A COLLECTION OF Miscellanies: CONSISTING OF POEMS, ESSAYS, DISCOURSES, and LETTERS, OCCASIONALLY WRITTEN  
By John Norris M. A. and Fellow of All-Souls College in Oxford.  —— Diram qui contudit Hydram, Notaque Fatali Portenta labore subegit, Comperit Invidiam supremo fine domari. Hor. Epist. Lib. 2. Epist. 1. 
OXFORD, Printed at the THEATER For John Crosley Bookseller, 1687.   

IMPRIMATUR,  
JOH. V-ENN Vice-Cancel. Oxon. June 22. 1687.   

TO THE HONOURABLE LEOPOLD- WILLIAM FINCH WARDEN OF All-Souls College.  
SIR,  
THE greatness of your Quality and Personal worth, considered with that Happy Relation which has further endeared you to us, gives you so just a Title to these Performances, that I could not without an heinous Alienation devote them to any other Patron. And therefore, however my boldness may be taxed for making you so disproportionable a Present, yet certainly I should have incurred more dishonour by withholding a Debt, and Presumption is a less Crime than Injustice.  
Sir, 'tis by your kind Patronage and Protection (next to the favourable influences of a good Prince) that our Studies prosper, and our Laurels thrive and flourish, and that any of us are in a capacity to throw in the least Symbol into the Muse's Exchequer. To whom then should the Fruits of this Sacred ground be offered, but to that Sun by whose genial influence they grow and ripen?  
To you therefore I humbly present this Collection of Miscellanies for the entertainment of your leisure hours, which were composed at some of mine. I shall not beg your Protection any farther than you shall find it worthy of it. I am only concerned that you should hence conclude how well your (now more than ever fortunate) Society stands affected towards you, particularly how much you are honoured and esteemed by  
Sir, Your humble and most devoted Servant John. Norris. All-Souls Coll. June 1. 1687.   

TO THE READER.  
OF all the tedious things in the world I was ever the least Friend to long Prefaces, and therefore I shall only commend to your hands this Collection of Miscellanies occasionally composed at several times, as my Humour and Leasure served me, with a brief account of my Design as to both Parts of the Collection.  
Not to trouble you with a Pompous discourse of the nature of Poetry, its Measures of Criticism, its Variety, Antiquity, its great use and excellence and the like, which have been at large set forth by many curious Pens, I have only leisure at present to observe, that Poetry is of late mightily fallen from the Beauty of its Idea, and from its ancient Majesty and grandeur, as well as Credit and Reputation.  
It may appear strange indeed that in such a Refining Age as this, wherein all things seem ready to receive their last turn and finishing stroke, Poetry should be the only thing that remains unimproved. And yet so it happens, that which we generally have now adays is no more like the thing it was formerly, than Modern Religion is like Primitive Christianity.  
'Tis with this as with our Music. From grave, majestic, solemn strains, where deep instructive sense is sweetly conveyed in charming numbers, where equal address is made to the Judgement and the Imagination, and where Beauty and Strength go hand in hand, 'tis now for the most part dwindled down to light, frothy stuff, consisting either of mad extravagant Rants, or slight Witticisms, and little amorous Conceits, fit only for a Tavern entertainment, and that too among Readers of a Dutch palate.  
The truth is, this most excellent and Divine Art has of late been so cheapened and depretiated by the bungling performances of some who thought themselves inspired, and whose Readers too have been more kind to them than their Planets, that Poetry is grown almost out of Repute, and men come strongly prejudiced against any thing of this kind, as expecting nothing but Froth and Emptiness, and to be a Poet goes for little more than a Country Fidler.  
But certainly he had once another Character, and that in as nice and wise an Age as this. If we may believe the great Horace he was one  

—— Cui mens Divinior, atque Os  
Magna locuturum————   
He had then his Temples surrounded with a Divine glory, spoke like the Oracle of the God of wisdom, and could describe no Hero greater than himself. Poetry was once the Mistress of all the Arts in the Circle, that which held the Rains of the world in her hand, and which gave the first, and (if we may judge by the effects) perhaps the best Institutes for the moralising and governing the Passions of mankind.  
The Design therefore of the present undertaking is to restore the declining genius of Poetry to its Primitive and genuine greatness, to wind up the strings of the Muse's Lyre, and to show that sense and gracefulness are as consistent in these as in any other Compositions. I design here all the Masculine sense and Argument of a Dissertation, with the advantage of Poetic Fineness, Beauty and Spirit, and accordingly I have made choice for the most part of Divine and Moral Subjects, and if I meddle with any other sort, I commonly turn the stream another way, as particularly in those two Poems called Beauty and Love, which I have rescued from those sordid abuses they have hitherto suffered.  
I confess 'tis a difficult Province to make substantial massy Sense yield to the softnesses of Poetry, and accordingly we find there are few Poems after the Divine and Moral way but what are stiff, flat and insipid; but without this Mixture Poetry is nothing worth, and when it has it, it has all it can have, and is withal so Divine a thing, that even Plato I fancy would give it entertainment in his Commonwealth.  
I need not make any other Apology for my conversing with the Muses, for I do not think it an employment beneath the Character of a Scholar, and though I have now set up my outmost Pillar, yet I can't find in my heart to repent me of those few Blank hours bestowed in this Exercise. For I have the example of some of the greatest and wisest in all Ages to warrant me, and the greatness of Solomon is seen as much in his Divine Pastoral, the Canticles, as in his Proverbs or Sermons, and the wise Ben-Sirach among other Characters of his Heroes puts in this among the rest, that they were such as found out Musical tunes, and recited Verses in writing. Eccl. 44. 5.  
And thus much for the Verse-part. Concerning the Essays and Discourses I have only this to say, that I designed in them as much Brevity and Clearness as are consistent with each other, and to abound in sense rather than words. I wish all men would observe this in their writings more than they do. I'm sure the multitude of Books and the shortness of Life require it, and sense will lie in a little compass if men would be persuaded to vent no Notions but what they are Masters of, and were Angels to write, I fancy we should have but few Folio's.  
This is what I designed and endeavoured in the whole. Whether I have attained it or no, I submit to Judgement.  
All-Souls Coll. June 1st. 1687. J. Norris.   

THE CONTENTS OF THE PROSE-PART.  

Of the advantages of Thinking. Page 145.  
Of the Care and Improvement of Time. 153.  
Of Solitude. 158.  
Of Courage. 165.  
Of Seriousness. 170.  
Of the slightness of all Secular, and the importance of minding our Eternal, Interest. 175.  
A Metaphysical Essay toward the Demonstration of a God, from the steady and immutable Nature of Truth. 193.  
The Christian Law Asserted and Vindicated: Or, a general Apology for the Christian Religion, both as to the Obligativeness, and Reasonableness of the Institution. 211.  
A Discourse concerning Perseverance in Holiness. 249.  
A Discourse concerning Heroic Piety, wherein its Notion is stated, and its Practice recommended. 275.  
Contemplation and Love: Or, the Methodical Ascent of the Soul to God, by steps of Meditation. 295.  
A Discourse upon Romans 12. 3. Not to think of himself more highly than he ought to think; But to think soberly, according as God has dealt to every man the measure of Faith. 333.  
Considerations upon the Nature of Sin, accommodated to the Ends both of Speculation and Practice. 361.  
An Idea of Happiness in a Letter to a Friend, Enquiring wherein the greatest Happiness attainable by man in this Life does consist. 393.  
A Letter of Resolution concerning some Passages in the foregoing Treatise. 431.  
Another Letter concerning the true Notion of Plato's Ideas, and of Platonic Love. 435.  
A Letter concerning Love and Music. 446.  
A Letter concerning Friendship. 450.  
A Letter of Self-Consolation occasioned by the Death of a Friend. 455.    

ERRATA.  
Page 164. for ingeniously read ingenuously. Page 170. for gaiety read gait. Page 281. for 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 read 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉   


The Passion of our B. Saviour represented in a Pindaric Ode.  
— Quis talia fando  
Temperet à Lachrymis?—  

I.  
SAY bold Licentious Muse,  
What Noble Subject wilt thou choose,  
Of what great Hero, of what mighty thing,  
Wilt thou in boundless numbers sing?  
Sing the unfathomed Depths of Love,  
(For who the Wonders done by Love can tell,  
By Love, which is itself all Miracle?)  
Here in vast endless Circles mayst thou rove,  
And like the travelling Planet of the day  
In an Orb unbounded stray.  
Sing the great Miracle of Love Divine,  
Great be thy Genius, sparkling every Line,  
Love's greatest Mystery rehearse,  
Greater than that  
Which on the teeming Chaos brooding sat,  
And hatched, with kindly heat, the Universe.  
How God in Mercy chose to bleed, and die  
To rescue Man from Misery,  
Man, not his Creature only, but his Enemy,   

II.  
Lo, in Gethsemane, I see him prostrate lie,  
Pressed with the weight of his great Agony.  
The common Sluices of the Eyes  
To vent his mighty Passion won't suffice,  
His tortured Body weeps all-o're,  
And out of every Poor  
Buds forth a precious Gem of Purple Gore.  
How strange the Power of afflictions rod  
When in the Hand of an incensed God  
Like the commanding Wand  
In Moses Hand  
It▪ works a Miracle, and turns the Flood  
Of Tears into a Sea of Blood  
See with what Pomp Sorrow does now appear!  
How proud She is of being seated here!  
She never wore  
So rich a die before.  
Long was he willing to decline  
Th' Encounter of the Wrath Divine.  
Thrice he sent for his Release  
Pathetic Embassies of Peace,  
At length his Courage overcame his Doubt,  
Resolved he was, and so the bloody Flagg hung out.   

III.  
And now the Tragic Scene's displayed,  
Where drawn in full Battalia are laid  
Before his Eyes  
That numerous Host of Miseries  
He must withstand, that Map of Woe  
Which he must undergo.  
That heavy Wine-press which must by him be trod,  
The whole Artillery of God.  
He saw that Face whose very Sight  
Cheers Angels with its Beatific Light,  
Contracted now into a dreadful frown,  
All clothed with Thunder, big with death  
And Showers of hot burning Wrath,  
Which shortly must be poured down.  
He saw a black and dismal Scroll  
Of Sins past, present, and to come,  
With their intolerable Doom  
Which would the more oppress his spotless Soul;  
As th' Elements are weighty proved  
When from their Native Station they're removed.  
He saw the foul Ingratitude of those  
Who would the Labours of his Love oppose,  
And reap no benefit by all his Agonies.  
He saw all this,  
And as he saw to Waver he began,  
And almost to repent of his great Love for Man.   

