so cruel, she would think she had left him too much; whose poverty she hath decreed, if she had not too, deprived him of Friends. But wise men do know, this fault is our own, and not the Stars. Man is afraid to touch him whose condition is infected, and cannot give us any thing but contagion; or pretend, but to our Goods.  
The not being a good Friend to ones Friend, makes us not count a Friend among our proper Goods; else 'twould be impossible we should think it a misfortune to part with any thing of our own, for his sake, whom we valued as one of the preciousest Jewels we have. His Followers deserted him, because he wanted means to maintain them; and he that cannot live of himself, stands in need of another. He was not cried up, because he was not rich. Acclamations and splendour go together; and he that is wealthy, may be prudent, wise, and valiant. Every man did pity him, but no man assisted him. All knew he was innocently unfortunate, but woe to him whose Innocence must only relieve him.  
He that could not help him, desired it affectionately; and he that could do it, avoided meeting with him, for fear of being moved to pity. Men fly from the miserable, as from the infected with the Plague. And though we all know, what we do is the thing we would not have done to ourselves, yet interest so sways us, we had rather deserve cruelty by our avarice, than purchase mercy by compassion.  
Having spent what they had sold, these Noble Persons began to be sensible of the outrages of shame, which always accompanies and torments us in adversity. He that is unfortunate, thinks every one derides him, objecting his necessities as a punishment for his offences, or accusing him of folly in the management of his fortune.  
Their Noble Birth likewise reproached them with their present low condition. They grieved to be a disgrace unto those who had left them so well; and though their new Religion had extinguished all ambition in them, yet they thought it unhandsome to do any thing misbeseeming Nobility, (a gift of Heaven) that swerves not from its principles, of which, the obligation to uphold it with honour and state, is not the least. In fine, their last refuge was a firm resolution to retreat far from Rome, where to be seen living in that manner, was the greatest affliction their poverty made them suffer. They thought, that going where unknown they could have what was necessary, would be a relinquishing the qualities at Rome, which made even things of superfluity but necessary.  
If to live in the lustre of a Prince, were as easy a thing as to live like an ordinary man, Fortune would not have many Altars. Solitude and Poverty they supposed would make them most happy.  
O God, with what tranquillity shall we enjoy ourselves in a sacred peace, exempt from the noise and tumults of Followers, who, by reason of their many necessities, are continually troublesome and importunate? O God, with what freedom may we (being at liberty) dive into the contemplation and service of that beloyed Deity, who seasons so sweetly to us our calamities? And when in the greatness of the world, and honours of the times, were we sensible of the contentment of heart we have now, among so many miseries, which should grieve and afflict us? Now I plainly see (said Eustachius) what terrestrial riches are; they are burdens and impediments, which load, vex, and weary us. And when shall we be in a place, where the opinion of the world will not force us to do homage to unconstant Fortune?  
Will the Earth ever be so barren, as not to afford us even prodigally, nourishment? Shall we ever find any so inhuman to envy our condition, and ensnare us? Can we probably want attendance, if sick, in a place where we shall be four in company, of the same blood, religion, and mind? Can our Children want Masters, while we, who have spoken with God, shall have nothing to do, but to teach them what advantage it is to speak with God.  
And though we should have nothing to help us (replied Theopista) can we ever do amiss in that place, whither we go to perform the will of God? There, where we may satisfy the debt our many sins have contracted? There, where by our suffering, we may return our thanks unto God, for his infinite favours?  
When they had agreed on this, and packed up some few necessaries, in the night poorly clothed, with bundles on their backs, and leading each a Child by the hand, they abandoned the City, making towards a certain Sea-Town. Who is able to relate the resentments of this departure, in so poor an equipage, and never more to see that native soil, and that beloved Country, where so long and so happily they had lived, and with so much respect and renown? Peradventure each concealed his grief, not to aggravate his Companions affliction, or blushed to discover his own.  
'Tis true, they left voluntarily their Country, they left it too most willingly, I confess: But who hath not a love for himself? And who loves himself, that loves not his Country? O God, declare it you, who permitted them to feel the piercing sorrows of disasters, to make them relish better those delights, which made them suffer patiently for your sake.  
Theopista, peradventure to cheer up her Husband, by showing him her alacrity, went joyfully before him, and apace. Eustachius edified, or rather astonished at the zeal of his Wife, prepended how happy God had made him in his Spouse, who alone was equivalent to all other sublunary fortunes.  
And what should I do, unfortunate Man that I am, so he said, without her, who in travel is my comfort, and in prosperity my guide; who, when I am weary, refreshes me, and guards me when I sleep? Pardon me, O Lord, I acknowledge my crime of so great an ingratitude. Am I likewise so unthankful, to go away sad as though I were unfortunate, when I go with so religious a Wife, and two such dutiful Children? O dull heart! O heart of earth! When wilt thou leave these earthly thoughts? And what have we lost? Our Herds? Served they otherwise than to fill the Exchequer, which was never yet opened, but in favour of Pride, Luxury, and Vanity? Our Slaves? And art not thou ashamed, I will not say to grieve thou hast lost them, but not to be sorry thou hast had the rule over them? Ah cruel man! Ah Tyrant! For a man to dispose of another man's life? And why? By what Law? O barbarous Scythian, for thy conveniency, must a hundred men as good as thyself, and oftentimes better, to foment thy vices, be obliged to thee, depend upon thee, and be chained to thy service? He hath not deprived thee of thy Herds, he hath not deprived thee of thy Slaves, he only hath deprived thee of the means and occasions of ill, ingrateful man, and art not thou sensible of it? art not glad of it? and art not thou thankful?  
These Noble Pilgrims had scarce left their Country, but their House was most treacherously broken open, and robbed by certain Rogues; who, though they bear the title of Men, yet live of nothing else but the spoil. Thiefs (still the Enemies and Betrayers of Humanity, of which they are rather Moths, than part) entered his House, and sacked it of the Furniture that remained, and was rather a reproach than a monument of their decayed happiness.  
In the mean time the day came, which the Romans used gratefully to commemorate for the Conquest of the Parthians.  
When the People were assembled, the Army in armour, the Theatre crowned, and the Prince on his Throne, nothing was wanting but the valiant Commander, the Soul of the Camp, the Heart of the Prince, and right hand and Idol of the Commonwealth, and Empire; brave Placidus was absent, who completed, not only was the cause of the felicity they so gloriously remembered. While the People thought the General stayed redressing some defect, the delay only served to prolong the applauses of public consolation. But as soon as the Prince and People understood, the just, magnanimous, and valiant Pilgrim was departed, (to fly from the shame his poverty might occasion) 'tis hard to relate with what a congealed force all cheeks lost their red, all eyes were cast down, and all tongues turned to silence. Many cursed Fortune, and murmured against Providence. It seemed unsupportable, not only unjust, so valorous a man, and so good, should not only be subject to the outrages of Chance, but suppressed by them. Never any Triumph began with more joy, and ended with more sorrow. But why name I a Triumph? Here they represented and bewailed an unhappy Catastrophe of Fortune; and the day that was designed for the joy of the Romans, for the Victory obtained o'er the Parthians, served only to cheer up the Parthians for the notable loss the Romans had sustained, in the ruin of so valiant a Commander and Warrior.  
Trajan (as men use to do) esteeming things more, as they have greater need of them, lamented the loss of so powerful a Minister. Perhaps he was too, moved at the disaster itself; for though great Persons measure every thing with the compass of their interest, yet Virtue doth not suffer them to deny him compassion, who hath gained it by desert, and demands it as unhappy. A diligent search after them was commanded, but the new Christians had too secretly conveyed away themselves, and were far enough off, and secure.  
They designed Egypt as the end of so tedious a peregrination; and being close pursued by their unhappiness, they thought they were obliged to seek reparation in that Kingdom, where their Christ did trust himself, when he fled away young, and was persecuted by Herod, the worst of the Tetrarches of Judea.  
After many day's travel, together with their frequent, and daily wants, and the in juries they received from certain Robbers, they got to the Sea-coast at last, deprived of every thing, but the hope they had in God.  
They embarked themselves, to avoid the incommodities of so tedious a Journey, which afoot to undertake with two such young Children, was too difficult a task.  
The wind blew favourably, and the shore they soon lost. The Vessel sailed so fast, that perpetually it was before the wind. All Prosperity seemed to be at the Helm. But they went not much further,  they saw, He puts fond to Sea, who flies from Misfortune. The Sky was serene, yet it blew hard enough to precipitate them into an Ocean of dangers. The winds (which disagreeing in appearance, conspired to destroy the poor Bark) concealed in a moment the Sun, turned the waves topsy-turvy, and raised a storm in the Air. They might look into the Sea, and not cast down their eyes; for being often buried between two deep shores of raging billows, they were lower than the waters, and afraid of sailing down to the bottom. 'Twas dreadful to hear the sad noise of the shrowds, which beaten by the wind, seemed hissing to bewail the unconstancy of the waves, and treachery of the Sky. Some of the Passengers, by encouraging others, did labour to deceive their own fears; and others, by hiding their faces, said, they feared more the visage of death, than his . The Mariners endeavoured to strike the main-yard, which now would be only commanded by the wind.  
The Pilot lamented the authority he had lost o'er the helm, which obeyed nothing now, but the tyrannous Sea. To see light, they were forced to pray it might lighten, and to fear no thunderbolts; 'twas enough but to think on the devouring waves. In fine, the hope of landing any where; but in the haven of death, was as bold an undertaking, as to venture to Sea without a Boat.  
Albeit a sweaty fear congealed on the brows of the miserable Passengers, yet every one very earnestly, in order to their several Religions, made vows for his own safety. Theopista (who had never seen such horrible spectacles on the Land) being affrighted, and half dead, lay languishing in her dear Husband's arms. He, who more than once had met Death in the face, apprehending not otherwise the danger, than not to be insensible of it, spoke to her in this manner.  
Where is your Courage, which boasted of seeking, not only of enduring the painfullest death we can suffer for God? No leaf falls to the ground without his distinct and particular permission, who hath a care of it; and shall we fools, fear the death he permits, or wickedly go about to avoid what he appoints? And though these waves were designed for our Sepulchre, what death can be less grievous than that overwhelms thee? what happier than that does not part thee from thy Husband and Children? and what more fortunate; than that finds thee devoted to the will of thy Creator, and advancing in his service? Believest not, that this Vessel, though split, and weatherbeaten, can as well serve to carry thee to the shore of Beatitude, as to the land of Egypt? Ah dear Wife! what fears are these? He cannot fear so much, that loves not excessively himself; and he cannot love excessively himself, that loves his God enough. Go to, go to, Theopista; if God may be calmed, prayers, not fears will appease him. And if God will be served, shall not we be ashamed to serve him so faintly, and poorly?  
When the Devil saw no battery could affright, much less o'ercome Eustachius, sounding a retreat to the tempests, he cleared the Sky to the eyes of this Passenger, who still in his heart had the calm of each storm, and all Heaven's serenity.  