IV.  
When lo, a heavenly Form all bright and fair,  
Swifter than Thought shot through th' enlight'ned Air.  
He who sat next th' imperial Throne,  
And read the Counsels of the Great Three-One,  
Who in Eternity's Mysterious Glass  
Saw both what was, what is, and what must come to pass;  
He came with Reverence profound,  
And raised his prostrate Maker from the Ground;  
Wiped off the bloody Sweat  
With which his Face and Garments too were wet,  
And comforted his dark benighted Mind  
With sovereign Cordials of Light refined.  
This done, in soft addresses he began  
To fortify his kind Designs for Man,  
Unsealed to him the Book of God's Decree:  
And showed him what must be,  
Alleged the Truth of Prophecies,  
Types, Figures, and Mysteries,  
How needful it was to supply  
With humane Race the ruins of the Sky.  
How this would new accession bring  
To the Celestial Choir,  
And how withal it would inspire  
New Matter for the Praise of the great King.  
How he should see the travail of his Soul, and bless  
Those Sufferings which had so good Success.  
How great the Triumphs of his Victory,  
How glorious his Ascent would be,  
What weighty Bliss in Heaven he should obtain  
By a few Hours of Pain,  
Where to Eternal Ages he should Reign.  
He spoke, confirmed in mind the Champion stood,  
A Spirit divine  
Through the thick Veil of Flesh did shine,  
All over Powerful he was, all over Good.  
Pleased with his successful Flight,  
The Officious Angel posts away  
To the bright Regions of Eternal Day,  
Departing in a tract of Light.  
In haste for News the heavenly People ran,  
And joyed to hear the hopeful State of Man.   

V.  
And now that strange prodigious hour,  
When God must subject be to humane Power,  
That Hour is come,  
The unerring Clock of Fate has struck,  
'Twas heard below down to Hell's lowest Room,  
And straight th' Infernal Powers th' appointed signal took.  
Open the Scene my Muse, and see  
Wonders of Impudence and Villainy;  
How wicked Mercenary hands  
Dare to invade him whom they should adore,  
With Swords and Staves encompassed round he stands,  
Who knew no other Guards but those of Heaven before.  
Once with his powerful breath he did repel  
The rude assaults of Hell.  
A ray of his Divinity  
Shot forth with that bold Answer, I am He,  
They reel and stagger, and fall to the Ground,  
For God was in the Sound.  
The Voice of God was once again  
Walking in the Garden heard,  
And once again was by the guilty Hearers feared,  
Trembling seized every joint, and chillness every Vein.  
This little Victory he won.  
Showed what he could have done.  
But he to whom as chief was given  
The whole Militia of Heaven,  
That Mighty He  
Declines all Guards for his defence  
But that of his inseparable Innocence;  
And quietly gives up his Liberty.  
He's seized on by the Military bands,  
With Cords they bind his sacred hands,  
But ah! how weak, what nothings would they prove,  
Were he not held by stronger ones of Love.   

VI  
Once more, my wearied Muse, thy Pinions try,  
And reach the top of Calvary.  
A steep Ascent: But most to him who bore  
The Burden of a Cross this way before.  
(The Cross ascends, there's something in it sure  
That Moral is and mystical,  
No Heights of Fortune are from thee secure,  
Afflictions sometimes Climb, as well as fall)  
Here breathe a while, and view  
The dolefullst Picture Sorrow ever drew,  
The Lord of Life, Heaven's darling Son,  
The Great, th' Almighty one,  
With outstretched Arms, nailed to a cursed Tree,  
Crowned with sharp Thorns, covered with Infamy;  
He who before  
So many Miracles had done,  
The Lives of others to restore,  
Does with a greater, lose his own.  
Full three long hours his tender body did sustain  
Most exquisite and poignant pain.  
So long the Sympathising Sun his light withdrew,  
And wondered how the Stars their dying Lord could view.   

VII.  
This strange defect of light  
Does all the Sages in Astronomy affright  
With fears of an Eternal Night.  
Th' Intelligences in their Courses stray,  
And Travellers below mistake their way,  
Wondering to be benighted in the midst of Day.  
Each mind is seized with Horror and Despair,  
And more o respread with darkness than the air.  
Fear on, 'tis wondrous all and new,  
'Tis what past Ages never knew.  
Fear on, but yet you'll find  
The great Eclipse is still behind.  
The lustre of the face Divine  
Does on the Mighty Sufferer no longer shine.  
God hides his Glories from his sight  
With a thick Screen made of Hell's grossest night.  
Close-wrought it was, and Solid all,  
Compacted and Substantial,  
Impenetrable to the Beatific light  
Without Complaint he bore  
The tortures he endured before;  
But now no longer able to contain  
Under the great Hyperbole of pain,  
He mourns, and with a strong Pathetic cry,  
Laments the sad Desertion of the Deity.  
Here stop my Muse, stop and admire,  
The Breather of all Life does now expire;  
His Milder Father Summons him away,  
His Breath obediently he does resign;  
Angels to Paradise his Soul convey,  
And Calm the Relics of his grief with Hymns divine.   

Annotations.  
THis Ode is after the Pindaric way; which is the highest and most magnificent kind of writing in Verse, and consequently fit only for great and noble Subjects, such as are as boundless as its own Numbers. The nature of which is to be loose and free, and not to keep one settled pace, but sometimes like a gentle stream to glide along peaceably within its own Channel, and sometimes, like an impetuous Torrent, to roll on extravagantly, and carry all before it. Agreeable to that description of Horace:  

Nunc pace delabentis Hetruscum  
In mare, nunc lapides adesos  
Stirpesque raptas & pecus & domos  
Volventis una non sine montium,  
Clamore vicinaeque Sylvae.   
And this may serve to explain the Introduction of the Poem:  And hatched with kindly heat the Universe. 
Love in the Gentile Theology, is made the most ancient of the Gods, and the Sire of all things. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 says Plutarch. And it is described by Simmias Rhodius, in a pair of Wings, which suited well with the Symbolical representation of the Chaos by an Egg, which was brooded and hatched under these Wings of Love. This whole matter is rarely well, and at large expressed by Aristophanes in Avibus. The plain and undisguised meaning of it is this, That the Creation of the World was the effect of the Divine Love, God having no other end in it besides the Communication of his own Happiness.  

As th' Elements are weighty proved,  
When from their Native Station they're removed.   
This is according to the Aristotelean Hypothesis, that the Elements are not heavy in their own places, which whether it be true or no, I shall not now dispute. However, it serves for an Illustration, which is sufficient for my present purpose.  He saw the foul Ingratitude of those, etc. 
The bitter Ingredients of our Lord's Cup mentioned hitherto, were taken from things relating to his own personal concern. But this last motive of his Sorrow proceeds wholly on the behalf of others, of whose final Impenitence he is supposed to have a foresight. This I take to be a good and proper insinuation of the excellency of our Blessed Lord's temper, his exceeding great Love and Philanthropy, when among the other Ingredients of his Passion this is supposed to be one, that there would be some, who, by their own default, would receive no benefit from it.  Unsealed to him the Book of God's decree, etc. 
Whether the Angel used these topics of Consolation or no, is a thing as indifferent to my purpose, as 'tis uncertain. In the Scripture it is only said in general, that there appeared an Angel from Heaven strengthening him. However, these Arguments are such as are probable and pertinent, and that's sufficient.  

In haste for news the heavenly people ran,  
And joyed to hear the hopeful state of man.   
It is highly reasonable to believe that those blessed and excellent Spirits, who out of their compassionate love and concern for mankind, ushered in the news of our Saviour's Nativity with Anthems of Praise and Thanksgiving; and are said likewise to rejoice at the Conversion of a Sinner, were also mightily transported with joy, when they understood that our Saviour, notwithstanding the reluctancy of innocent Nature, was at length fully resolved to undertake the Price of our Redemption.  

Full three long hours his Tender Body did sustain  
Most exquisite and poignant pain.   
It is supposed by the Ancient Fathers, that the Sufferings which our B. Saviour underwent in his Body, were more afflictive to him than the same would have been to another man, upon the account of the excellency and quickness of his sense of feeling: And this opinion I take to be as reasonable, as 'tis pious. For since, according to the Principles of Philosophy, the sense of feeling arises from the proportion of the first Qualities, it follows, that the better the complexion or temperament of any man is, the better his Feeling must needs be. Now 'tis very reasonable to believe, that that man who was to be substantially united to the Godhead, and who was begotten by the miraculous overshadowings of the holy Spirit, should have a Body endowed with the best Complexion, and most noble Harmony of Qualities that could be, that so it might be a suitable Organ for his excellent Soul. And if so, than it follows that the flesh of our Lord's Body was so soft and render, and his feeling so tightly quick and sensible, as never any man's was before: And consequently the severe usages which he underwent, not only at his Passion, but throughout his whole Life, must needs be in a Singular manner afflictive to him. And hence appears the vanity of their opinion, who are little or nothing affected with the consideration of our Lord's Passion, because they think it was made light to him, by reason of his union with the Godhead. 'Twas easy for him (some inconsiderate Persons are ready to say) to suffer this or this, for he was God, and not mere man, as we are. True, he was so, but his being God did no way lessen the punishment he underwent as man, but only supported him in his existence under it, in the same manner as God is supposed, by an act of his Almighty Power, to preserve the bodies of the Damned, incorruptible among the everlasting burnings. But this I think is no kindness to them. Neither did the Society of the Divine Nature any more diminish the Sufferings of our dearest Lord; nay, in one respect it proved an accidental aggravation to them, because upon the account of this Noble Union he had given him a Body of a most admirable Complexion and Harmonious Temperature, and consequently of a Flesh exceeding tender, and most tightly perceptive of the least impressions.  

So long the Sympathising Sun his light withdrew,  
And wondered how the Stars their dying Lord could view.   
The Eclipse which accompanied the Passion of our Saviour was so remarkable and miraculous, that 'twas taken notice of by many of the Gentile Historians. There are three things which made this Eclipse so very remarkable, the time of its Appearance, the time of its Duration, and the Degree of it. 1. For the time of its Appearance, it was at full Moon, when the Moon was not in Conjunction with, but in opposition to the Sun. And this appears not only from the testimony. of Dionysius, who affirms that he saw it at that time, but also from the time of our Lord's Passion, which, according to the relation of the Evangelist, was at the Celebration of the Passeover. Now the jews were bound to celebrate the Paschal Solemnity always at full Moon, as is to be seen in the twelfth of Exodus. This was no time therefore for a Natural Eclipse, because 'twas impossible that the Moon should then interpose betwixt us and the Sun. 2. For the time of its Duration, it was full three hours, which is another evidence that this was no Natural Eclipse: For the Natural Eclipse of the Sun can never last so long, both because of the great disproportion between the Sun's Magnitude, and that of the Moon, and because of the swift motion of the latter. 3. For the degree of it, it was a total Eclipse. The Sun was so darkened, that (as Historians report, who write of that Eclipse) the Stars appeared. And this is another Argument that it was no Natural Phoenomenon, it being impossible that the Body of the Moon, which is so infinitely less than that of the Sun, should totally eclipse it. Now all these three Remarkables are comprised in the compass of these two Verses. For in that it is said that the Sun withdrew his light, it is intimated that the light of the Sun was not intercepted by the ordinary conjunction of the Moon, but that by an Extraordinary Commission from the God of Nature, the Sun reined in his light, and suspended the emission of his Beams. And this denotes the time of its appearance, (viz.) when the Moon was not in Conjunction. The time of its duration is implied by the words, So long. And lastly, the Degree of it is implied in the last Verse,  And wondered how the Stars their dying Lord could view. 
Where the appearance of the Stars is not directly expressed, but only insinuated and couched, for the more elegancy of the thought.  And calm the Relics of his grief with Hymns divine. 
It is here supposed that the Passion of our Saviour was now over, and his Father's wrath wholly appeased. For I can by no means approve the opinion of those who fancy that our Saviour, in the interim betwixt his Death and Resurrection, descended locally into Hell, there to suffer the torments of the damned. His own words upon the Cross, It is finished; His promise to the penitent Thief, that he should be with him that day in Paradise, and his last resignation of his Spirit into the hands of his Father, do all of them apparently contradict it. But yet, though the bitter Cup was wholly drank off upon the Cross, 'tis natural to imagine some little relish of it to remain behind for a time. Though all his sufferings and penal inflictions were ended before his death, yet, I suppose (and I think very naturally) some little discomposures of mind, remaining like the after-droppings of a shower, which his Soul could not immediately shake off, upon her release from the Body. In allusion to that of Virgil,  

Inter quas Phoenissa recens a vulnere Dido  
Errabat Sylva in Magna—   
Where the Poet fancies the Ghost of Dido being newly released from the pains of Love, could not presently forget her shady walks and melancholy retirements. Now these Remains of Sorrow and after-disturbances of mind which cleaved to the Soul of the Holy jesus, I suppose here to be allay'ed by the Music of Angels in his passage to Paradise.    

An Hymn upon the Transfiguration.  

I.  
HAil King of Glory, clad in Robes of Light,  
Outshining all we here call bright:  
Hail Light's divinest Galaxy,  
Hail Express Image of the Deity.  
Could now thy Amorous Spouse thy Beauty's view,  
How would her wounds all bleed anew!  
Lovely thou art all o'er and bright,  
Thou Israel's Glory, and thou Gentile's Light.   

II.  
But whence this brightness, whence this sudden day?  
Who did thee thus with light array?  
Did thy Divinity dispense  
T'its Consort a more liberal influence?  
Or did some Curious Angel's Chemic Art  
The Spirits of purest light impart,  
Drawn from the Native Spring of day,  
And wrought into an Organised ray?   

III.  
Howe'er 'twas done, 'tis Glorious and Divine,  
Thou dost with radiant wonders shine.  
The Sun with his bright Company,  
Are all gross Meteors if compared to thee.  
Thou art the fountain whence their Light does flow,  
But to thy will thine own dost owe.  
For (as at first) thou didst but say,  
Let there be light, and straight sprang forth this wondrous day.   

IV.  
Let now the Eastern Princes come and bring  
Their Tributary Offering.  
There needs no Star to guide their flight,  
They'll find thee now, great King, by thine own light.  
And thou, my Soul, adore, love, and admire,  
And follow this bright Guide of Fire.  
Do thou thy Hymns and Praises bring,  
Whilst Angels with Veiled Faces, Anthems sing.    

The Parting.  

I.  
Departed! The Sentence of the Damned I hear;  
Compendious grief, and black despair.  
I now believe the Schools with ease,  
(Tho once an happy Infidel)  
That should the sense no torment seize,  
Yet Pain of Loss alone would make a Hell.   

II.  
Take all, since me of this you Gods deprive,  
'Tis hardly now worth while to live.  
Nought in exchange can grateful prove,  
No Second Friendship can be found  
To match my mourning Widowed Love;  
Eden is lost, the rest's but common ground.   

III.  
Why are the greatest Blessings sent in vain,  
Which must be lost with greater pain?  
Or why do we fond admire  
The greatest good which life can boast?  
When Fate will have the Bliss expire,  
Like Life, with painful Agonies 'tis lost.   

IV.  
How fading are the Joves we dote upon,  
Like Apparitions seen and gone:  
But those which soon take their flight,  
Are the most exquisite and strong.  
Like Angels visits, short and bright;  
Mortality's too weak to bear them long.   

V.  
No pleasure certainly is so divine  
As when two Souls in Love combine:  
He has the substance of all bliss,  
To whom a Virtuous Friend is given,  
So sweet harmonious Friendship is,  
Add but Eternity, you'll make it Heaven.   

VI  
The Minutes in your conversation spent  
Were Festivals of true content.  
Here, here, an Ark of pleasing rest,  
My Soul had found that restless Dove,  
My present State methought was best,  
I envied none below, scarce those above.   

VII.  
But now the better part of me is gone,  
My Sun is set, my Turtle flown.  
Tho here and there of lesser bliss  
Some twinkling Stars give feeble light,  
Still there a mournful darkness is,  
They shine but just enough to show 'tis night.   

VIII.  
Fatal divorce! What have I done amiss,  
To bear such misery as this?  
The World yields now no real good,  
All happiness is now become  
But painted and deluding food:  
As mere a Fiction as Elysium.   

IX.  
Well then, since nothing else can please my taste,  
I'll ruminate on pleasures past.  
So when with glorious Visions blest,  
The waking Hermit finds no theme  
That's grateful to his thoughtful breast,  
He sweetly recollects his pleasing Dream.    

To a Lady, who asked him, What Life was?  

'TIs not because I breathe and eat,  
'Tis not because a vigorous heat  
Drives round my Blood, and does impart  
Motion to my Pulse and Heart:  
'Tis not such proofs as these can give  
Any assurance that I Live.  
No, no, to Live is to enjoy;  
What mars our bliss does Life destroy:  
The days which pass without Content,  
Are not lived properly, but spent.  
Who says the Damned in Hell do Live?  
That word we to the Blessed give:  
The Sum of all whose happiness  
We by the name of Life express.  
Well then, if this account be true,  
To Live is still to Live with You.    

The third Chapter of Job Paraphrased.  

I.  
Cursed, ever cursed be that unhappy day,  
When first the Sun's unwelcome ray  
I saw with trembling eyes, being newly come  
From the dark Prison of the womb.  
When first to me my vital breath was lent,  
That breath which now must all in sighs be spent.   

II.  
Let not the Sun his cheering Beams display  
Upon that wretched, wretched day;  
But mourn in Sables, and all over shroud  
His glories in a sullen cloud.  
Let light to upper Regions be confined,  
And all below as black as is my mind.   

III.  
Cursed be the night which first began to lay  
The ground work of this house of Clay:  
Let it not have the honour to appear  
In the Retinue of the year.  
Let all the days eat its society,  
Hate, curse, abandon it as much as I.   

IV.  
Let Melancholy call that Night her own,  
Then let her sigh, then let her groan:  
A general grief throughout all Nature spread,  
With folded arms, and drooping head.  
All Harps be still, or tuned to such a strain  
As Fiends might hear, and yet not ease their pain.   

V.  
Let neither Moon nor Stars, with borrowed light,  
Checquer the blackness of that Night:  
But let a pure unquestioned darkness rear  
Her Sooty Wings all o'er the Air;  
Such as once on th' Abyss of Chaos lay,  
Not to be piereed by Stars, scarce by the edge of Day.   

VI  
Why was there then, ah, why a passage free  
At once for life and misery?  
Why did I not uncloistered from the Womb  
Take my next lodging in a Tomb?  
Why with such cruel tenderness and care  
Was I nursed up to Sorrow and Despair?   

VII.  
For now in sweet repose might I have lain  
Secure from any grief or pain:  
Untouched with care, my Bed I should have made  
In Death's cool and refreshing shade.  
I should have slept now in a happy place,  
All calm and silent as the Empty space.   

VIII.  
There where great Emperors their heads lay down,  
Tired with the burden of a Crown.  
There where the Mighty, Popular and Great,  
Are happy in a dear retreat;  
Enjoy that solid Peace which here in vain  
In Grotts and shady walks they sought t' obtain.   

IX.  
None of Hell's Agents can or dare molest  
This awful Sanctuary of rest.  
No Prisoners sighs, no groan of the Slave,  
Disturb the quiet of the Grave.  
From toil and labour here they ever cease,  
And keep a Sabbath of sweet rest and peace.   

X.  
Why then does Heaven on Mortals Life bestow  
When 'tis thus overtaxed with woe?  
Why am I forced to live against my will,  
When all the good is lost in ill?  
My sighs flow thick, my groans sound from afar,  
Like falling waters to the traveller.    

Seraphic Love.  

I.  
'TIs true, Frail Beauty, I did once resign  
To thy imperious Charms this Heart of mine:  
There didst thou undisturbed thy Sceptre sway,  
And I methought was pleased t' obey.  
Thou seem'st so lovely, so divine,  
With such sweet Grace's didst thou shine,  
Thou entertainest my Amorous sense  
With such Harmonious excellence,  
That, Credulous and Silly I,  
With vain, with impious Idolatry,  
Adored that Star which was to lead me to the Deity.   

II.  
But now, thou soft Enchantress of the mind,  
Farewell, a change, a mighty change I find;  
The Empire of my Heart thou must resign,  
For I can be no longer thine.  
A Nobler, a Diviner Guest,  
Has took possession of my Breast,  
He has, and must engross it all,  
And yet the room is still too small.  
In vain you tempt my Heart to rove,  
A fairer object now my Soul does move,  
It must be all Devotion, what before was Love.   

III.  
Through Contemplation's Optics I have seen  
Him who is Fairer than the Sons of men:  
The Source of good, the light Archetypall,  
Beauty in the Original.  
The fairest of ten thousand, He,  
Proportion all and Harmony.  
All Mortal BeautiesBeauties but a ray  
Of his bright evershining day;  
A little feeble twinkling Star,  
Which now the Sun's in place must disappear;  
There is but One that's Good, there is but One that's Fair.   

IV.  
To thee, thou only Fair, my Soul aspires  
With Holy Breathe, languishing desires.  
To thee my enamoured, panting Heart does move  
By Efforts of Ecstatic Love.  
How do thy glorious streams of Light  
Refresh my intellectual sight!  
Tho broken, and strained through a Screen  
Of envious Flesh that stands between!  
When shall my imprisoned Soul be free,  
That she thy Native uncorrected Light may see,  
And gaze upon thy Beatific Face to all Eternity?    

The Retirement.  

I.  
WEll, I have thought on't, and I find  
This busy World is Nonsense all,  
I here despair to please my mind,  
Her sweetest Honey is so mixed with Gall.  
Come then, I ll try how 'tis to be alone,  
Live to myself a while, and be my own.   

II.  
I've tried, and bless the happy change;  
So happy, I could almost vow  
Never from this Retreat to range,  
For sure I nor can be so blest as now.  
From all th' allays of bliss I here am free,  
I pity others, and none envy me.   

III.  
Here in this shady lonely Grove  
I sweetly think my hours away,  
Neither with Business vexed, nor Love,  
Which in the World bear such Tyrannic sway:  
No Tumults can my close Apartment find,  
Calm as those Seats above, which know no Storm nor Wind.   

IV.  
Let Plots and News embroil the State,  
Pray what's that to my Books and Me?  
Whatever be the Kingdom's Fate,  
Here I am sure t' enjoy a Monarchy.  
Lord of myself, accountable to none,  
Like the first Man in Paradise, alone.   