When the Tempest was over, they sang, and commemorated the daily mercies of their gracious Preserver. Only Theopista completed not her joy, being ashamed and sad she had showed so little confidence in so kind and so merciful a God. Eustachius comforted her, telling her, that her fears had proceeded from the weakness of her sex, and not a want of courage, and that she would not want opportunities of expressing her zeal, which was (for God's sake) not only to contest with future disasters, but the memory of their happinesses past. In the mean time, they took pleasure in thinking, in what tender charity, what innocent and calm poverty, and what uncouth and free solitude they should lead the residue of their lives, and spend all their affections, and exhaust all their spirits in the service of their sweet and loving God.  
This their daily meditation made them often in an ecstasy of delight. The Heaven seemed to them to go faster than the Ship, so great was their longing to be on the shore. All the Passengers and Mariners beheld with admiration, the majestic poverty, discreet affection, and humble nobility of this Couple, who, even in their adversity, were honoured, and envied. Some wondered, how persons so qualified, were so poor; but no body could leave wondering, how persons so poor, could be so well qualified. Every one was attentive to the words of Eustachius, whose expressions had a certain air of greatness, which made him respected. Every one beheld with compassion, and delight, the face of Theopista, whose poverty had not changed her noble mean, nor altered her complexion, the harmony of which diffused a certain sweetness, forcing their eyes (though barbarous) to adore her. None could, without astonishment, behold, with what readiness and humility, a General, and Conqueror of Armies, ran uncalled to all the duties and affairs of the Sails, the Oars, and Helm. He must have wept hearty, that had seen with what charity, humility, and courtesy, this most noble of Ladies, aiding all without distinction; now helped to make clean what belonged to the Mariners and Vessel, now assisted in serving them, in dressing their meat, and offices of this kind, the air of whose countenance had made the Voyage fortunate. Every man, and especially the Master of the Vessel, said he could not choose but envy her Husband for his happiness in her. And who would not think it an incomparable happiness, to have so discreet, so provident, and so loving a Wife?  
They sailed some days so prosperously, that they quickly made land. At that happy sight, Eustachius and Theopista (transported with gladness and gratitude) kneeling, with their hands reared to Heaven, gave thanks unto God, who at last had brought them safe to the shore; where they trusted they should find a contented life, and quiet death.  
The Seamen were scarce come into the road, when the Passengers grown impatient (as if they had already touched the shore) began to seek their goods, take leave of the Sailors, and satisfy the Master for their passage, with money, or merchandise of like value. Some bid the Pilot farewell, and others thanked their Friends for their company, while the Mariners went about, begging something to drink; only of Eustachius and Theopista (whom they knew were unhappy) they asked nothing, but saluted, and saluted them again. They joyfully taking up their poor bundle, and holding each a Child by the hand, expected with gladness when the Bark (which was near the Land) would strike sail, and cast anchor; which no sooner was done, but the Passengers quickly clearing the Vessel, went ashore, Eustachius excepted, whose departure certain Mariners of set purpose deferred.  
With eyes seeming big with indignation, and were only swollen with love, Whither go'st thou, came out roaring the Master of the Ship, whither go'st thou, foul Thief? who shall pay me? How troubled poor Eustachius remained at those words, 'twould be too sad a thing to conceive; who quickly foresaw, that to his great prejudice, his departure with the rest was suspended. His threats, superfluous to one disarmed, and miserable, presaged this furious man's guilt; the solitude they sought after, bearing witness of their enterprise, that it needed no testimony.  
Poor Eustachius replied, I go where I hope my necessities will be mercifully supplied, Heaven will content thee, which is so just, it never suffered Charity to go unrewarded, or wickedness unpunished.  
Neither Charity, nor Heaven, ever rigged yet my Ships, said the Master, or paid my Men their wages. Who's there? seize on his Wife.  
Then Eustachius and Theopista fell down on their knees, and endeavouring with their tears, to pay him at least with compassion, since they could not for the present pay him otherwise, sought humbly to appease him.  
What can this poor man pay, who hath nothing of his own, but the trouble of maintaining with his hands, himself, his Wife, and Children? If this poor Bundle will content you, he said, I give it you most willingly: But what will you do with these few rags, which (to preserve us from the injury of the weather) are left us of our fortune, not to ease, but deride us.  
Dispatch, replied the barbarous Lover. Then going to Theopista, who being now Captive, was led as a Prisoner into the ; Weep not, he said softly to her, weep not my dear, I claim thee alone as my reward, but not for the service of my Bark, but my heart. Eustachius (whose Valour, which used to be victorious, was not yet extinguished) resolving to die, or recover his Wife, leaped with such fury to the ground, that he showed what an influence grief often hath on gallantry. But what could he do? Those Sea-Tigers threatened with their Swords, their Bows, and Scymitars, to kill before his face in an instant his Children; if he spoke a word more, or stirred a foot further.  
At this so sad encounter, Eustachius his heart left his bosom, and his courage his heart. But what will be the issue? Ah I cannot penetrate it, and much less describe it. This vast disaster deprived him likewise of the little consolation which weeping affords. All grief is contumacious, but this hath so much power, it turns Tyrant. His breast clasped his heart in his breast, being afraid to see it murdered by sorrow. His legs could not bear him from the ground, for the power that gave them motion (called to help where there was greater need) could not do its office in a place so remote from the heart; so as the vital parts disagreeing, menaced ruin to the fabric of his body. The blood (leaving pale all the members) retired altogether in defence of that part the life doth flow from. His soul was all reduced into his eyes, for only by that passage it could find a way to the languishing heart. He began, and made an end many times, before he had begun to lament. Grief that may be vented, is too weak; neither naturally can we lose without torment, what we love to possess. He stood long on the shore, amazed, , and senseless. Each little distance would have made him thought one of the stones which Ships are fastened to. He spoke not at all, but when he now turned his eyes from the Bark to his Children, or from his Children to the Bark.  
Woe's me, he seemed to say, with his eyes ra●her querulous, than weeping▪ woe's me, that Vessel is fraught with nothing, but only our di●a●ters. O poor young Children, and innocently unfortunate, behold there your life and mine sails away. Ah, I said amiss; God would have her go; Ah, she is forced away. Weep little ones, weep ye, she is forced away; she began to suffer violence, even between our arms. What shall we Wretches do? Is that the Bark which carries her? O too cruel eyes, why show ye it me? Hitherto I have wept for what I have lost, but now I must begin to bewail what is left me. What show ye me, O cruel eyes? Dear Wife, whither goest thou? who robs me of thee, the ease only of my tribulations, and the only tribulation I resent? Whither goest thou, poor Theopista? whither goest thou Theopista, who to no other end surviv'dst the tempest, but to find a more dangerous haven than shipwreck itself? For what art thou reserved? I never thought the time would have come, that I should have desired (and with pity) to have had thee slain by thunder, and shipwrecked. We have lost our Goods, our Slaves, our Herds, and our Country, yet none of these losses is so great, as that of not losing ourselves among the rocks. And O thou Sea, that only wouldst be calmed with my misery, why didst not drown that Bark, where the Husband in the bosom of his Wife, and the Wife with her arms about the neck of her Husband, (though they had lost their lives) would not now have lost the company of each other. Ah, my cruel fate (to make me more unhappy than any ever was) would have me suffer shipwreck no where else, but on the shore.  
So he seemed to speak, with his eyes full of grief, looking sometimes towards the Vessel, which now was out of sight, and sometimes turning himself towards his Children, exposed to want by misfortune, and not any fault of their Mother. But he spoke not so courageously before, resembling Moses at the foot of Sinai, the place of tribulation; who the more it did thunder on the mountain, remained the more undaunted, and got the more ground.  
Let's go hence children, he said, let's go hence my sons, God is not pleased we shall have any longer the company of dear Theopista; his sacred will be done; he takes her away, that gave her to us; and I cannot e'er believe, that he, who bestowed her so just, will let her be corrupted and depraved. Let's wholly and willingly submit to his good pleasure, and then he'll be sure to defend, preserve, and comfort her. Ah heart! too pitiful a heart! why tak'st thou it ill? Desirest thou what God will not have? I am glad of it, that thou mayst not grieve, because the more sensible thou shalt be of this loss, the more meritorious will be thy content, and this thy oblation more accepted. Wouldst not lose willingly thyself for the love of thy God? and why not thy Wife? How knowst thou, God takes her not from thee, to preserve her from the dangers peradventure thou mightst lead her into? Ah dear Theopista, where art thou? whither goest thou? who robs me of thee, O only Port of all my disasters? who deprives me of thee, O only consolation of all my afflictions? whither lead'st me, wicked sorrow? Yes, yes, 'tis but justice she is taken from me. And how was I worthy of so good a Wife, so religious a Woman, that have been wicked, sensual, and ingrateful; and having so bountiful a God, have taken up my rest, and confined (which is worse) my affections, in the bosom of a Woman, for my haven and comfort? Yes, yes, my beloved Theopista, go as far as thou art dear unto me, and I love thee. May I seek no more delight any where, but in thee alone, O dear and loving God, O God, the hope of my hope; O God, the only delight of my future delights. Farewell Theopista, poor Theopista, God will preserve thee, whose holy will always be done. Let's go hence, little Sons, let's go hence; she's gone, be content; God will be our Theopista, and comfort, accompany, and protect us.  
So when he had fitted his least Son on the truss at his back, carrying the other in his bosom, and supporting himself, with the hand he had free, on a poor and mean staff, he followed the way that seemed the most beaten.  
O how many times, called back by affection, turned he towards the Bark▪ which he could only see in his mind. Farewell Beloved, farewell Theopista, this is the last farewell; I no longer call thee mine, for God is not pleased to have thee so longer. Thanks be to God for all things. Let's go hence little Sons, poor little Sons; God is not pleased Theopista should be longer with us; God will be our Theopista, and be his will done. As soon as we shall find an Habitation, that is capable of our miseries, I'll act the part of Theopista, I'll provide for you, get ready your meat, and bless it; I'll teach you God's name, and how to thank and praise him; ye shall not want comfort, let's only go hence. Farewell Theopista, God will be with thee. 'Tis time Eustachius, to begin to discover the best way, in which God direct us, to find out the place he would have us go to. This way is the directest, let's go here. Ah poor Theopista, God knows how thy heart beats, which is so remote from thy dearest Eustachius. God knows what thou endurest, and knows what thou fearest. Be confident, be confident God will not forsake thee.  
Relying in this manner on God, and offering up often, and suppressing his sorrow, he advanced so far, that coming in the night to certain poor houses, he was treated there charitably till the morning. What rest he took that night, let him conceive that knows. The Children cried continually, calling on their Mother, but in vain, unless they called on her to wound the heart of their poor and disconsolate Father. Imagine what affliction Eustachius was in, who with his own disasters, was forced to ease others. O God, what condition!  