V.  
While the Ambitious vainly sue,  
And of the partial Stars complain,  
I stand upon the Shore and view  
The mighty Labours of the distant Ma●n.  
I'm flushed with silent joy, and smile to see  
The Shafts of Fortune still drop short of me.   

VI  
Th' uneasy Pageantry of State,  
And all the plagues to Thought and Sense  
Are far removed; I'm placed by Fate  
Out of the Road of all Impertinence.  
Thus, though my fleeting Life runs swiftly on,  
'Twill not be short, because 'tis all my own.    

The Infidel.  

I.  
FArewel Fruition, thou grand Cruel Cheat,  
Which first our hopes dost raise and then defeat.  
Farewell thou Midwife to Abortive Bliss,  
Thou Mystery of fallacies.  
Distance presents the Object fair,  
With Charming features and a graceful air,  
But when we come to seize th' inviting prey,  
Like a Shy Ghost, it vanishes away.   

II.  
So to th' unthinking Boy the distant Sky  
Seems on some Mountain's Surface to rely;  
He with ambitious haste climbs the ascent,  
Curious to touch the Firmament:  
But when with an unwearied pace  
Arrived he is at the long-wished-for place,  
With Sighs the sad defeat he does deplore,  
His Heaven is still as distant as before.   

III.  
And yet 'twas long ere I could throughly see  
This grand Impostor's frequent Treachery.  
Tho often Fooled, yet I should still dream on  
Of Pleasure in Reversion.  
Tho still he did my hopes deceive,  
His fair Pretensions I would still believe.  
Such was my Charity, that though I knew  
And found him false, yet I would think him true.   

IV.  
But now he shall no more with shows deceive,  
I will no more enjoy, no more believe.  
Th' unwary Juggler has so often shown  
His Fallacies, that now they're known.  
Shall I trust on? the Cheat is plain,  
I will not be imposed upon again.  
I'll view the Bright appearance from afar,  
But never try to catch the falling Star.    

On a Musician, supposed to be mad with Music.  

I.  
POOR dull mistake of low Mortality,  
To call that Madness, which is Ecstacy.  
'Tis no disorder of the Brain,  
His Soul is only set t' an higher strain.  
Out-soar he does the Sphere of Common sense,  
Raised to Diviner Excellence;  
But when at highest pitch, his Soul outflies  
Not Reason's Bounds, but those of vulgar Eyes.   

II.  
So when the Mystic Sibyl's Sacred Breast  
Was with Divine Infusions possessed,  
'Twas Rage and Madness thought to be,  
Which was all Oracle and Mystery.  
And so the Soul that's shortly to Commence  
A Spirit free from dregs of Sense,  
Is thought to rave, when She discourses high,  
And breathes the lofty strains of Immortality.   

III.  
Music, thou Generous Ferment of the Soul,  
Thou universal Cement of the whole,  
Thou Spring of Passion, that dost inspire  
Religious Ardours, and Poetic Fire,  
Who'd think that Madness should b' ascribed to thee  
That mighty Discord to thy Harmony?  
But 'twas such ignorance that called the Gift Divine  
Of various Tongues, Rage, and th' effects of Wine.   

IV.  
But thou, Seraphic Soul, do thou advance  
In thy sweet Ecstacy, thy pleasing Trance:  
Let thy brisk passions mount still higher,  
Till they join to the Element of Fire.  
Soar higher yet, till thou shalt calmly hear  
The Music of a well-tuned Sphere:  
Then on the lumpish mass look down, and thou shalt know  
The Madness of the World, for grovelling still below.    

The Consolation.  

I.  
I Grant 'tis bad, but there is some relief  
In the Society of Grief.  
'Tis sweet to him that mourns to see  
A whole house clad in Sorrow's Livery.  
Grief in Communion does remiss appear,  
Like harsher sounds in Consort, which less grate the Ear.   

II.  
Men would not Curse the Stars, did they dispense  
In common their ill Influence.  
Let none be rich, and Poverty  
Would not be thought so great a Misery.  
Our discontent is from comparison;  
Were better states unseen, each man would like his own.   

III.  
Should partial Seas wreck my poor Ship alone,  
I might with cause my Fate bemoan.  
But since before I sink, I see  
A Numerous Fleet of Ships descend with me,  
Why don't I with content my breath resign?  
I will, and in the greater ruin bury mine.    

The Choice.  
Stet quicunque volet potens  
Aulae culmine lubrico, etc.  

I.  
NO, I shan't envy him whoever he be  
That stands upon the Battlements of State,  
Stand there who will for me,  
I'd rather be secure than great.  
Of being so high the pleasure is but small,  
But long the Ruin if I chance to fall.   

II.  
Let me in some sweet shade serenely lie,  
Happy in leisure and obscurity;  
Whilst others place their joys  
In popularity and noise.  
Let my soft minutes glide obscurely on  
Like subterraneous streams, unheard, unknown.   

III.  
Thus when my days are all in silence past,  
A good plain Countryman I'll die at last.  
Death cannot choose but be  
To him a mighty misery,  
Who to the World was popularly known,  
And dies a Stranger to himself alone.    

The Meditation.  

I.  
IT must be done (my Soul) but 'tis a strange,  
A dismal and Mysterious Change,  
When thou shalt leave this Tenement of Clay,  
And to an unknown somewhere Wing away;  
When Time shall be Eternity, and thou  
Shalt be thou knowst not what, and live▪ thou knowst not how.   

II.  
Amazing State! no wonder that we dread  
To think of Death, or view the Dead.  
thou'rt all wrapped up in Clouds, as if to thee  
Our very Knowledge had Antipathy.  
Death could not a more Sad Retinue find,  
Sickness and Pain before, and Darkness all behind.   

III.  
Some Courteous Ghost, tell this great Secrecy,  
What 'tis you are, and we must be.  
You warn us of approaching Death, and why  
May we not know from you what 'tis to Die?  
But you, having shot the Gulf, delight to see  
Succeeding Souls plunge in with like uncertainty.   

IV.  
When Life's close Knot by Writ from Destiny,  
Disease shall cut, or Age untie;  
When after some Delays, some dying Strife,  
The Soul stands shivering on the Ridge of Life;  
With what a dreadful Curiosity  
Does she launch out into the Sea of vast Eternity.   

V.  
So when the Spacious Globe was deluged o'er,  
And lower holds could save no more,  
On th' utmost Bough th' astonished Sinners stood,  
And viewed th' advances of th' encroaching Flood.  
O're-topped at length by th' Element's increase,  
With horror they resigned to the untried Abyss.    

The Irreconcilable.  

I.  
I Little thought (my Damon) once, that you  
Could prove, and what is more, to me, untrue.  
Can I forget such Treachery, and Live?  
Mercy itself would not this Crime forgive.  
Heaven's Gates refuse to let Apostates in,  
No, that's the Great unpardonable Sin.   

II.  
Did you not vow by all the Powers above,  
That you could none but dear Orinda love?  
Did you not swear by all that is Divine,  
That you would only be and ever mine?  
You did, and yet you live securely too,  
And think that Heaven's false as well as you.   

III.  
Believe me, Love's a thing much too divine  
Thus to be Apeed, and made a mere design.  
'Tis no less Crime than Treason here to feign,  
'Tis Counterfeiting of a Royal Coin.  
But ah! Hypocrisy's no where so common grown.  
As in Most Sacred things, Love and Religion.   

IV.  
Go seek new Conquests, go, you have my leave,  
You shall not Grieve her whom you could deceive.  
I don't lament, but pity what you do,  
Nor take that Love as lost, which ne'er was true.  
The way that's left you to befriend my Fate,  
Is now to prove more constant in your Hate.    

The Advice.  
Prudens futuri temporis exitum  
Caliginosa nocte premit Deus.  Hor. 

I.  
WHat's forming in the Womb of fate  
Why art thou so Concerned to know?  
Dost think 'twould be advantage to thy state?  
But Wiser Heaven does not think it so.  
With thy Content thou wouldst this Knowledge buy,  
No part of life thou'dst pleasant find  
For dread of what thou seest behind,  
Tho wouldst but taste of the enlightening fruit and Dye.   

II.  
Well then has Heaven events to Come  
Hid with the blackest Veil of night;  
But still in vain if we forestall our doom  
And with Prophetic fears ourselves affright,  
Grand folly! whether thus 'twill be or no  
We Know not, and yet silly Man  
Secures his evils what he can,  
And stabs himself with Grief, lest Fate should miss the Blow.   

III.  
Be wise, and let it be thy Care  
To manage well the present hour,  
Call home thy ranging thoughts and fix them here,  
This only mind, this only's in thy power.  
The rest no settled, Steady course maintain,  
Like Rivers, which now gently slide  
Within their bounds, now with full Tide  
O'erflow, whom houses, cattle, trees resist in vain.   

IV.  
'Tis He that's happy, He alone  
Lives free and pleasant that can say  
With every period of the setting Sun,  
I've lived, and run my race like him to day.  
To Morrow let the angry Heaven's frown,  
Or Smile with influence more kind,  
On Chance depends what's yet behind,  
But sure what I have seized already's all my own.   

V.  
Fortune who no diversion knows  
Like disappointment, laughs to see  
How Variously she can her gifts Transpose,  
Sometimes to one, sometimes t' another free.  
Be sure t' enjoy her while she's pleased to stay.  
But if for flight she does prepare,  
Don't you at parting drop a tear,  
But hold your Virtue fast, for that alone you may.    

To himself.  

I.  
NOt yet Convinced? why wilt thou still pursue  
Through nature's field delusive Bliss?  
'Tis false, or else too fugitive if true,  
Thou may'st assoon thy Shadow overtake as this.  
The gaudy Light still dances in thy eye,  
Thou hot and eager in the Chase  
Art drawn through many a thorny rugged place,  
Still languishing and sighing, but canst ne re come nigh.   

II.  
Give o'er my Soul, give o'er, nor strive again  
This treacherous Chymic gold to find.  
Tell me, why shouldst thou fancy there remain  
Days yet to come more sweet, than those thou'st left behind.  
A wiser Chemist far then thou, t' obtain  
This Jewel all his treasures spent,  
But yet he failed in's grand Experiment,  
And all he gained was this, to know that all was vain.   

III.  
Forbear, and at another's Cost be wise,  
Nor longer this Coy Mistress woe.  
He's mad that runs where none can win the prize,  
Why shouldst thou lose thy Mistress and thy labour too?  
Heaven does but sport with our Simplicity  
By laying Jewels in our way,  
For when we stoop to seize the glittering prey,  
They're snatched away again, and balk our greedy eye.   

IV.  
'Tis so, the Choicest good this world can give  
Will never stand Fruition's Test.  
This all by experience find, yet few believe,  
And in the midst of Cheats hope they shall once be blest.  
Strange Magic this. So Witches though they find  
No Comfort from their airy meat,  
Forget at next Cabal their slender treat,  
And greedily again fall to their feast of Wind.   

V.  
But thou my Soul thy strong Conviction show,  
And never reach at Bliss again.  
Our best good here is Nature's bounds to know  
And those attempts to spare, which else would be in vain.  
Here then Contain thyself, nor higher good  
In this enchanted place pursue.  
And pity those shortsighted Souls that do,  
This World is best enjoyed, when 'tis best understood.    