When the day appeared, he resuming his sad burden, and thanking his Host for his charity, informed himself of the way, and departed. To lose no time, and free his mind from thoughts, and the thoughts of the difficulty of the way, he sometimes recommended Theopista to the protection of Heaven, and sometimes gave God thanks for the benefits he had received. He sometimes renewed the oblation and sacrifice of his will, and sometimes begged strength against so many tribulations. He gave God thanks, that he thought him not composed of Plaster, and prayed he might be worthy of victory. Sometimes his little Sons asked him questions, and sometimes begged something; and he now with words, now with bread, gave ease to their sufferings. His children's vivacity and spirit, was no small consolation to him, who called them the staff of his old age, the Companions of his exile, and Assuagers of his cares; and for their education, he designed them the service of God, to make them share more of his virtue, than fortune. He reposed many times, & then perhars slept, his weariness, his sorrow, and former watching, inviting him to it.  
At last, after many hours travel, they came to a Torrent, which was stony, and made a huge noise; the space between whose banks was so great, the eye could not measure its distance. Having laid down his burden, (not finding any one in that solitude to direct him) he resolved to sound the Foard; and laying his Sons to rest, who lying on the grass, began to play together, he guided by his staff, descended into the stream, and found the water arrived not to his knee, all the danger consisting in the breadth, and not the depth. Being returned to his Sons, he resolved to waft them over; but to secure himself, he thought it the best to separate the weight, and carry them over at twice. Having carried over one, he came back for the other; but getting up the bank, he had scarce discerned the shore, when viewing the land with his eyes, he discovered, ah sight! poor Eustachius discovered a Lion, who stealing away his little Son, fled apace with the Prey in his mouth, but more peradventure out of greediness than fear, and just then vanished out of his sight. Ah what saw he? Ah what will he do? Let's pass by, O Pen, his affections, too bitter to be remembered, and too hard to be imitated. There's need of a veil, lest the colours should express an affliction so great.  
Eustachius ran faster than the torrent he passed. Woe's me, said he, let us make haste, lest the other be likewise in danger. If God will let us have but one Son, one Son is enough; thanks be to God for what he hath left us, and thanks be to him, that his will is performed in the loss of the other. O how many men, for one only son, would call themselves happy? If sons prove a comfort, one only is enough; but if otherwise, one only is too much. Ah most unfortunate child, to be buried in the belly of a beast? Ah I am unhappy to beget thee for Lions. I thought I should only have had cause of complaining against Fortune for making me miserable, but I find I must complain as much of Nature, for making me a Father.  
Speaking in this manner, he came to the other bank; and running, and out of breath, when he got to the top, he began to say thus to the top, he began to say thus to his son; We have lost thy little brother, a Lion hath devoured him; when he found, that the Wolves, which likewise had deprived him of the other, came howling, to partake of the delicate Prey.  
At this sad spectacle, what kind of man may we fancy the childless, afflicted, and deserted Eustachius? I should have called him Father; but cannot be so cruel to remember, he hath no more sons.  
Hear ye ages, and wonder! Hear ye the Miracles of that powerful God, who hath been always wonderful in his servants. Eustachius, at that lamentable fight, humbling and prostrating himself on the ground, began, weeping much, to cry out; O free, O happy state, deserving to be only acknowledged from the hand of a merciful God; we have nothing else to lose, all our Goods are now secure, and our little Sons (ah little Sons!) got safely to the shore. What matter is't, if by shipwreck, or sailing, they get to the land, provided they get thither with safety. God's favours should be gratefully commemorated, and not exposed to censure. Let's sing, my Soul, let's sing the mercies of so gracious a God. O free, O happy state! We are in so fortunate, and secure a condition, that we have nothing else to fear or hope for. Fortune can threaten us no longer, she can no longer trouble us, God be blessed and thanked. O dear, most loving and merciful God, and when could I ever have imagined, being fettered with so many snares of the World, the Flesh, and the Devil, I should be so happy, to be free and disengaged from them all, and only depend on my will? On my will, which is now, and ever shall be thee, O my dearly beloved, the love of my soul, my God? Thou shalt be my Mother, my Wise, my Father, and Children; in thee are to be calmed my affections, my miseries, and thoughts; thou art to be the object of my understanding, the prey of my will, and the glory of my memory. And since thou hast brought me to this happiness, shall I have so rebellious, so stubborn, and so senseless a heart, to bewail it when it comes? Ah my God, my heart is of flesh, be pleased to forgive it; and of stone, be pleased to split it; draw from it the water, may set forth thy glory. From thee, in thee, and for thee, I protest for the future, all my thoughts, my affections, and words, shall begin, advance, and terminate. I protest, whatsoever hath not thee for its object and centre, my Creator, Redeemer, and my God, (the name I always find the most sweet) I will not approve of. I will no longer will any thing, but what thou wouldst have me to will; nor love any thing, but what thou wouldst have me to love. What is not of God, or for God, Eustachius shall not love, or desire.  
So raising courageously himself, (Ah, good men have afflictions without, but consolation within) as if he had endured nothing yet, he went on, beseeching God to begin now at last to exercise and try him.  
And when, said he, shall we ever have a better occasion? when ever find a time so opportune, to suffer for God's sake? Afflictions are no longer impediments, to divert us from the service of God, to which we are wholly devoted. Where are the tribulations and miseries that were threatened? What hitherto we have suffered, was ill only out of opinion, and what have we suffered of our own? Goods, Honours, Dignities, Wife, and Children, were not otherwise ours, than as troubles. And must it be called and esteemed a tribulation, to be rid of troubles, subjection, and impediments? Ah my God, and what do I suffer, for thy sufferings for me? And what satisfaction do I make thee, for the many offences I so long have committed? When thou wast pleased to suffer for me, didst not willingly lose thy Goods, thy Mother, and thy Country? Wast not willingly torn in pieces, and crucified, and which is more than all, most innocently? And shall I wicked man, in my tribulations and sorrows for my sins, have nothing to relate, but that I was present at the sufferings of others? If thou sayest I am so weak, I shall be discontented, and likewise unfortunate, if thou, who canst not err, hast so low an opinion of the love I bear thee. For my own part I confess, that methinks I have more courage, and dare perform more. Give me, ah g●ve me an affliction deserving the testimony of my love, and let what is past be my penance. Let what I must yet suffer, be consecrated wholly to the love, I consume myself in, for thy sake; for I cannot endure to be a vulgar Servant to God. The favours thou hast done me, oppose it, and my soul cannot suffer it, which blushes to be only known a Christian, by not worshipping of Idols. Hitherto my Wife hath been a Sufferer, my Children, and Slaves, and 'tis now high time I suffer something for thy sake, for thee, O my dear, most loving, and merciful God.  
With these, and the like entertainments, Eustachius went so far, that at last he arrived at a Village called Badiso, whose retiredness and poverty so pleased him, he resolved to fix there, if he could. The few persons living in that place, made it partly seem no desert, though otherwise it was unfrequented, where they sowed what was necessary, to keep them alive; and not sell, unless they sold, not because they possessed, but because they lived there. The place was remote enough from Rome, to conceal him from fame; and as far from noise, as necessary to separate the mind from the pleasures of the world. There poverty was no shame, for riches were not known; nor used they treacheries there, for interest commanded not. The men there dissembled not, for there they did not covet; and the women did not set themselves to sale, for they loved not for lust, but to preserve nature. The air was calm, the soil very fertile, and the Inhabitants sincere. Eustachius thought this place was agreeable to the life he had designed; and therefore recommending himself unto God, for the illumination of his will, he sought how to live. But he soon was entertained, as a Partner in those rural affairs, by a good and poor man, of some little power there; but whether a Labourer, or Master, I know not, for I know not if the tyranny of dominion was in force at that time, in a place so retired.  
Eustachius, giving thanks unto God for this ultimate favour, so willingly and industriously fell to tilling of the ground, that the Owner of the Village, being eased of his labour, and glad of his new servant, ascribed and imputed to Heavens gentle influence, the arrival of this Pilgrim, to whose care now he committed all his business, and his poor estate.  
The Earth returned so happily Eustachius his labours, that the Master was astonished, who thought it impossible so small a spot of ground should abound in that manner. All that beheld it, thought it painted, and not tilled, it pleasing as well the eye, as 'twas useful for man's life. Each Turf brought forth Flowers, eve-Flower Fruit, and all Fruit grew ripe. The Seeds seemed ranged into order, not scattered; and the Trees being lopped, showed the Husbandman's industry, by their growing the better. The Meadows were pleasant, the fallow ground manured, and every thing answered art, the eye, and expectation, with increase, delight; and Plenty. Ah, O God, the sighs of the tiler were the South-west-winds, and his tears the dew, which made the soil as fertile, as the Paradise of his soul.  
Fifteen years together lived Eustachius, in this hard, but happy poverty; in which time he trafficking for eternity, and leading a life that was rather a meditation than life, discovered to the world, how men may live on Earth, and yet dwell in Heaven. Every thing informed him of his Maker, and in every thing he found something to incite him to a Virtue. If a little thin Cloud passed by, he reverenced it as a shadow of God's presence, and contemplated in the Heavens on his Palace, and in the Sun on his Tabernacle. In each breath of air, he adored the Spirit of God, passing and triumphing on the wings of the wind. He either plow'd, mowed, or sowed, never wanting occasion of recollecting himself. He grieved, that Man from the Earth, an insensible thing, could promise himself a gratitude for each, though little, labour of his tilling; when he, who had a soul, and was rational, and more obliged to God than any other Creature, was cold, slow, and backward in returning him thanks, who covered him with the Heavens, warmed him with the Sun, sustained him on a Pavement of Flowers, and nourished him with plenty of all things drawn out of the ground. Every Flower put him in mind of a virtue. The whiteness of the Lily made him blush to think, a Soul redeemed by Christ, should let a stinking Flower surpass it in purity. In every Rose he found a thorn, piercing his heart, and upbraiding the little charity he expressed for the love of his God, who crowned and rend with thorns, was torn to save him. The herb Turnsole is never weary in following the tracks of the Sun, Eustachius said, mortifying himself; and wilt thou, O my heart, let a Flower instruct thee, in loving, ●erving, and contemplating on thy God? The Hyacinth, in the opening of his leaves, sends forth sweet and sad notes; and he that bewails not his sins in his heart, bewails them in the leaves. But what doth Eustachius perform, who hath been so long, and continually a Sinner? Every green Herb taught him hope, and every fruitful Tree imitation. These Meditations ended in ecstasies of his mind, which severed from the body, did run to the feet of his Creator, to thank him for the fruit he had gathered, as a benefit received; and the immature fruit, as a benefit expected. Such was the life of Eustachius, in that solitude inhabited by Angels, who continually descending and ascending, as it were on Jacob's Ladder, beheld and admired the love, which towards his Creator he expressed, whom I cannot call earthly, since he always lived in Heaven.   

The Loving Husband, and Prudent Wife, etc.  
The third Book.  