The Refusal.  

I.  
THink not to Court me from my dear Retreat  
No, I protest 'tis all in vain.  
My Stars did never mean I should be great,  
And I the very thought disdain.  
Or if they did, their will I'll disobey,  
And in my little Orb remain as Fixed as they.   

II.  
Honour, that Idol which the Most adore  
Receives no Homage from my Knee.  
Content in privacy I value more  
Than all uneasy Dignity.  
How should that Empty thing deserve my Care,  
Which Virtue does not need, and Vice can never bear?   

III.  
Shall I change solid and unenvied joys  
Of a Serene though humble state  
For splendid trouble, pomp and senseless noise?  
This I despise as well as hate.  
Poor gain of that Condition, which will be  
Envied by others, and as much disliked by me.    

Hymn to Darkness.  

I.  
HAil thou most sacred Venerable thing,  
What Muse is worthy thee to sing?  
Thee, from whose pregnant universal womb  
All things, even Light thy Rival first did Come.  
What dares he not attempt that sings of thee  
Thou First and greatest Mystery.  
Who can the Secrets of thy essence tell?  
Thou like the light of God art inaccessible.   

II.  
Before Great Love this Monument did raise  
This ample Theatre of Praise.  
Before the folding Circles of the Sky  
Were tuned by him who is all Harmony.  
Before the Morning Stars their Hymn began  
Before the Council held for Man.  
Before the birth of either Time or Place  
Thou reign▪ st unquestioned Monarch in the empty Space.   

III.  
Thy native lot thou didst to light resign,  
But still half of the Globe is thine.  
Here with a quiet but yet awful hand  
Like the best Emperors thou dost command.  
To thee the Stars above their brightness owe  
And mortals their repose below.  
To thy protection Fear and Sorrow ●lee,  
And those that weary are of light, find rest in thee.   

IV.  
Tho Light and Glory be th' Almighty's Throne,  
Darkness is his Pavilion.  
From that his radiant Beauty, but from thee  
He has his Terror and his Majesty.  
Thus when he first proclaimed his sacred Law  
And would his Rebel subjects awe,  
Like Princes on some great solemnity  
HE appeared in's Robes of State, and Clad himself with (thou.   

V.  
The Blessed above do thy sweet umbrage prize,  
When Cloyed with light, they veil their eyes.  
The Vision of the Deity is made  
More sweet and Beatific by thy Shade.  
But we poor Tenants of this Orb below  
Don't hear thy excellency's know,  
Till Death our understandings does improve,  
And then our Wiser ghosts thy silent night-walks love.   

VI  
But thee I now admire, thee would I choose  
For my Religion, or my Muse.  
'Tis hard to tell whether thy reverend shade  
Has more good Votaries or Poets made.  
From thy dark Caves were Inspirations given  
And from thick groves went vows to Heaven.  
Hail than thou Muse's & Devotion's Spring,  
'Tis just we should adore, 'tis just we should thee sing.    

The Invitation.  Come my Beloved let us go forth into the Field, let us lodge in the Villages. Cantic. 7. 11. 

I.  
COme thou divinest object of my love  
This Noisy Region don't with us agree,  
Come let us hence remove,  
I cannot here enjoy myself or thee.  
Here Vice and Folly keep their Court  
Hither their chiefest Favourites resort,  
Debauchery has here her Royal Chair,  
This is her great Metropolis,  
What e'er we see or hear Contagion is  
Their Manners are polluted like the air.  
From both unwholesome vapours rise  
And blacken with ungrateful steams the neighbouring skies.   

II.  
Come we'll e'en to our Country Seat repair  
The Native home of Innocence and Love.  
There we'll draw purer air  
And pity Monarches, sitting in our grove.  
Here Virtue has her safe retreat  
Abandoned by the Many and the great.  
Content does here her peaceful Sceptre sway  
Here Faithfulness and Friendship dwell  
And Modesty has here her humble Cell,  
Come my Beloved, Come, and let's away.  
Be thou My Angel good and kind,  
And I'll ne'er look at Sodom which we leave behind.   

III.  
In fields and flowery meadows, woods and groves  
The first and best delights of humane kind,  
There we'll enjoy our loves  
All free, and only to ourselves confined.  
Here shall my eyes be fixed on thee  
Till every Passion be an ecstasy.  
Each hour to thee shall be Canonical,  
The Sweets of Nature shall not stay  
My Soul, but only show to thee the way,  
To thee. Thou Beauty's great Original.  
Come My Beloved let's go prove  
These sweet Advantages of Peace, Content and Love▪    

Sitting in an Arbour.  

I.  
THus ye good Powers, thus let me ever be  
Serene, retired, from Love and Business free;  
The rest of your great World I here resign  
To the Contentions of the great,  
I only ask that this Retreat  
This little Tenement be mine.  
All my Ambition's to this point confined,  
Others enlarge their fortunes, I my mind.   

II.  
How Calm, how happy how serene am I!  
How satisfied with my own Company!  
To few things foreign my Content I owe  
But in myself have almost all  
Which I dare good or pleasing call,  
Or (what's as well) I fancy so.  
Thus I come near my great Creator's state,  
Whose whole Bliss in himself does terminate.   

III.  
Pleased with a various Scene of thought I lie,  
Whilst an Obliging Stream slides gently by  
Silent and Deep as is the Bliss I choose,  
All round the little winged Choir  
Pathetic, tender thoughts inspire  
And with their strains provoke my Muse.  
With ease the Inspiration I obey  
And Sing as unconcerned and as well pleased as they.   

IV.  
If ought below deserve the name of Bliss,  
It must (what e'er the great ones think) be this.  
So once the travelling Patriarch doubly blest  
With dreams divine from Heaven sent,  
And his own Heaven of Content,  
On's rocky pillow took his rest.  
Angels stood smiling by and said, were we our Bliss  
To change, it should be for a state like his.   

V.  
'Tis strange so cheap and yet so great a good  
Should by so very Few be understood.  
That Bliss which Others seek with toil and sweat  
For which they prodigally wast  
Their treasures, and yet miss at last,  
Here I have at an easy rate.  
So those that Costly Physic use in vain,  
Sometimes by some Cheap by Receipt their health obtain.    

The Complaint.  

I.  
WEll 'tis a dull perpetual Round  
Which here we silly mortals tread,  
Here's nought I'll▪ swear worth living to be found,  
I wonder how 'tis with the Dead.  
Better I hope, or else ye Powers divine  
Unmake me, I my immortality resign.   

II.  
Still to be Vexed by joys delayed  
Or by Fruition to be Cloyed?  
Still to be wearied in a fruitless Chase,  
Yet still to run, and lose the race?  
Still our departed pleasures to lament  
Which yet when present gave us no Content?   

III.  
Is this the thing we so extol,  
For which we would prolong our breath?  
Do we for this long life a Blessing Call  
And tremble at the name of Death?  
Sots that we are to think by that we gain  
Which is as well retained as lost with pain.   

IV.  
Is it for this that we adore  
Physicians, and their art implore?  
Do we bless Nature's liberal supply  
Of Helps against Mortality?  
Sure 'tis but Vain the Tree of Life to boast  
When Paradise wherein it grew is lost.   

V.  
Ye Powers, why did you man create  
With such insatiable desire?  
If you'd endow him with no more estate  
You should have made him less aspire.  
But now our appetites you Vex and Cheat  
With real Hunger, and Fantastic meat.    

A Pastoral  
Upon the B. Virgin gone from Nazareth to visit Elizabeth. Wherein the sadness of the Country Nazareth is described during the absence of the Virgin.  
Translated out of Rapin.  
The speakers are Asor, Alphaeus and Zebede.  Asor. 

ANd why Alphaeus, in this sweet shade dost thou  
Make songs, which are not seasonable now,  
Since we of fair Parthenia are bereft;  
Parthenia has our fields and mountains left.   Alph. 

Ay something 'twas my Pipe was t'other day  
So strangely out of tune, and in so hoarse a Key.   Zeb. 

And I too this misfortune might have known  
By some late signs, had my thoughts been my own.  
My little Goats as I to Pasture led  
When the grass rises from its dewy bed.  
I wondered why the new born flowers hung down  
Their languid heads, as if scorched by the Sun.  
The Lily and the Rose to droop were seen,  
And so did the immortal Evergreen,  
Parthenia (alas) was gone—  
For thee sweet Maid Lily and Rose did grieve  
The Evergreen thy absence did perceive.   Asor. 

There grows a shady Elm in our yond grove  
Where Philomela would constantly repair,  
Sweet Philomela of all the Joy and Love  
And with melodious Accents fill the air.  
When Parthenis was here, this shady tree  
Was never, never from her Music free.  
But now divine Parthenia is gone  
Silent and sad she wanders up and down  
And among thorns and lonely hedges makes her moan.   Alph. 

Whilst thou fair Nymph didst bless us with thy stay  
Each grove was sprightly, every wood was gay.  
The boughs with birds, the caves with Swains did ring,  
And the shrill grasshopper about the fields did sing.  
But now each wood is silent as the grave,  
Nor does the Shepherd whistle in his cave,  
Nor does the Bird sit Chirping on the bough,  
Nor is the grasshopper to be heard now.   Zeb. 

The Fields with living Springs were fruitful made,  
And every Spring had his refreshing shade.  
Sweet flowers to the Bees were ne'er denied,  
The Fold with grass was constantly supplied.  
Now Parthenis is gone th' industrious Bee  
Can't flowers procure with all his industry,  
The Folds want grass, the Fields their living Springs,  
Nor have the Fountains now their shady cover.  
Divine Parthenia! with thee we've lost  
All the delights our Rural life could boast.   Asor. 

My little Goats were boldly wont to go  
And climb the desert hills, my Sheep would do so too.  
Then happy Sheep, the Wolf the Fold did spare,  
The Heat the infant trees, the Rain the ripen dear.   Alph. 

Thou now perhaps sweet Nymph art trave'ling o▪ re  
Some Craggie hills, unknown to thee before,  
Whilst we sit here among the shady trees,  
And swallow down each Cool refreshing breeze.   Zeb. 

Say you sweet Western blasts that gently blow  
And you fair Rivers that as swiftly flow,  
You who so often have been vocal made  
By Swains that pipe and sing under the shade,  
Say, now while Phoebus holds the middle Sky  
Under what Rock does sweet Par heniae lie?  
Or through what Coasts may I her wander trace?  
Or in what fountain sees she now her lovely face?  
Ah! though our way of life be plain and course  
Yet done't thou like thy Country ere the worse  
Since 't' as thy happy Parent been and Nurse.   Asor. 

Ah! where's that sweet retreat can thee detain  
If thou thy native Country dost disdain?  
Here are pure springs, and o'er the springs are bowers,  
Fine woods and fruit-trees, and a world of flowers.   Alph. 

But why fair Nymph wouldst thou be absent now.  
When the sweet Strawberry raises up his head  
Like Morning Sun all delicately red,  
And Odorous blossoms spring from every bough.   Zeb. 

Don't you my Sheep that yonder bank come near  
'Tis to Parthenia sacred all that's there,  
Nor would the grass be touched by any but by Herald   Asor. 

Before fierce Boreas' blow with▪ s boisterous mouth,  
Or rainy weather come on from the South  
Be sure Parthenia to return again  
Lest by the Cold thou suffer or the rain.   Alph. 

In a choice Garden is reserved for thee  
Sweet Marjoram, and a large Myrtle tree,  
Myrtles thou always lov'st, come then if now  
Thou still lov'st flowers as thou were't wont to do.   Zeb. 

Ripe apples now hang dangling on the tree  
Ready to drop, and only stay for thee.  
The Fig of thy delay too does complain  
The tender Fig, but let them both remain  
Till thou to thy dear Nazareth return again.   Asor. 

Return sweet Nymph, and with thee thou shalt bring  
All the delights and beauties of the Spring.  
Fresh grass again shall on the mountains grow,  
The Rivers shall with milk and nectar flow.  
The woods shall put on their green Livery,  
And Nature in her pomp shall wait on thee.  
The Country Swains shall flowers and Presents bring,  
And I a Violet garland for my Offering.  
With me shall Azarias come along  
Who with a smooth-wrought Pipe shall play the Song,  
The Song that Israel's shepherd as he stood  
By Jordan's bank, played to the listening flood.   Alph. 

But if thou longer shouldst our hopes deceive,  
With rushes I'll a basket for thee wove,  
Here thy own Nazareth I'll represent,  
How all things here thy absence do lament,  
The little goats thou wand'ring here shalt see  
Mournful and sad, and all for want of thee.  
The Rivers which before flowed swift and clear  
As glad the image of thy face to bear,  
Shall move benumbed and slow, whilst on each hand  
Appears the thirsty and forsaken sand.  
The Corn shall droop and languish in the field,  
The Meadows no fresh grass or herb shall yield,  
The Fir-tree which with stately pride before  
Her curious shady locks towards heaven spread  
Shall now with downcast boughs, and pensive head  
Thy absence mourn and thy return implore.  
Thou round about shalt all things weeping see,  
If tears in rush-work may deciphered be.   Zeb. 

Preserve ye Powers, if you done't us disdain  
The Nymph, whilst she runs panting o'er the plain.  
And while she's absent since she once had love  
For these our fields, take care ye powers above  
That neither rivers do their banks o'erflow  
Nor Storms the pastures spoil, or ripened corn o'erthrow.   Asor. 

From night-fires let our stalls (sweet Nymph) be free  
Defend from heat the Rose, from cold the Myrtle-tree,  
While Rose and Myrtle are beloved by thee.  
That if you chance to cast a longing eye  
Back on these fields, now naked and forlorn,  
We may have still some flowers left to supply  
Garlands t' express our Joy, and Dresses you t' adorn.   Alph. 

Haste not, if through rough ways thy journey lie,  
Hast not, the Heat will prove an injury.  
Let not the Sun thy brighter Beauties spoil.  
Ah! why wilt thou undo thyself with too much toil?  
Take pleasing shelter in some gentle shade  
Till the day slacken, and the heat b'allayd.   Zeb. 

Parthenia why dost thou our hopes prolong?  
Perhaps too some ill Pipe, and worse song  
Now grate thy ears, whilst thy poor Country swain  
On the deaf winds bestows sweet lays in vain.  
Hang there my Pipe till she return, and be  
A silent Monument of my Misery.  
For what are songs or mirth without her Company?   Azor. 

Our hills shall mourn while distant coasts you bless  
Anamis shall not dance nor Sabaris.  
The fields, the naked fields no songs shall know,  
And Brooks their discontent by murmuring streams shall show.  
Thus did the Swains the absent Nymph lament,  
The neighbouring woods to Heaven the doleful Accents sent.    

The tenth Ode of the second Book of Horace translated.  

I.  
'TIs much the better way, believe me 'tis,  
Not far to venture on the great Abyss,  
Nor yet from storms thy Vessel to secure,  
To touch too nigh upon the dangerous shore.   

II.  
The Golden Mean, as she's too nice to dwell  
Among the ruins of a filthy Cell,  
So is her Modesty withal as great  
To balk the envy of a Princely seat.   

III.  
Th' ambition's Winds with greater spite Combine  
To shock the grandeur of the stately Pine.  
The height of structures makes the ruin large,  
And Clouds against high hills their hottest bolts discharge.   

IV.  
An even well-poised mind an evil state  
With Hope, a good with Fear does moderate.  
The Summer's pride by Winter is brought down,  
And flowers again the Conquering season Crown.   

V.  
Take heart, nor of the laws of fate Complain,  
Tho now 'tis Cloudy, 'twill Clear up again.  
The bow Apollo does not always use  
But with his milder lyre sometimes awakes the Muse.   

VI  
Be life and spirit, when fortune proves unkind,  
And summon up the vigour of thy mind.  
But when thou'rt driven by too officious gales,  
Be wise, and gather in the swelling sails.    

The Discouragement.  

I.  
WHat would the wise men's Censure be  
I wonder, should they hear me say  
I was resolved to throw my Books away,  
How would some scorn, and others pity me!  
Sure he's in love, 'tis for some Charming Eve  
That he like Adam Paradise does leave.  
This only difference would be  
Between my great grandsire and me,  
That I my Paradise forgo  
For want of appetite to know.   

II.  
'Tis not that Knowledge I despise  
No, you misconstrue my design,  
Or that to Enthusiasm I incline  
And hope by Inspiration to be wise.  
'Tis not for this I bid my Books adieu  
No, I love Learning full as well as you.  
And have the Arts great Circle run  
With as much Vigour as the Sun  
His Zodiac treads, till t'other day  
A thought surprised me in my way.   

III.  
Thought I, for any thing I know  
What we have stamped for science here,  
Does only the Appearance of it wear  
And will not pass above, though Current here below.  
Perhaps they've other rules to reason by,  
And what's Truth here, with them's Absurdity.  
We Truth by a Refracted ray  
View, like the Sun at Ebb of day.  
Whom the gross treacherous Atmosphere  
Makes where it is not, to appear.   

IV.  
Why then shall I with sweat and pain  
Digg Mines of disputable oar?  
My labourslabours certain, so is not my store,  
I may hereafter unlearn all again.  
Why then for Truth do I my spirits waste,  
When after all I may be gulled at last?  
So when the honest Patriarch thought  
With seven years' labour he had bought  
His Rachel's love, by morning light  
He found the error of the night.   

V.  
O● grant some Knowledge dwells below,  
'Tis but for some few years to stay  
Till I'm set loose from this dark house of Clay,  
And in an Instant I shall all things know.  
Then shall I learn it Accumulate Degrees  
And be at once made Master of all Sciences.  
What need I then great sums lay out,  
And that Estate with care forestall,  
Which when few years are come about  
Into my hands of Course will fall?    

The 63 Chap. of Isaiah Paraphrased to the 6 Verse.  
A Pindaric Ode.  

I.  
STrange Scene of glory! am I well awake?  
Or is't my Fancy's wild mistake?  
It cannot be a dream, bright beams of light  
Flow from the Vision's face, and pierce my tender sight.  
No Common Vision this, I see  
Some Marks of more than Human Majesty.  
Who is this mighty Hero, who,  
With glories round his head, and terror in his brow?  
From Bozrah lo he Comes, a scarlet die  
O'respreads his clothes, and does outvie  
The Blushes of the Morning Sky.  
Triumphant and Victorious he appears  
And Honour in his looks and habit wears.  
How strong he treads, how stately does he go!  
Pompous and solemn is his pace  
And full of Majesty as is his face,  
Who is this mighty Hero, who?  
'Tis I who to my promise faithful stand,  
I who the Powers of Death Hell and the Grave  
Have foiled with this all-conquering hand,  
I who most ready am, and mighty too to save.   

II.  
Why wear'st thou then this scarlet die  
Say mighty Hero, why?  
Why do thy garments look all red  
Like them that in the winefat tread?  
The wine-press I alone have trod  
That vast unwieldy frame, which long did stand  
Unmoved, and which no mortal force could e'er command,  
That ponderous Mass I plied alone  
And with me to assist were none,  
A mighty task it was, worthy the Son of God.  
Angels stood trembling at the dreadful sight  
Concerned with what success I should go through  
The work I undertook to do,  
Enraged I put forth all my might  
And down the Engine pressed, the violent force  
Disturbed the universe, put nature out of Course.  
The blood gushed out in streams, and chequered o'er  
My garments with its deepest gore,  
With Ornamental drops bedecked I stood  
And writ my Victory with my Enemy's Blood.   

III.  
The day, the Signal day is come  
When of my Enemy's I must vengeance take,  
The day when Death shall have its doom  
And the Dark Kingdom with its Powers shall shake.  
Fate in her Calendar marked out this day with red  
She folded down the iron leaf, and thus she said,  
This day, if ought I can divine be true,  
Shall for a signal Victory  
Be Celebrated to Posterity,  
Then shall the Prince of light descend  
And rescue Mortals from th' Infernal Fiend  
Break through his strongest Forts, and all his Host subdue.  
This said, she shut the Adamantin Volumn Close  
And wished she might the Crowding years transpose;  
So much she longed to have the Scene display.  
And see the vast event of this important day.  
And now in midst of the revolving years  
This great this mighty one appears,  
The faithful Traveller the Sun  
Has numbered out the days, and the set Periods run.  
I looked, and to assist was none,  
My Angelic guards stood trembling by,  
But durst not venture nigh,  
In vain too from my Father did I look  
For help, my Father me forsook.  
Amazed I was to see  
How all deserted me.  
I took my fury for my sole support  
And with my single arm the Conquest won,  
Loud Acclamations filled all Heaven's Court,  
The Hymning guards above  
Strained to an higher pitch of Joy and Love  
The great jehavah praised, and his Victorious son.    

The Elevation.  

I.  
TAke wing (my Soul) and upwards bend thy flight  
To thy Originary Fields of Light.  
Here's nothing, nothing here below  
That can deserve thy longer stay,  
A secret whisper bids thee go  
To purer air, and beams of native Day.  
Th' ambition of the towering Lark outvie,  
And like him sing as thou dost upward fly.   

II.  
How all things lessen which my Soul before  
Did with the grovelling Multitude adore!  
Those Pageant Glories disappear  
Which charm and dazzle mortals eyes.  
How do I in this higher Sphere,  
How do I mortals, with their joys despise!  
Pure, uncorrupted Element I breathe,  
And pity their gross Atmosphere beneath.   

III.  
How vile how sordid here those Trifles show▪  
That please the Tenants of that ball below!  
But ha, I've lost the little sight,  
The Scene's removed, and all I see  
Is one confused dark mass of night.  
What nothing was, now nothing seems to be.  
How calm this Region, how serene, how clear!  
Sure I some strains of Heavenly music hear.   

IV.  
On, on, the task is easy now and light,  
No steams of Earth can here retard thy flight.  
Thou needst not now thy strokes renew,  
'Tis but to spread thy Pinions wide  
And thou with ease thy seat wilt view  
Drawn by the Bent of the Ethereal tide.  
'Tis so I find; How sweetly on I move  
Not let by things below, and helped by those above!   