WHosoever is thankful to God in prosperity, pays his debts; but he that gives him thanks in adversity, turns Creditor. Tribulation, says Saint Jerome, is a fruit of the Almond-tree, the rind of which is bitter, but the kernel very sweet. And the Naturalists observe, when the Almond-tree is full of blossoms, 'tis a sign of a plentiful harvest. Our Eustachius makes it good, whose sufferings all know, which have been so great, their billows have petrified his heart, and rendered it stony, obdurate, and dead; to passions and affections. Under the bitter Plant of affliction, as Jacob under the Turpentine-tree, Eustachius hath buried the Idols of his affections, his interest, and desires. His heart is no longer of flesh, but of Christ; and had it been opened, the name of Jesus would have been found there, as in that of Ignatius the Martyr. But God would not permit him to continue in this state. Tribulations may serve to increase his temptations, but cannot increase the faith of his invincible heart, which can have no addition of courage. The eagerness and valour he hath showed on all occasions, give him worthily the praises and title of a Noble Commander, who had been still victorious. Here misery made a stand, and Heaven cleared up to this fortunate Passenger.  
As Eustachius was discoursing one day with certain Husbandmen, in order to their rural affairs, two Strangers saluting them kindly, approached to them, whose civility the Country People returning, offered themselves readily to serve them in what they were able. The Strangers thanking them, seemed most desirous to have information of a Roman, called Placidus, who together with his Wife, and two Sons, had been missing fifteen years, and they were in quest of.  
Eustachius, who before had been their General, and their intimate Friend, knew them, but was not known again. And who would e'er have thought so pale, so hairy, and so humble a countenance, coloured only with misfortune, could have been the face of Placidus, who formerly full of majesty, and glittering like the Sun, represented in the Colours of his Banners, the Purple of his Triumphs.  
At this their encounter, and demands, Eustachius could not choose but be sensible of the natural commotions our frailty occasions; so as 'tis no wonder if the memory of himself, his Wife, and his Sons, caused him to relent.  
The temptation was strong, because too unexpected, and had a too delicate opportunity, and too little suspected. His Friends were the cause, whose affections, incommodity, and charity, (unless by not concealing them) he could not return. Quickly, but quietly, lest he should have been observed, he sadly turned his back, and leaving the company, went weeping towards his home. His tears trickled down in too great an abundance, and he perceived he wept, with a kind of afflicted sensuality (even tears, said Metrodorus, have their lust) which he soon was sorry for.  
Woe is me, what do I? Men weep not in this manner for the easing of nature, whose sorrows to appease, many tears are not requisite. Men weep in this manner, for some unruly passion, tyrannically subduing their reason. Let's look to ourselves, O Eustachius, lest the Devil circumvent us, for this violence is too great.  
So he spoke to himself, when invaded by the memory of his former prosperity, his love to his wife, and his grief for the death of his sons, but conquered by his fear, to be seen by his God, too devoted to the world; he besought his sacred Majesty, not to suffer any earthly affection to prevail in his heart, which dedicated and bequeathed to him, was not otherwise of Eustachius, than as Eustachius could not serve without a heart, and love his gracious God.  
So with unknown resentments, resembling a trance, which might be thought a punishment for his sorrow, but probably was the sweetness, and fruit of his devotion, he fell to the earth, beseeching God to moderate so immoderate a passion. He would have begged of God, as he was pleased to comfort him with the unexpected presence of two such dear friends, so he would too be pleased (even once before he died) to show him his beloved Theopista, since he could not hope possibly, to see his little sons (ah little sons) so unfortunately lost, and bewailed.  
He would have pursued his desire with devout supplications, and prayers, if he could have been assured it was no temptation, he being so confirmed, and only intense in the will of his Creator, that it seemed to him a sin to desire it. He so passionately was enamoured of God, that he thought, if he loved any thing besides him, 'twould decrease his love to God.  
These his irresolutions & doubts expressed his devotion and affection to God. 'tis one of the happinesses of a soul in the state of grace, to see that all his thoughts, affections, and operations are prayers, incenses, and meritotorious.  
To these supplications of Eustachius, a voice answered plainly from Heaven, which spoke in this manner. Be of good cheer, dear Eustachius, I do not forget thee; O God, what expressions! O heart too hard, and too deaf! Dost thou hear what God doth to his servants, and yet takest pleasure in rebelling against him? Ah, what unhappiness?  
Eustachius encouraged with this voice, whose affectionate expressions may be easier imagined, than described, when he had adored, praised, and thanked Almighty God, whose favours we return, when we gratefully acknowledge them, rising from the ground, proceeded on his way. Every pace was a sigh, and every sigh an arrow, which he shot towards Heaven; Arrows not rebelling, but ejaculatory, shot-towards a sweet enemy from an amorous heart, and not to offend, but provoke.  
The showers, which fall with thunder, by Plutarch called fulgoral, are the best to water, and make the earth fruitful, from whence they are exhaled.  
He no sooner was returned to his work, but his foresaid Companions came suddenly upon him, who being still in motion, here only▪ excepted, ended fortunately their pilgrimage in this field, where their own consolation, and Countries' felicity they found green and flourishing in the person of Eustachius. They relating the marks, and Characters of Placid●s and Theopista, enquired of him, if he could peradventure, g●ve tidings of them, whom they asked so kindly after: he could not but be moved at their cordial affection, and pity their sufferings, in s●eking after him.  
Gentlemen, he replied, why seek ye him so earnestly, and with such inconveniency to yourselves?  
Great things, said the strangers, of which our great love is the least, induce us to seek him. He no more conquered by the love of his friends than the curiosity of sense, concealed still himself; but because he was charitable, & desired to oblige them to his power, he said he could not satisfy their demand, replied in this manner.  
'Tis now very late, and because in this poor Country you will not find easily lodging, I'll willingly accommodate you this night, if you please to accept it. They received his most courteous invitation, God so directing them, who disposes of our hearts, and subordinates the means to the end. When they came into the house, and his master was withdrawn, he besought him, in relation to his many years service, to lodge the noble strangers for a night. What can we deny to so useful, and so faithful a servant? All ceremonies in expressions of kindness, being ended, they sat down to supper, where Eustachius was the Cook, Sewer, Carver, and Cupbearer, and made them all the Sauces, we can taste, where charity makes the feast.  
In the mean time, while the strangers discoursed of Eustachius his kindness, and entertainment, they thought they saw something extraordinary in his countenance, and behaviour, which they were acquainted with. The more they heard him speak, and partaked of his Charity, the more clearly they thought his face confirmed them he was Placidus, the end of their travail, and object of their thoughts, whose health they drank, and only spoke of.  
God knows, where we may find him, they said, how he lives, and who shall be so happy to discover him. His sons are now men, and his wife, if she be living▪ must be old. God knows, if we shall know them, if we meet them, and if they'● know us.  
These sad, and affectionate remembrances made Eustachius now and then shed a tear, and though he did all in his Power to suppress them, the violence he used gave his friends an opportutunity to perceive him much concerned, by his labouring so violently to conceal them.  
The stranger's wonder, and suspicion persuaded them to doubt (if we doubt what we desire) he was Placidus, so as among themselves they began in this manner.  
Dear Antiochus, I take him for Placidus, when the other, called Acatius, replied, I doubt it very much. His age and stature agree well with Placidus, his voice is the same, and his shape not unlike: But where are his wife, and his sons? why should he conceal himself from us? from us, who have been always his servants, and lovers of his family, and name? But if he be not Placidus, what mean his compassionate looks, and interrupted sobs, the greatest signs of love? Ah 'tis he, the first replied quickly, but softly said the second, grant he be the same (but we are not so happy) he cannot be hid from us; Placidus in the nape of his neck, hath the scar of a wound, which, if it be he, will assure us of the truth. Indeed said Antiochus, you say very well, and therefore let's look there immediately. Ah, if we shall not discover it, the pleasure, we receive by this hope, will too soon have an end. So between hope & fear, they went to Eustachius, and looking on that part of his neck, which ends in his right shoulder, they found and read the character of the changes of fortune, represented in his life. I know not if they wept, nor can express their sorrow, for tears had no room in two hearts so full of joy, so as it was necessary to defer it: Their tears fell in showers, not in drops, two eyes being too few for so sweet an affliction.  
Ah longed for Placidus, and why didst conceal thyself from us? from us, whom so often thou hast called the faithful friends of all thy fortune? By what fault of ours hast thou been induced to live in a condition, in which to hid thyself, its useful to thee, or may procure thy shame to be known unto us?  
Can there be so ill a state (when 'tis for thy advantage to own it) can make us afraid? Hath fortune Peradventure, among its Many evils, a disease that kills gratitude and love? Ah Placidus, and what have we done to merit this rigour? If thou art desirous to conceal thyself from fame, to be known unto us, it reveals thee not to any. We have found thee, if thou wilt, and if thou wilt not, our discovery of thee shall but serve to this end, that even in this place, we have sought thee. Thou canst not refuse to be known unto us, unless thou wilt deny us the reward our pains justly claim for seeking thee so long. This, thy virtue will not suffer us to fear, and our hearts cannot credit, which have always loved thee so, that we cannot leave seeking thee, not when thou desir'st not, to be found, not when thou thyself thinkest thyself in such a state, deserves to be even avoided by thyself.  
These tears were let fall by his courteous companions; to whom Eustachius was willing to be known, when he saw he was discovered.  
Friends, he replied, the very same affection that causes your sorrow for my solitude, is the thing that occasions, and deserves it. The more dearly ye love me, the more justly ye deserve I should conceal from you the irksome. information of my state. When I could no longer serve you in any thing, but by hindering my calamities, to disturb your repose, I retired in this habit, much less grievous than my fortune. I thought I was unhappy enough, without taking one me the sorrow of others. For this only reason I declined your presence, and now beg your Pardon, for being disobedient. I was in so low an ebb of fortune, that having nothing left me to lose, but my friends, I thought my love to them obliged me to leave them, to prevent their being taken from me.  
Kisses interrupted these excuses, by drowning and stifling them in tears and embraces. They were forced to be silent, because they were forced to weep, and could not find words to express so great a love. But their joys quickly ended, for no sooner Antiochus, had obtained a truce of his passion, but turning to Eustachius, he asked him for Trajana, and his two young, and beautiful sons, who, inferior in nothing but number, to the Graces, were admired by the people of Rome, who wished the Latin Empire might perpetually abound with persons of like valour.  
Eustachius recounted all the accidents, which befell Theopista, and his sons, at whose most unfortunate, and dreadful remembrance, if his two dear companions did not kill themselves with weeping, 'twas by reason of their horror and amazement at the tragical relation.  
Many of the inhabitants of the village, where the fame was soon spread of Eustachius his quality, broke off their discourses and compliments, by their concourse to them, who with gladness, and confusion mixed together, came to see, and do him homage, and there was none amongst them so rude that relented not, considering in what manner, and how roughly, the bravest soldier living had been depressed by fortune.  