V.  
But see, to what new Region am I come?  
I know it well, it is my native home.  
Here led I once a life divine  
Which did all good, no evil know,  
Ah who would such sweet bliss resign  
For those vain shows which Fools admire below?  
'Tis true, but don't of Folly past complain,  
But joy to see these blessed abodes again.   

VI  
A good retrieve: But lo while thus I speak  
With piercing rays th' eternal day does break.  
The Beauties of the face divine  
Strike strongly on my feeble sight,  
With what bright glories does it shine!  
'Tis one immense and everflowing Light.  
Stop here my Soul; thou canst not bear more Bliss,  
Nor can thy now raised palate ever relish less.   

Annotations.  
THe general Design of the precedent Poem is to represent the gradual Ascent of the Soul by Contemplation to the Supreme Good, together with its firm adherency to it, and its full acquiescence in it. All which is done figuratively, under the Allegory of a Local Elevation from the feculent Regions of this lower World.  

Pure uncorrupted Element I breathe  
And pity their gross Atmosphere beneath.   
By pure uncorrupted Element is meant the refined intellectual entertainments of the Divine life, which are abstracted from all Corporeal allays. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 as the divine Plato calls them, those Pleasures which are proper to man as such. By gross Atmosphere is meant the more drossy gratifications of the Animal life, which comes as short in purity of the Divine, as the thick Atmosphere does of the pure Aether.  No steams of Earth can here retard thy flight etc. 
The thing intended in this whole Stanza is to insinuate the great facility and pleasure of the Divine life to one that is arrived to an habit of it. For as the Magnetic influence of the earth can have no force upon him that is placed in the upper Regions beyond the Sphere of its Activity, so (which is the Counterpart of the Allegory) the inclinations of the Animal nature have little or no power over him who has advanced to the Heights of habitual Contemplation. He looks down upon and observes the tumults of his sensitive appetite, but no way sympathizes with it; He views the troubled Sea, but with the unconcernedness of a slander by, not as one that sails in it. His Soul though in Conjunction with his body is yet above the reach of its gusts and relishes, and from her serene station at once sees and smiles at its little complacencies. As Lucan says of the Soul of Pompey when advanced to the Ethereal Regions,▪  

— Illic postquam se lumine vero  
Implevit, stellasque vagas miratur, & astr●  
Fixa polis, vidit quanta sub nocte jaceret  
Nostra dies, risitque sui▪ ludibria trunci.   
And here I cannot choose but take notice of a Difficulty which is very incident to the business in hand, and wherewith I myself was once very much perplexed when I first applied my thoughts to Moral Contemplations. 'Tis in short this, we have a received Axiom that the Difficulty of the performance Commends the merit of a good Action. Now if so, it seems to follow that he who by a long habitual course of Piety and Virtue has made his duty easy and natural to himself, will be less perfect than another who does hardly abstain from vice, or than himself before the acquisition of that habit. And then that 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 which Aristotle in the 7th of his Ethics makes only a Semi-vertue because of the difficulty of its performance, will for that very reason become Virtus Heroica, and if so, to make a progress in virtue will involve a contradiction. This I confess appeared to me no inconsiderable intricacy when it first occurred to my thoughts, and I could not presently unwind myself from it.  
But in answer to it I consider, I. That when the Difficulty of the performance is said to commend the Action, 'tis not so to be understood as if Difficulty did in itself as an ingredient add any moment to the excellency of a man's virtue, but only that 'tis a sign of it a Posteriori. Because were not a man endowed with such a degree of virtue he would not be able to conquer the supposed Difficulty. So that if a man has a stock of Resolution sufficient to conquer such a difficulty, his virtue is the same though he never be engaged in it. For all the virtue is absolved in the degree of resolution, the difficulty is only a sign or indication of it. And upon this consideration 'tis that those whom nature has befriended with such an 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 or happy constitution as carries with it little or no temptation to vice may yet be accounted virtuous, because their Resolution to virtue may be so firm and peremptory, that they would adhere to it notwithstanding any Opposition.  
2ly. I consider that we are to distinguish of a twofold difficulty. I. There is a difficulty which arises from the nature of the work itself. And 2ly there is a Difficulty which arises from the Disposition of the Agent. Now 'tis not this latter Difficulty that commends the excellency of virtue, but only the former, which is no way diminished by the habit. For after the induction of the habit the work remains the same in its own nature which it was before, the only change is in the Agent, who by his habit is rendered more expedite and ready for the performance of what is good. But as for the latter difficulty which proceeds from the Agent himself, that is so far from commending the worth of any good action, that it derogates much from its commendation. 'Tis easiness of performance that here gives the value. He that abstains from sensual pleasures with great abhorrency, and has set himself at a wide distance from it, discovers more and has more of a virtuous resolution than he whose mind stands almost in an equipoise, and does but just abstain. For since we become virtuous by a right application of our wills, the excellency of our virtues must be measured by the greater or less strength of our resolutions. And consequently he who by a strong habit has made his virtue most natural and easy to him is arrived to the greatest Perfection.  Drawn by the bent of the Aethereal Tide; 
This is in Allusion to the Cartesian Hypothesis of Vortices or whirlpools of subtle matter. The Mystic sense is this, that the higher a Seraphic Soul advances in the Contemplation of the supreme good, the stronger he will find its Attractions.  I know it well, it is my native home. 
This Verse with the whole Stanza proceeds upon the Platonic Hypothesis of Preexistence. I shall not here dispute the Problem. Those that desire to be satisfied concerning it, I refer to the works of that Oracle of profound Wisdom and Learning, the excellent Dr. More, to an ingenious Treatise called Lux Orientalis, and to the Account of Origen. In the mean while I hope the most rigid maintainer of Orthodoxy will allow me the liberty of alluding to it as an Hypothesis, if not, I'm sure the laws of Poetry will. My Business here was to imitate nature, and to represent how a Soul would be affected in such a case, supposing it true: which I think I have not done amiss. For so the Ingenious Platonist Boethius,  

Huc te si reducem referat via,  
Quam nunc requiris immemor,  
Haec dices, memini, patria est mihi,  
Hinc ortus hic sistam gradum.   'Tis one immense and everflowing light. 
My business was here to give a Compendious description of God. Now among all the representations we have of him I thought none so agreeable to the Genius of Poetry as a sensible one, and of all those I could not find a better in all the Inventory of the Creation than this of Light. I shall not here endeavour a Parallel; It may suffice to say, that the Representation is warranted by Authority both human and Divine. The School of Plato describes the nature of God by an immense light or Lucid Fountain ever flowing and diffusing its refreshing beams. And Holy Scripture goes further, and says in express terms that God is light, and in him is no darkness at all. John I. 5.    

The Curiosity.  

I.  
UNhappy state of mortals here below,  
Whom unkind Heaven does inspire  
With such a constant, strong desire  
And with such slender faculties to know!  
And yet we not content to bear the pain  
Of thirst unquenched and fruitless love,  
With one more curse our ills improve,  
And toil and drudge for what we ne'er can gain.   

II.  
With what strange Frenzy are we all possessed  
Contented Ignorance to refuse,  
And by laborious search to lose  
Not the enjoyment only but our Rest!  
Something like Oar does on the surface shine,  
We taken with the specious show,  
With pains dig in the flattering Mine  
But all alas in vain, Truth lies more low.   

III.  
The greatest Knowledge we can ever gain  
From studying Nature, Books or men  
Serves just t' employ dull hours, but than  
It yields less Pleasure than it costs us pain.  
Besides, so short and treacherous is our age,  
No sooner are we counted Wise  
But envious Death shuts up our eyes,  
Just our part is learned; we quit the Stage.   

IV.  
Could I among the nobler spirits find  
One that would lay aside his State  
And be my kind confederate  
That suddenly I might enrich my mind!  
'Twould be some pleasure this, if happy I  
Could once at ease sit and survey  
And my great victory enjoy,  
And not (as now) still labour on and die.    

The 114 Psalms Paraphrased.  

I.  
WHen conquered by the Plagues of Moses Rod  
Th' Egyptian Tyrant gave command  
That Israel should depart his Land  
Israel the chosen Family of God.  
Among them dwelled the Holy One,  
Juda his Sanctuary, and Israel was his Throne.   

II.  
The Sea beheld this Scene, and did admire,  
Each wave stood silently to see  
The Power of the Divinity,  
They saw, and fled the dreadful guide of Fire.  
And Jordan too divided stood,  
The Priests the sacred Ark bore through the yielding Flood.   

III.  
Mount Sinai with great Horror struck and dread  
Forgot her weight, and in a trance  
Like a light Ram did skip and dance,  
She feared, and fain would hide her Palsy Head.  
The Hills their Mother Mountain saw,  
The little Hills, and like young sheep they stood in awe.   

IV.  
What made thee to retreat thou Mighty Sea  
Tell me, for never any shore  
Knew such a wondrous Tide before,  
And thou great Jordan say, what ailed thee?  
Say sacred Mount what meant thy trance,  
And you small underhills why did you skip and dance?   

V.  
You need not think it shame to own your fear,  
What you dismayed the same would make  
The universal Fabric shake,  
The cause was great, for Jacob's God was there.  
That God who did the Rock subdue,  
And made it melt in tears though harder far than you.    

The 148 Psalms Paraphrased.  

I.  
O Come let all created force conspire  
A general Hymn of Praise to sing,  
Join all ye Creatures in one solemn Choir,  
And let your Theme be Heaven's Almighty King.   

II.  
Begin ye blessed Attendants of his Seat,  
Begin your high Seraphic lays,  
'Tis just you should, your Happiness is great,  
And all you are to give again, is Praise.   

III.  
Ye glorious Lamps that rule both night and day  
Bring you your Allelujahs too,  
To him that Tribute of Devotion pay  
Which once blind superstition gave to you.   

IV.  
Thou first and fairest of material kind  
By whom his other works we see  
Subtle and active as pure thought and mind,  
Praise him that's Elder and more fair than thee.   

V.  
Ye Regions of the Air his praises sing,  
And all ye Virgin waters there  
Do you advantage to the Consort bring  
And down to us the Allelujah bear.   

VI  
In chanting forth the great Jehovah's Praise  
Let these the upper Consort fill,  
He spoke, and did you all from nothing raise,  
As you did then so now obey his will.   

VII.  
His will, that fixed you in a constant state  
And out a tract for Nature's wheel,  
Here let it run said he, and made it fate,  
And where's that Power which can this Law repeal?   

VIII.  
Ye Powers that to th' inferior world retain,  
Join you now with the Choir above.  
And first ye Dragons try an higher strain,  
And turn your angry hissings into Praise and Love.   

IX.  
Let fire, hail, snow and vapours that ascend  
Unlocked by Phoebus' searching rays  
Let Stormy winds ambitiously contend  
And all their wont force employ in Praise.   

X.  
Ye sacred tops which seem to brave the skies,  
Rise higher, and when men on you  
Religious rites perform and Sacrifice  
With their Oblations send your Praises too.   