All of them amazed at such strange revolutions, began to bewail his departure, as foreseen, and especially they who just came to see him, as the two dear Companions related, how Trajan (resolving to chastise a certain nation, for pillaging temerariously, and depopulating the Confines of the Empire) expected only Placidus, whose valour alone was supposed to parallel the greatness of so dangerous an enterprise. Acatius and Antiochus affirmed, that Trajan had often been sorry for the distance and misfortune of Placidus, and particularly in this occasion, so as proposing many rewards, and preferments to the bringer of him back, he had sent into all Country, to inquire strictly after him,  
The good, and honest Peasants were afflicted, when they knew he must departed, who caused Badiso to be envied by the Capitol. They thought when Eustachius departed, serenity would departed from their clime, and fertility from the soil. Ah, said they, when he is gone from us, who still was so ready to help every one, so kind, and so useful, whither shall we go for Counsel, assistance, and a pattern?  
The better part of night was consumed in so many, and such different narrations, and conflicts of love, so as they were forced to repose.  
Eustachius alone indefatigably spent the residue of the night in commending himself to his God, and beseeching him, to guide and protect him to the place, where he might spend his life, and Sacrifice his death in his service. He remembered, he had heard from Gods own mouth, he should be restored to his former condition, so as knowing 'twas Gods Will (to comport himself always, in every thing to the will of his Creator) he resolved to go thence with his friends, to see in what God would employ and command him: when the dawning of the day began to appear in that Heaven, which surpassed each thing in clearness, but the heart of our gallant Cavalier, they all rose.  
The art the world uses in laughing, and weeping, in order to interest, and not to affection, is the cause, that to describe with how many tears, the departure of Eustachius was accompanied, will not show with what sorrow, he was seen to departed, of all the Countrypeople, who flocking to him, embraced, attended him, & wept, and he that first returned, ended first the necessity of leaving him.  
By his friends, who were copiously provided of all things, he was clad in the journey, according to his quality, where the trouble they had, was not long, for they guided by the soft, and gentle gale of God's grace, arrived in thirty days at the haven so desired.  
The fame of his coming outstripped him, so as at his arrival in Rome, he found the City full of acclamations for him, where the joy, and honours he was received with, unless we'll do them wrong, are incapable of relation. He entered the City in triumph, if ever any triumph was accompanied with applauses of that kind, where every street was a Capitol, and every voice a Panegerique. Nor was it at all necessary to exhort him against pride, for he went as composed, and modest, as became a child of Heaven. This was a triumph o'er fortune, which conquered, and suppressed by his virtue, beheld him pass to glory on a Chariot of hearts, and wills. When they came to the Palace, embraces tired the day, where the the Emperor met him, embraced, and honoured him, and informed of his adversities, could not think of them, but with sorrow. Each ear distilled into Pity, that listened to his disasters, whose fortune would have had the name of tragedy, if it had not had a gallant Cavalier for the subject.  
When the Emperor, and the Orders of the City had received him with so many, and so glorious expressions of kindness, the interest, and reasons of the war, were imparted to Eustachius by Trajan, in whose Cabinet he learned, that the happiness of Princes resides altogether in the chamber of Presence, beyond which, the secretest rooms have only the greatness of troubles, and cares. He found that Trajan, dismayed with the greatness of the conspiracy, the distance of the place, difficulty of provisions, and insufficiency, and infidelity of his ministers of State, prepared for a war, which reason represented as dangerous, as necessary, and inevitable, for the honour of his Crown.  
Eustachius particularly informed of Trajan's designs, so commented on them, that the Emperor perceived, Victory is the daughter of Counsel, and where prudence speaks, fortune, 'tis probable, will cease to be inconstant, and find fixed stations.  
Trajan, without making more ado, relying altogether on the Virtue and Courage of Eustachius made him publicly the General, and recommending to him the glory of the Latin Empire, remanded him so fraught with his favours, that had it not been justice to advance by all possible means the honour of his Master, gratitude would have put him in mind of returning the benefits of so gracious and generous a Prince.  
When Eustachius had mustered the Army, settled each Command, and provided all sorts of ammunition, he marched towards the enemy, but the name of the enemy, and how the war was managed, antiquity hath not left it so clearly to us, as (without doing wrong to the truth of the story) to descend 〈◊〉 particulars. This may be enough, that Eustachius conquering the difficulties of a tedious & dangerous way, and often contesting with the incommodities of hunger, the outrages of ill weather, and ambushes of the adversary, discovered, coped, fought with him, and o'rcame him.  
When he had subdued the rebel, he secured the Empire to the Emperor, and remustering his soldiers, renowned by the victory, and enriched with the booty, resolved to retreat. But 'twould not be amiss, to relate the affectionate charity, with which he commiserating the unfortunate, moderated the anger of the Conquerors, restrained the rapacity of the Covetous, and repressed the fierceness of the lustful, telling them with arguments, but more efficaciously by his own example, that victories are dishonoured by acts of injustice, and we make an ill return of Heavens favours, when we do commit cruelties. It would peradventure be convenient, and perhaps not unprofitable, to tell the love, and tears, he devoutly expressed, for the multitude of graces from God, but who can describe the conceptions of an Angel? Graces he received, and was thankful for them; and was thankful, because he received them; and received them, because he was thankful. He returned them so affectionately, that oftentimes the graces losing the name of graces, became the reward of his gratitude; his zeal making him so deserving, that the favours he received, made him capable of deserving them afresh. O most happy state of a Soul in love with God  
The Army marched, and marched in order, every pace being regular, in respect of their motion, and conveniency of the stations. The Vanguard, Battalia, and Rearguard, with the Baggage, and Provisions, in their place. Light-horsemen scoured the way, though the Country was open, and no danger of ambushes, and the Precursors went for Forage, as the way was commodious. In every thing they provided against the perils of a War, and enjoyed in every thing the delights of a Peace. They marched in order, not out of suspicion, but discipline, for their Arms served only for the character, and not the defence of the Soldier. At the end of some days, Eustachius arriving in a pleasant and fruitful part of Egypt, resolved the Army should repose for some time, which, by reason of its hard and toilsome march, was in no good condition. During the sweetness of this rest, the Soldiers allured by the pleasantness of the Country, went recreating themselves in that Paradise of Egypt, whose bosom still enamell'd with a Spring of standing Treasures, invited them with pleasure and tranquillity to lie every where on the ground.  
It happened on a time, that two of them declining the heats at noon day, were resting themselves in a shade of Palm-trees, where a Garden lay concealed, which for the delights of the Inhabitants, was seated in the most remote part of the House.  
They lay solitary on the grass, and talking among themselves; and because the conveniency of the place, and the time unfit for business, gave them the opportunity, they passing from one to another discourse, informed each other by turns of the state and condition of their fortunes.  
A poor Woman, that was spinning behind the hedge of the neighbouring Garden, and refreshing herself in the shade, heard all their discourse, and things; which not only caused amazement in her heart, but drew tears from her eyes. She tossed up and down disordered, and much troubled; resolves to change the climate, to make use of the tidings she received by chance. But how will she be able to do it, since she is so unhappy, that to call her a Woman of small fortune, would detract from her calamity?  
While these mental tumults lasted, her mind gave her, happily the General, if she made it her suit, would easily condescend to her modest desires.  
She, who had her heart and her ears replenished with the celebrated piety of Eustachius, embraced the suggestion; and arriving at the place, where she heard he was quartered, continues her request for access, and easily obtained it of him; who never ashamed to have his actions seen, retires to live more quietly, and not to sin more secretly. She found him sitting in the midst of his Champions, the glory of that age, where I might say, he recreated himself, if treating of a Hero, it came not near impiety, not to say, he was at Council. She first prostrating her eyes, and then kneeling, rather owning the title of a noble and modest Maid, than a mature and beggarly Egyptian, spoke to him in this manner.  
You see, my Lord, a poor unhappy Creature, who hath lost all that Heaven and Nature could give her. Time and Fortune have robbed me of my Youth, my Parents, Country, Means, Husband, and Sons. But Heaven be praised, whose decrees should be always held in reverence, nothing else is left me; but the dreggy part of my age, which being vile, infirm, frail, impotent, and painful, gins now so to trouble me, I am obliged to think of my Grave, to prevent my being miserable, even after death. Rome was my Country, whither natural affection calls me, the only favour I have left me to beg for so wretched a Carcase. I beseech you, Noble Sir, deny not my request, that I may at your charitable charge once again see that soil, which though it gave me so unfortunate a birth, deserves my love so well, I never shall remember it, but with tears, and with sighs.  
These few, and sweet words, which she uttered with humility, and a modesty expressing majesty, the standers by moved with compassion, commended extremely.  
Eustachius, who never was more happy and contented, than when he had occasion to exercise his piety, approaching to her, who continued yet kneeling, replied; Poor Woman, thou shalt receive comfort. Thy discretion bears thee witness, thy birth is as thou sayest. Rest satisfied, I will take such order, thou shalt be provided of all things in the journey, and go along with us to the place thou desirest.  
On the sudden the good Woman, when she heard him say so, as if she had been struck to the heart, lifting up her eyes, and fixing them on the countenance of the General, being dismayed, amazed, and pale, with a certain distemper, which some did interpret confusion, and others astonishment, stood still without motion. Every one admiring the strangeness of the thing, fell a guessing at the cause produced so sudden a passion. But the pale and wan colour in her cheeks, became quickly a fine red; and as soon as her mind had obtained some peace to so many perturbations, she endeavoured with her tears to vent her great passion.  
Eustachius more amazed than the rest, and urging her to tell the sudden cause of so sensible a sorrow, offered to assist her more abundantly, if she needed, or desired it.  
The issue was thus; when the Woman had calmed her passion, and was confident of the General's magnanimity, she besought him at last, that dismissing the Company, he would suffer her, for a short space of time, to speak to him alone, about business concerning her. Eustachius condescended, and all the standers by went away, leaving her shut in, and alone with the General; who longing, irresolute, and wavering, by reason of many doubts, guessed, penetrating with his judgement, what the Beggar would say, who was not, without a great mystery, so grievously, and suddenly afflicted.  
They discoursed long together, so as they who were without, were a great while only curious; but when the length of time began to exceed what they thought in probability was enough to dispatch such mean affairs, amazement succeeded.  
And what things deserving so tedious a Session, do the tears of a despicable Woman design? What counsels does so valiant and so honoured a Champion impart, or receive from a Female of no worth? While they murmured in this manner, a Sergeant, whom the General called, at last entered in, who quickly returning with a pale and troubled countenance, obsequiously and hastily shut the door of the Chamber. How amazed they were at that, I cannot relate, their wonder even making them die of fear. Ah, what's the matter? All came about the nimble Messenger, ask him earnestly the cause of his paleness and solicitude.  
Sirs, he replied, great things are sure amiss, but what, I could not penetrate: but I found the General weeping, who so often with dry eyes hath seen the doubtful dangers of Victory, and contemned and o'ercome the horrors of death. I am seeking certain Soldiers he commanded should be brought to him presently, and hinder not his service.  
The Soldiers he sought after, were the very same Men whose discourse the same day the poor Woman had heard and observed behind the hedge of the Garden.  
'Twas not long  he came back, accompanied by the two Soldiers; who hearing with what trouble and impatience the General expected them, were dejected, and half dead. The paleness in their faces was interpreted by the Waiters, as the mark of an ill conscience; and every one looked strangely upon them, as well because they thought they were guilty of the General's sadness, whom they loved, as because, if they were destined to ill fortune, 'twas necessary to begin to declare, they had no amity with them. Friendship dies, when Calamity is born. Even this increased the horror of the Wretches, who the more they were used to be respected, as being Lanciers, and sitting at the General's Table, bewailed with greater terror, the contempt and disesteem showed to them in this occasion. Eustachius informed of their arrival, gave order to the Sergeant, to usher them in, who commanded immediately to go out, returned to his Companions to raise new doubts among them; who perplexed, panted after the knowledge of such strange and impenetrable nows. Eustachius not long after, cried aloud, so as every one, attentive to hear what succeeded, heard resound from the Chamber, though shut, a lamentable confusion of weeping, and sobs.  
They irresolute awhile, concluded at last, they were bound to go in, to see if they were able to do their Lord service. But the Chamber being opened, they amazed, and more disordered than before, found, (ah wonder!) found, that their valiant Commander, prostrate between two Soldiers, and a despicable Woman, lay pitifully weeping, like a drooping little Boy, that had been correctedd for his faults.  
Eustachius no sooner beheld them, but rising from the ground, and instantly looking cheerful, cried aloud unto them, Come in Brethren, come in; I invite you to behold the unspeakable wonders of God's providence and mercies. The joy his words occasioned, which were far more pleasing than they could imagine, surpassed each affection in the breasts of the Auditors, curiosity excepted. When they were entered in, he re-spake in this manner.  
Behold here, O Friends, my Wife, and my Sons, the chances of whose losses will eternally be famous in the Diaries of my Misfortunes.  
He recounted here particularly to them, how his Wife had long since been violently taken from him by an amorous Robber; and how by the favour of Heaven, she preserved undefiled, surviving the barbarous Fellow, and extremely necessitous, came begging to the service of a Garden, behind whose hedge she had the occasion of re-knowing her Sons, who contracting a friendship, and relating the unfortunate accidents of each others fate, were known to be Brothers.  
All ran on the sudden by turns, to embrace and do homage unto their new Lords; by whom they were informed of the manner, how the one by Shepherds recovered out of the mouth of a Wolf, and the other by Peasants out of the paws of a Lion, had, spending their time in a mean education, been at last by a Drum recalled to their natural inclination.  
Acclamations soon began, the usual Companions of felicity; each one affirming, he admired how 'twas possible they took not before for Placidus his Sons, those valiant young Gentlemen, who were so like their Father in the features of the face, the strength of arm, and magnanimity of heart. Kind receptions, praises, and congratulations, would have never had an end, if the General, who most passionately desired to thank again his gracious Creator, had not, taking an occasion from the time, (the night now coming on very fast) after his thanks to every one for their kindness, most courteously and dexterously dismissed them.  
After their departure, Eustachius left only with his Wife and his Sons, began to say to them, Ah Wife, ah Sons, as dear to my heart, as all the hope it hath, and all its felicity; and what sense have we of the multitude of favours so merciful a God bestows upon us? Ah dear Theopista, whom so long I have sighed for, behold me again in thy arms; I embrace thee by the favour of that most loving Father, who most graciously and mercifully deprived me of thee, to make me relish pleasure, by restoring thee to me. And O ye Sons, so principal a part of my bowels, have ye in such disatrous and difficult ways of hostile vicissitudes kept the innocence was due from you by gratitude, not only by nature, for the many obligations, which more than all men living besides, ye have to so bountiful a God? Embrace ye me, O Sons, O Sons much desir'd, and twice born. O how many times have tears drowned my sleep, when I thought I heard you howling and roaring in the Woods? But glory be to God, we behold one another once again, and shall meet for the future more happily, for the plenty of so many favours cannot choose but so mollify, and so powerfully in the end raise our hearts to correspond with God Almighty, but that this correspondence, enflaming, and replenishing us with him, must shower on our souls a Paradsie of graces, of glory, and happiness.  
Here he made an end, for affection broke the thread of his discourse; Theopista wept, & his Sons likewise wept. The brother the brother, the husband the wife, the mother the sons, and the sons now their father, now their mother did hug, and embrace, mixing congratulations with kisses, and embittering their kisses with tears. Every thing concluded in expressions of kindness, and the mutest were most eloquent. All these love-extasies they ended at the foot of a Crucifix, where what discourses of gratitude, what sense of devotion, what affections of affection, and what protestations, and resignations they made, I cannot describe. The Angels have done it, who, spectators of so delicate and wonderful a scene, have registered their Acts in the Annals of eterninity, to present them to God, as a pleasing sight to him who is in his own sphere, when he shines among the flames of an enamoured heart.  
They supped, but gazed more than they did eat, the communication of their miseries past refreshing them more, than the delicatest meat, though it had been dressed by the skilfullest hand, and with the rarest sauces in the world.  
In the morning they went to the Army, which rendevoused together, expected them, waving with gladness, acclamations, and such joyful applause, that it plainly appeared the happiness alone of the General, was the soul of that vast body, considering his dignity, but the heart, if we consider their affections.  
This day they were jocund and jovial, and consumed the next in preparations to be gone, the word being given through the Camp of their future dislodging. Eustachius, when the legions, the baggage, and prisoners were marched away, went directly to Rome, in the midway to which he received advice, that Trajan, the just, the valiant, and courageous, was dead, which disturbed in some sort the contentment of his heart. Something should be said in the praise of his virtue, if the name of Trajan had not been the greatest praise the memorials of that age could commemorate. The General published the news to the Legions, who wept not for his death, for at the same time, they heard of the succession of Adrian, not was it lawful, or at least secure to weep, when tears might maliciously be interpreted, and said to be shed, rather for the coronation of the one, than the death of the other. In those tyrannous times, they looked not, nor spoke without counsel, and before they went abroad, received information of the interests of the Prince, to know what kind of Countenance they should wear through the City.  
Eustachius arriving in Rome, was received in that manner by the Emperor, that he found no want of Trajan. I relate not the ceremonies at his meeting, his praises, the concourses of people, the Images, Crowns, and triumphal arches, because in each place, where virtue appears, she drags triumphs after her, and he's much more fortunate than valiant, whose virtue can receive augmentation of glory by a triumph.  
Adrian embraced, commended, and rewarded him, augmenting his titles, his riches, and authority. Adrian's whole discourse still concluded with the prudence, the valour, and fortune of Placidus. Placidus was the Emperor's right hand, the apple of the eye of the Empire, and a pattern for the Lords. All looked on him, not only as a valiant Commander, but a favourite, He that of Placidus could dispose whose Genius was supposed predominant o'er Adrian's, thought he could command the Prince: Adrian made him often tell the story of his life, and kissed, and hugged him often in his bosom, and sometimes was so jealous, and sometimes so delighted with him, that he challenging a share in the fortunate success of so raging a tempest, said, in the health of Placidus, he owed his first triumph to the Gods.  
Placidus dispatched all affairs, and calmed and resolved all the Emperor's cares, and doubts. But what wonder is't, that virtue should be loved, and respected. Placidus never went into the Royal Cabinet, but learning, and truth entered with him, necessary conditions for the Moses, who is to be there to discourse with his God. His Power never swelled him at all, and though in so short a space of time, he attained to such greatness, that his looks and command were held in the same veneration, yet he more humble, and more affable to all than before, then only showed his greatness, when he had an opportunity to show his magnanimity. He had a heart of ashes, and still thought upon his own vileness. As the Bee that the wind should not carry him away, he still carried in his hands the base stone of his condition. He had not, like Philotas, need of shoes soled with lead, to the end the wind of vanity, should not raise him from the earth. Death, and the Cross, were the Anchor and Mast, which secured this Ship. He knew well the feathers of birds, that were offered up in holocausts, were thrown on the dunghill, and that the more the Siren of greatness allures, the more needful it is for Ulysses, to be tied to the mast, for his own preservation.  
The greater his power was, the more still the followers, or to speak better, the fishers of Fortune extended their nets, and toiled for his favour. Every one believed, he had stopped the rolling wheel of his fortune, when he thought, he was sure of his power. Every one directed his motions to the splendour of this light, which was reverenced by all, as the North Star of this Heaven. O with what ease do our eyes deceive themselves!  
Wither it be the nature of affection, whose heat's the less durable, by being the more vehement, or whither it be the nature of nature, which having to every thing prescribed a mutation, reduces that faster to the centre, which she hath with greater violence exalted to the summit, Placidus had a fall.  
Confide he in the favour of man, who is a greater favourite, more deserving, and more necessary to his master, than Placidus was to Adrian. He fell, but he fell into Paradise. This is a fortunate precipice, for he fell into the lap of eternal and incomprehensible felicity, but yet 'tis a precipice, for a terrible and dreadful example of human mutability,  
That a man for his virtue respected, and for his condition most powerful, well spoken of by all, desired by all Nations, and victorious in all battles, whom his Country gloried in, the age he lived in honoured, and in whom the Prince said he was happy, should set in an instant, be examined by a hangman, unjustly condemned and sentenced by that mouth, which more than any other carest, kissed, and made him renowned, is a thing so full of horror, that I hold the man mad, who after so notorious an example, will trust in his own prudence, and think it sufficient to support him in the favour of man, be he never so friendly, or obliged.  
The ancient Roman Emperors, after any remarkable victory gave publicly thanks to their Gods, which they used to do with that pomp of apparel, and train of applauses, that many times the altars had occasion to envy their bravery, who offered Incense on them, and still he was adored more devoutly that discharged the vow, than he that had given the success.  
The pomp predesigned for the glory of this sacrifice, receiving the Period expected so long, Adrian with bravery more becoming a magnificent ostentation, than a devout and great gratitude, repaired to the Temple to give the God's thanks, for the Empire so great, and victory so glorious they propitiously had given him. He went into the Temple, attended and applauded by all his greatest Princes, beginning his function with the accustomed piety of the fortunate, who usually place all their devotion in the charge they are at in the sacrifice. When the end drew nigh, he looking about him, remembered that Placidus was not there, and sighing, quickly feared, lest some sudden distemper might surprise him in that manner, as to hinder him from waiting upon him.  
He said to himself, he cannot be ingrateful, to whose only glory the victory we consecrate is due; nor can he be thought irreligious, for he is well known and respected, as descended from as holy a man as Heaven hath on earth, and he will not degenerate. The sacrifice no sooner was ended, but the Emperor with extraordinary kindness, was extremely desirous to know what had happened to his Placidus, who as soon as he came into the Temple (not without a universal astonishment) he heard, departed thence in great haste with his sons.  
Adrian more doubtful than before, and more irresolute, gave order, that Placidus should again be sought after, and if he were well, should repair unto him, who stayed to speak with him, with unspeakable anxiety. The Emperor scarce arrived at the Palace, when Placidus appeared with his sons, and Adrian soon looking serenely complained of him, as if it had troubled him much, to be so long uncertain of his health whom he loved, and favoured in that manner.  
And what could I think (he quickly said to him) but that you were ill, since you were not present at the sacrifice, we offered to the Gods, out of gratitude for a victory, which more for the benefit of your glory, than the growth of the Roman Empire, they so prodigally have favoured, and assisted. Surely something of great consequence (to the standers by great scandal) made thee go from the Temple, where the Gods would have hath thee to be gratefully religious, and exemplar.  
Sir, replied Placidus, you accuse me of a fault I never committed. If because I was not present, where cold, mute, and impotent stones are adored, you think me ingrateful to Christ, who only is the giver of victories, you guess very ill.  
Adrian at these words, whither amazed, or ambiguous, I know not, looking on the ground, and with the forefinger of his right hand, scratching lightly his hair, stood still a little while, like one that thinks on things, and resolves not what to do, then dying his countenance with his doubts, he blushed, and grew pale, began, and was silent. In the end, he composing himself as well as he could, sent out of his mouth, which expressed indignation, these words, or the like.  
Let's be cautious, O Placidus, of speaking against Heaven, for the matter is too nice. Jesting is not good, where simplicity or malignity ill applied, may occasion bad examples to the public. Though the knowledge men have of thy goodness, secures thee from the fear of being reputed irreligious, thou shouldst not bring me into the danger of blame, for too much forbearance, by permitting such things to be spoken in my presence, which cannot be peaceably heard, without the blasphemy of the ear.  
Sir, replied Eustachius, grown red with the holy Ghost, whosoever professes his Religion, does jest. For the Victories I have had, I have thanked the gracious God that bestows them. If I waited not on you where Jupiter and Mars are adored, 'twas only that I could not endure to see, not only vainly, but wickedly, the incenses consumed, which belong to the Lord of Hell, where Mars and Jupiter themselves are eternally tormented.  
O God, what do I hear? Is Placidus so terrible a Blasphemer? Placidus so pertinacious a Christian? A Christian, and Blasphemer, even to my face? Fear we so little the Thunderbolts of Heaven? Is Adrian's Sword and Justice so slenderly regarded? Soldiers, keep him in hold, his greatness will serve to get Fortune renown. Some violent distraction of mind hath perhaps overcome him, and therefore give him time and opportunity to recollect himself. A sacrifice will rectify his error, and when no hope is left, I'll find out a way to repair the veneration of the Gods, and save the Law from violence. No greatness of Fortune, prerogative of Valour, or protection of Favour, is security to any that refuses to worship our Gods, during Adrian's reign. Shut him up again, and keep him safe.  
Placidus would have answered; but the violence of Adrian's passion, which carried him away, made him lose that opportunity. In the mean time, the Soldiers surrounded him, while he full of spirit, began to preach, and publicly profess his belief, detesting the Idols, and preaching the truth of Christ's Law to all the Guard of Cesar. Yet none was so bold to approach to offend him; so powerfully the rays of his Virtue, which commanded a respect in each person, were darted by him.  
Why delay ye, Fellow-soldiers, he mildly spoke to them, why do ye delay? Is this the Discipline you learned in my School? Obey ye so slowly your General? What respect retards you? Is't perhaps to do me honour? Honour me by imitating the readiness with which I have always obeyed my Superiors. A Master's commands should be executed, not examined. Approach free'y to me, I defend not myself, I long have aspired to these Manacles. Behold here are my hands, bind them if you please, I refuse not to be tied: He was bound harder, and more ignominiously, for whose sake ignominies shall be glorious to me, and wounds serve for trophies. In one thing alone ye may gratify the affection I have always had for you, if ye speedily send to Adrian, and tell him I am Eustachius, not Placidus, a Professor of Christianity, no Idolater; and that if from me, my Wife, or my Sons, he hope for any other confession, he hopes for it in vain. He shall see by our undauntedness, what manner of Gods he serves, who loves his God as hearty as we do love ours: and if he'll determine any thing on our lives, who so firmly persist in our faith, let him speedily do it, to decline the loss of time in his Counsels, and retard not the reward of our Victories.  
These words being spoken with a stable and fearless countenance, begat an amazement in the Auditors, which turned in the end into pity. Every one was sorry for him; and there was not any person so vile, that would not very willingly have opened a vein, to avoid seeing him brought to so ill an end, who was as good as happy, and so happy, that he could desire nothing of Fortune, because she had nothing left to give him.  
When the rumour was spread through the City, that Placidus was carried to Prison, the People abshed, came running with such tacit confusion, that the streets; though full of Persons, would have been supposed a Desert, if they had given credit to their ears, the tumult here making no noise, and quietness not reposing. The silence was such as is usually occasioned by abundance of fear, or a sorrow incapable of revenge. The cause of this strangeness was both terrible and ambiguous to them, who could not think him impious that was so well known, now excuse a wicked deed of a Prince so much feared.  
Adrian informed with what constancy Eustachius contemned both Death, and the Gods, was mad with indignation, and perhaps too with grief, for without extreme violence we pass not to hatred from love; so deeply and tacitly this potent affection of affection takes root in our hearts. Supposing himself to be vilifyed and despised, as he was contriving a revenge, a new information furprized him, that Theopista, with her sons, was as ready to accompany her Husband into Prison, as she did in his Belief. He heard that all four, unanimously and publicly detesting the Idols, (not without the People's wonder and attention) stood preaching and extolling the merit of their Religion. He, (overcome by a violent passion) which transported him against them, would precipitously have commanded their present execution, if some persons of authority, commiserating the sadness of their case, and endeavouring the appeasing of his fury, had not made him believe, 'twould be more advantageous to the Empire, and Religion, to conquer Eustachius, than kill him. They represented to Adrian, Eustachius was a Person beloved of the People, and Armies, and 'twas necessary, not only commendable, to give him some time, that his contumacy might justify the punishment, or repentance make glorious his imprisonment. This, as the best resolution, was concluded; and therefore the Prisoner was informed, he should prepare himself to make the Gods a sacrifice, or be sacrificed himself. This combat continued three days, during which time, all the Christians of the City were not wanting to visit him, to comfort and encourage him. His friends used all means for his safety, and the Emperor invaded him by his intimate acquaintance. The last temptation was suggested by a Friend, who, though sent by Cesar, feigned he came of himself out of kindness, and an earnest desire to preserve him; insomuch as what Arts the School sells, Dissembling can counterfeit, or Interest devise, he put in execution; and making a mixture of affection, of arguments, offers, and threats, and tempering and infusing each thing in commendations, the last and most powerful enchantment to Persons of Valour, laboured mightily to corrupt him.  
Dearest Eustachius, what is become of thy renowned Virtue, the scourge of our Enemies, the prop of our Empire, and glory of our Age? Who hath persuaded thee to make thyself an Enemy to the Gods, by opposing the Religion of thy Ancestors, the Law of thy Prince, and injuring the simplicity of the People, who by thy example will protect the injuries done to the Gods, which have made thee victorious against all the powers, and triumphant under that space of Heaven they govern and illuminate? Eustachius, thou dissentest from thyself, not only from thy Prince, and out faith. Why leav'st thou the Religion thou so frequently hast defended with thy dangers, so often augmented with victories, and so many times authorised with thy noble and sumptuous sacrifices, even to the exhausting of thy Treasure? Is this the gratitude thou professest to the Gods, who so often have made thee victorious, and sharing, as it were, their Divinity with thee, have allowed men as well to swear by thy happiness, as by their own omnipotency.  
Some Devil, and Enemy to the People of Rome, hath perverted thee. The justice of those Gods, who never abandoned thy protection, till they saw thee their Enemy, make thee see the injustice of thy cause. Consider, dear Friend, what condition thou art in; from the high way of triumphs, and greatness, thou art fallen into Prison, and the danger of thy head; Ah unhappy man, who will assist thee? Will that God peradventure, whose own hands are nailed? Wilt thou therefore dishonour the glory of thy name, ruin thy state, and the greatness of thy Family, and bury the hopes of thy Country, which promised itself, in thy valour and prudence, a long and sure prop to its happiness? Wilt thou despise the fortune which offers itself unto thee by the favour of the Prince, who, because he might not see thee destroyed, exhibites to make thee so great, that thou in all the world shalt have none above thee, he only excepted, who is second to none that is not a God. All thy friends and alliance, with tears and prostrate hearts, beseech thee not to do it. Wilt thou see so many tears shed in vain, and so many friends deceived, for a God condemned, and punished? They have bought thy protection with the sweat of their labours, and have spent, and still passionately desire to spend their blood for the glory of thy Family and Name; and wilt thou give consent to abandon them? Ah, they may have reason to fear it, if thou tak'st delight in holding them so long in suspense, and go'st about even to abandon the Gods themselves. But who, but who are they, which removed not far from thee, groan under the weight of so many Chains, in so dark and so dreadful a Prison? Ah wretch that I am, whom do I behold? Are they, or are they not the same? Are those thy so valorous Sons, and that thy Wife so chaste, whom thou so much lovedst? Ah Placidus, and canst find in thy heart to see them torn in pieces? And why growest thou so cruelly perverse on the sudden to thy Friends, thy Wife, thy Sons, thyself, and the Gods of thy Progenitors, of thy Prince, thy Country, and Triumphs?  
Eustachius inspired by God, turning himself towards his Sons with a smile, lest his valour might be stained if he fell to words, when he had the command of his Sword, spoke to them in this manner.  
We must now, my Beloved, resolve to do something; and what will ye do? To enjoy a short eternity, will ye disgust the Friends which counsel us so well? For a God, though a Creator and Redeemer, will ye offend a Prince, that hath done you the honour to let you spill so often your blood, to uphold him in his Throne? For a God displeased with our loving Deities, though Heaven be his Temple, and by nature he be goodness itself, and virtually omnipotent, shall we leave off offering up Incense to these beautiful Statues, where men admire the excellency of Art, and hearken to infernal Consultations? If ye'll resolve on this, besides the leave ye'll have of the most gracious Prince, to spill again your blood for his sake; he will too permit you, (since the loss of your souls is inevitable, if ye die in rebellion against the true God) to live at least, and quickly lead a fortunate life, if it be a happy life, to have many occasions of contesting with the dangers and miseries of war, emulation, envy, sickness, and servitude.  
So spoke he to them; then turning himself to his idolatrous Counsellor, he added; I both excuse and pity thee: Thou dost not comprehend what our souls aspire to; we thirst after favours and lives which are not terrestrial. Report, we do not adore Gods, Deflowrers of Virgins, Incestuous to their Sisters, and Deceivers of Men; Gods that are Parricides, Adulterers, Rapacious, Impostors, and Bloodsuckers, born to the shame, not protection of the world, and deified only by them, who under the shadow of a Deity, that loves, and does not punish impieties, seek to shelter their consciences. And is't possible a Man of Valour, though no Christian, should not be ashamed to see himself prostrate at the foot of a God, more wicked than wickedness itself? And is't possible he should not know these Incenses are consumed in vain; and so many, and such chargeable Victims, are to no other end, but to waste our Wealth and Goods? These are Gods which rob us, though dead, and though adored. O blindness! That God is not ours, which seeks our perdition; and that God is no God, that knows not how to hinder his own. Let us bestow our incenses where we have our hopes. We hope not in impieties, in wickednesses, and eternal blasphemers of God's name, by whom they condemned, will always feel the punishment of their pride and rebellion.  
I can answer you not otherwise, but that you know us not, if you threaten us. And what wouldst thou have us to fear? Shame? And thinkest thou that he'll die of shame, who, a Conqueror of the Devil, and the World, dies serving, and to serve his Creator? What wouldst thou have us fear? Death? A Christian hopes for death, and fears it not. God's knife, not Adrian's, affrights us. A Christian hath his Country, his faith, hope, treasures, and glory in Heaven. He is not a Countryman of this life. Whosoever kills him, does not drive him from the Earth, but helps him to get sooner to Heaven, whither he (here a Pilgrim) aspires. O unhappy man, that to live a few days, would lose such a fortunate occasion of eternally beatifying himself. But why named I a few days? If thou canst assure me of a moment of time for sacrificing to thy Gods, I am ready to tell thee, I will readily do it: but if that cannot be, (so fading and uncertain is this our frail life) why wouldst thou make me lose an eternal felicity for a very short moment of time? for a moment uncertain? for a moment, which, if certain, would have howsoever more torment than life? Friend, we will die, even to fly this so troublesome life, much more to serve our God, that is so full of power. And this life is too vile, too uncertain, and too dependant; and we passionately desire once to die, to behold our most merciful God, to whose only presence our souls do aspire and sigh. Ah, O my Sons, shall we never attain to this happiness? Shall we never get to taste it? O most happy we, if our God will be pleased to confer it on us. And what shall we do in that blessed light, which never is eclipsed? In that inexhaustible and incomprehensible Sea of delights, and consolations? Will these petty disasters we suffer for his sake, prove bitter or sweet, profitable or sad? Ah woe's me, a frail and poor Creature, who love not even so well my God, but that the flesh makes me think of interest, of pleasure, and reward. Be not scandalised my sons, let's fight, let's suffer, and die for the only love of God. God alone be our object, our reward, and our interest. Though he did not intent to reward us, he deserves to be beloved; and how much for us hath he done? Ah scourges, ah thorns, ah lances, ah nails, and ah cross, ye know very well.  
They spoke here all together, as expressing the consent of four valiant persons, who animating one another, as they fortified themselves, so made the Spectators relent. The Orator, confounded, and unable to compass his end, returned to Adrian, relating to him, he had met with a Prison full of Constancy; where he that expected to die, was more fearful of the flowness, than the sharpness of his Sword.  
Adrian implacably incensed with this last relation, calling Placidus ingrateful, sacrilegious, and seditious, and invoking particularly each God, extolled and exaggerated the merit of his own piety. That he had rather part with a Minister of state, though useful and glorious to the Empire, than that Heaven should be sacrificed to by his hand. When he with exclamations, complaints, threats, and injuries, had sufficiently inflamed and tormented himself, (the authority of the Devil his Counsellor prevailing at last) he resolved to blot Placidus out of the book of life; and asked by his will, what death they should die; the Lions, he replied, should devour them, who had for that purpose fasted three days together.  
The innocent Christians were led to the Theatre, whither they went with a faith deserving a Theatre. The People (who with tears resented their condition) accompanied and pitied them with a sorrow and compassion that cannot be expressed. Every one was sorry for the Sons unhappy youth, and every one for the Parent's affliction. Some thought the death of the young men was most worthy of pity, because they were cut off in the flower of their age, while others had a greater compassion for the Parents, supposing their death to be the more precious, for by losing themselves, and their Sons, they lost and lamented more lives. When the Theatre was opened, and the persons condemned appeared, who more cheered up themselves in their dangers, no eye was free from tears, especially when they saw, and heard Eustachius speak, who kneeling in the midst of his beloved family, cried aloud with his hands reared to Heaven.  
Though all hell should be let lose, much less a few Lions, he can have no fear that loves thee, O Lord. Thou art too sweet, and too dear, O sweet and dear Love of our love. Behold us at thy fear, most ready and prepared for a sacrifice, which is not so pure, and immaculate, as thou dost deserve, is what four poor, and miserable sinners can give thee. With thy loving mercies, make it what thou wouldst have it to be for thy glory. What say ye dear Sons? are ye glad of this occasion, to show your prompt obedience, to our most gracious Father and God. Take ye pleasure that he see, he hath not given so much to you, but that ye are ready to present, and sacrifice more to him, if it lay in your power? Offer up to him, and give him that life, he so often hath bestowed upon you, preserved and made noble. Which way will these Lions come out? Will they make peradventure to this place? Come valorous Sons, let us bend thither. Ye are well acquainted with Lions, ye have conquered them formerly, when ye were not old enough to distinguish them: Will ye now be afraid of them, when ye fight for God's sake?  
Ah dear husband (his wife interrupting him began) wrong not the valour of our Sons. Ye, O my Sons shall stand here together, and I here before: She will lead you out of this life, who brought you into it. Give praises to God for the victory, and bless and invoke him. O holy, thrice holy, and a thousand times holy, behold us at the sacrifice, we so often have desired. Accept O amorous, accept most loving flame of our breasts, this little and last, but cordial oblation of our wish.  
When the grates were opened, the Lions (very hungry and at liberty) issued forth, whose horrible roaring made all the spectators afraid, for they came with that violence and fury, that the holy Martyr's obsequies were lamented by all,  their death. None could endure to behold this destruction, so as with a generous aversion, all looked another way, not now not to pity, but to shun the the first encounter of so sad, and so skreaking a compassion. Now every one, disliking so merciless a spectacle, departed, abhorring and detesting so barbarous a cruelty, when behold a sudden hissing arising, each eye was recalled to the Theatre, and o'ercome with the wonder of an accident, which disordered, and terrified each breast, and each conscience.  
When the Lions were unchained, and came furiously to the grate, which was set wide open, they no sooner approached to the prey, but fearful, harmless, and hungry, retreated, and carrying low their heads, (showing they were conquered by the virtue of men, who though living on earth, were of Heaven) persuaded the people to magnify God's power, who not only when he pleases, makes Lions, but the pillars themselves, that bear up the Heavens, tremble, totter, and shake.  
In the most noble fabric of the Temple of Solomon, I remember not, that in any of the Chapiters', or bases of braffe were figured certain knobs, composed of Cherubins, of Lions, and Palmtrees. Behold here a mystery verified. Eustachius, Theopistas and their Sons, representing four Cherubins, with the branches of Palmtrees adorning their hands, came conquerors out of the midst of those Lions, whom still with great ease, the servants of God have usually o'ercome, as if they were Lambs, and not Lions. Adrian, to whom the relation of the miracle was brought with all speed, poisoned with the fury of his vilified Devil, lifting his hands towards Heaven, and feigning he was comforted, that he might not confess he was o'ercome. O Eternal Providence, broke forth, even the beasts themselves abhor those illbred People, which rebelled against the Gods. The Lion never showed his magnanimity more seasonably, than by scorning such wicked, and infamous nourishment. But let them not brag, their sacrileges were unpunished, for my sword is keen enough, to root out of the world so pestiferous a graft. I must not let the People's simplicity be deluded by their incantations, who that they might detract from the glory of our Gods, have made hell protect their impiety. Remove them from the Theatre.  
The next morning the Tyrant arose by break of day, whose fury would not suffer him to rest. He was very much afflicted, to see his vast Empire inferior in valour, to the courage of four persons, armed with nothing else, but the only name of JESUS.  
The ancient Emperors, to martyrise the Christians, kept a huge brazen Bull, the invention I believe of some Devil, who brought a hell on earth, which when 'twas red hot by a vehement fire, affrighted and terrified whosoeve beheld it.  
This machine exposed in public, which scared even him, that went near to it, the barbarous Tyrant gave command, the four Champions should be put, and enclosed in its bulk. O number proportioned to the form of a basis, whose quadrangular firmeness was most fit, to support the growing Church.  
This liker a Devil, than a Bull, was no sooner made hot, but dreadfully at his eyes, his mouth, and his nostrils, breathing smoke, and flames, was sufficient to terrify, even heaven itself, much more the poor breast of a man, whom the mere apprehension of d●●th was enough to deter and deject. Those breathe, which in every other creature were the arguments of life, were in this infernal monster the symptoms of death. While the Machine waxed hot, the matter enflaming itself (which naturally being cold, by how much the more vigorously it resisted the heat, by so much the more violently received and distributed the heat with more pain) I imagine to myself, the prisoner first assaulted by the air, which with its heat invading his head; did threaten to choke him. That part of the brass then growing more vehemently hot, which nearest the fire, endured the first assaults, the poor tormented creature, beginning first to feel his flesh sing, then fry, and consume, could not choose (grown offensive to himself) but grieve he was forced to bewail with unspeakable sorrow, the cruelty of that punishment, which making him survive his own flesh, caused him ●o see those limbs, which so cruelly (O death even painful to our fancy) he had both felt die, and was forced to lament too when dead.  
No sooner the cruel Emperor's Command was performed, but the fire being lighted, in less than an hour, the Bull (which no longer was of brass, but all fire) threw up horrible sparkles from out of the midst of the ambient flames, with so doleful a spectacle, that the standers by themselves, felt their bosoms and eyes melt with pity, at the sight of that object, which certainly without grief, was not to be seen.  
Our four courageous Champions were sacrificed to truth, on this altar of torments, whose affectionate death I resolved to conceal, since I feel my heart broken to pieces, I would I could say with devotion, but I am so great a sinner, I dare not have such thoughts of myself.  
I confess I abandon thee, O Reader, in the best of the story, since I should have represented the devotion, with which these holy Martyrs have yielded up the Ghosts, beseeching God to free them at last from these earthly afflictions, and make beneficial to the piety of posterity, the memory of these sufferings, of which the first reward, was to hear a voice speaking from Heaven to them, it shall be, as ye desire, O happy souls.  
I confess I should relate, how gloriously God's omnipotence appeared, by freeing them from so terrible a burning, where they were rather lulled asleep than consumed, without the least harm of a hair, much less of their garments or flesh.  
I confess, it would redound very much to our profit, to meditate on the pity (to our own confusion) which an unbelieving people afforded by their tears, of which the most wicked commiserated their punishment, and the best their faith did imitate. I confess all this, but what shall I do? my pen can write no more, grown feeble with compassion, as well as with weariness.  
I have spent all my affections, it remains now, O Reader, thou begin to use thine. And when e'er again (before it be too late) wilt thou have such a fair opportunity to meditate, to weep, and to lead a better life.   
FINIS.