XI.  
Ye Trees whose fruits both men and beasts consume  
Be you in Praises fruitful too;  
Ye Cedars, why have you such choice perfume  
But that sweet Incense should be made of you?   

XII.  
Ye Beasts with all the humble Creeping train  
Praise him that made your lot so high.  
Ye Birds who in a nobler Province reign  
Send up your Praises higher than you ●ly.   

XIII.  
Ye sacred heads that wear Imperial gold  
Praise him that you with power arrays,  
And you whose hands the Scale of Justice hold  
Be Just in this, and pay your Debt of Praise.   

XIV.  
Let sprightly youth give vigour to the Choir,  
Each Sex with one another vie,  
Let feeble Age dissolved in Praise expire,  
And Infants too in Hymns their tender voices try.   

XV.  
Praise him ye Saints who Piety profess  
And at his Altar spend your days,  
Ye seed of Israel your great Patron ble●s,  
'Tis Manna this, for Angel's food is Praise.    

A Pastoral  
On the death of his Sacred Majesty King CHARLES the Second.  
Menalcas, Thyrsis and Daphnis.  Thyr. 

WHat, sad? Menalcas, Sure this pleasant shade  
Was ne'er for such a mournful Tenant made.  
All things smile round thee, and throughout the Grove  
Nature displays a Scene of Joy and Love.  
But Shepherd where's thy flock?—  
Sure they in some forbidden pastures stray  
Whilst here in sighs thou number'st out the day.   Men. 

Ah Thyrsis, thou couldst witness heretofore  
What strange Affection to my flock I bore.  
Thou knowst my Thyrsis, the Arcadian Plain  
Could not afford a more industrious Swain.  
But I no longer now that mind retain.   Thyr. 

What change so great but what Love's power can make?  
Menalcas does his kids, and tender lambs forsake.  
So I, when slave to Galatea's eyes  
Did neither City nor the Country prize,  
But all their sports, and my flock too despise.  
Hang thou my Pipe (said I) on yonder tree,  
For then (alas) I had no taste for melody.  
Obscurely in thick woods I sat alone  
And sighed in consort to the Turtle's moan.   Men. 

'Tis not fond love that causes my distress  
No Thyrsis, you're mistaken in your guess.  
The glorious Prize I have in Triumph born,  
I am no longer now Alexis scorn.  
Or if I were, I now could be unmoved  
At every scornful glance, nor care where ere he loved.  
A nearer grief preys on my spirits now,  
And I beneath a heavier burden bow.  
The gentle god of the Arcadian plains  
Pan that regards the sheep, Pan that regards the Swains  
Great Pan is dead—  
Throughout the fields the doleful tidings ran,  
A swoon seized all the Shepherds at the death of Pan.  
Of Pan— But see the rest that Tree will show  
Which wears the sad inscription of my woe,  
Where, with the bark my sorrows too will grow.   Thyr. 

How Shepherd, is it by Fame's trumpet said  
That Pan the best of all the gods, is dead?  
Whom oft w'adored, and whom because we knew  
As good as they, we thought him as immortal too?  
'Tis strange; but Omens now I find are true.  
In yonder Copse a shady Oak there stood,  
Stately, well rooted, and itself a wood,  
Her branches o'er the inferior trees were spread.  
Who all adored her as their sovereign head,  
Hither, when heated by the guide of Day  
While their young wanton goats did skip and play  
Hither the Swains would constantly repair,  
Here sing, and in the ample shade drink fresher air.  
This Tree when I my goats to pasture drove  
While all was clear above, and still throughout the grove.  
Struck by some secret force fall down I saw,  
The wood-Nymphs all were seized with wonder, grief (& awe.  
Nor had I left this ruin far behind  
When lo (strange sight) a Nightingale I find  
Which from brisk airs enlivening all the grove  
Could on a sudden like the mournful dove.  
Amazed I stand, and on my pipe estay  
With some brisk song her sorrows to allay.  
But all in vain. She from the lofty tree  
Kept on her sad complaint, and mourned and drooped (like thee.   Men. 

And why these slighter things dost thou relate?  
Nature herself perceived Pan's mighty fate.  
She fainted, when he drew his latest breath,  
And almost sympathized with him to death.  
Each Field put on a languid dying face,  
The sheep not minding food, with tears bedewed the (grass.  
The Lions too in tears their grief confessed  
And savage Bears, ꝑan's enemies professed.  
The Nymphs all wept, and all the noble train  
Of Deitys that frequent the Court of Pan.  
Echo that long by nought but voice was known  
In sounds repeated others woes, but wept her own.  
Th' Arcadians mourned, and pressed beneath the weighty care  
With cruelty they charged the gods and every star.   Thyr. 

And well they might; Heaven could not show a Deity  
More mild, more good t'his Votaries than he.  
He was all Love, all Peace, all Clemency.  
HE allured the Love, and melted down the hate  
Of all, he had no enemy but Fate.  
Pan kept the Fields, from wolves secured the Stall,  
He guarded both the humble Shrubs, and Cedars tall.  
The Summer's heat obeyed Pan's gentle hand,  
And Winter winds blew soft at his command,  
He blessed the Swains with sneep, and fruitful made their land.  
Weep Shepherds, and in pomp your grief express,  
The ground with flowers, yourselves with Cypress (dress.  
Let the Arcadians in a solemn train  
March slowly on, let mournful accents fill the plain,  
Do this at least in Memory of Pan.   Daph. 

But why this vain expense of tears & breath?  
D' ye think Pan lost and swallowed up in death?  
He lives, and with a pleased and wondering eye  
Contemplates the new beauties of the sky.  
Whence on these Fields he casts propitious rays,  
Now greater than our Sorrow, greater than our Praise.  
I saw (for why mayn't I rehearse the sight)  
Just as the Stars were kindled by the Queen of night  
Another newmade milky way appear,  
I saw, and wondered what event it might prepare.  
When lo great Pan amazed my trembling sight,  
As through th' Aethereal plains he took his flight  
Decked round with rays, and darting streams of light.  
Triumphant was his March, a sacred throng  
Of gods enclosed him, Pan was all their song,  
The sky still brightened as they went along.   Men. 

Thy vision be all truth—  
But who shall now the royal sheep-crook hold,  
Who patronise the fields, who now secure the fold?   Daoh. 

Discharge that care, the royal stock does yield  
Another Pan to patronise the field.  
An Heir of equal conduct does the Sceptre sway,  
One who long nurtured in the Pastoral way,  
In peace will govern the Arcadian plains,  
Defend the tender flocks, and cheer the drooping Swains.   Thyr. 

Come then, let's tune the pipe t' a brisker Key,  
Let's with a dance our sorrows chase away  
And to new Pan in sports devote the day.    

Satiety.  

I.  
HAst on dull Time thy winged minute's haste,  
I care not now how soon thou bring'st my last.  
By what I've lived I plainly know  
The total Sum of all below.  
The days to come, although they promise more,  
I know will be as false as those that went before.   

II.  
The best of life though once enjoyed, is vain,  
And why ye Powers the self same o'er again?  
The Comedy's so dull, I fear  
'Twill not a second acting bear.  
No, I've enough; I cannot like the Sun  
Each day the self same stage, and still unwearied, run.   

III.  
What cruel laws are these that me confine  
Thus still to dig in a deceitful Mine?  
Be just ye Powers, my Soul set free,  
Give her her native liberty.  
'Tis 'gainst the Stage's law to force my stay,  
I've seen an Act or two, and do not like the Play.    

The Reply.  

I.  
SInce you desire of me to know  
Who's the Wise man, I'll tell you who.  
Not he whose rich and fertile mind  
Is by the Culture of the Arts refined,  
Who has the Chaos of disordered thought  
By Reason's Light to Form and method brought.  
Who with a clear and piercing sight  
Can see through niceties as dark as night.  
You err, if you think this is He,  
Tho seated on the top of the Porphyrian tree.   

II.  
Nor is it He to whom kind Heaven  
A secret Cabala has given  
T' unriddle the mysterious Text  
Of Nature, with dark Comments more perplexed.  
Or to decipher her clean-writ and fair  
But most confounding puzzling character.  
That can through all her windings trace  
This slippery wanderer, and unveil her face.  
Her inmost Mechanism view,  
Anatomize each part, and see her through and through.   

III.  
Nor he that does the Science know,  
Our only Certainty below,  
That can from Problems dark and nice  
Deduce Truth's worthy of a Sacrifice.  
Nor he that can confess the stars, and see  
What's writ in the black leaves of Destiny.  
That knows their laws, and how the Sun  
His daily and his annual stage does run.  
As if he did to them dispense  
Their Motions, and there sat supreme Intelligence.   

IV.  
Nor is it he (although he boast  
Of wisdom, and seem wise to most)  
Yet 'tis not he, whose busy pate  
Can dive into the deep intrigues of State.  
That can the great Leviathan control,  
Menage and rule't, as if he were its soul.  
The wisest King thus gifted was  
And yet did not in these true Wisdom place.  
Who then is by the Wise man meant?  
He that can want all this, and yet can be content.    

My Estate.  

I.  
HOw do I pity that proud wealthy Clown  
That does with scorn on my low state look down!  
Thy vain contempt dull Earthworm cease,  
I won't for refuge-fly to this  
That none of fortune's Blessings can  
Add any value to the man,  
This all the wise acknowledge to be true;  
But know I am as rich, more rich than you.   

II.  
While you a spot of earth possess with care  
Below the notice of the Geographer,  
I by the freedom of my Soul  
Possess, nay more, enjoy the whole,  
To th' universe a claim I lay;  
Your writings show perhaps you'll say,  
That's your dull way, my title runs more high,  
'Tis by the Charter of Philosophy.   

III.  
From that a firmer title I derive  
Than all your Courts of Law could ever give.  
A title that more firm does stand  
Than does even your very Land.  
And yet so generous and free  
That none will e'er bethink it me,  
Since my possessions tend to no man's loss,  
I all enjoy, yet nothing I engross.   

IV.  
Throughout the works divine I cast my eye,  
Admire their Beauty and their Harmony.  
I view the glorious Host above  
And him that made them Praise and Love.  
The flowery meads and fields beneath  
Delight me with their odorous breath.  
Thus is my joy by you not understood  
Like that of God, when he said all was good.   

V.  
Nay (what you'd think less likely to be true)  
I can enjoy what's yours much more than you.  
Your meadow's beauty I survey  
Which you prise only for its hay.  
There can I sit beneath a tree  
And write an Ode or Elegy.  
What to you care, does to me pleasure bring,  
You own the Cage, I in it sit and sing.    

The Conquest.  

I.  
IN Power or Wisdom to contend with thee  
Great God, who but a Lucifer would dare;  
Our strength is but infirmity,  
And when we this perceive our sight's most clear  
But yet I will not be excelled thought I  
In Love, in Love I'll with my Maker vy.   

II.  
I viewed the glories of thy Seat above  
And thought of every Grace and Charm divine,  
And further to increase my love  
I measured all the Heights and Depths of thine.  
Thus there broke forth a Strong and Vigorous flame  
And almost melted down my mortal frame.   

III.  
But when thy Bloody Sweat and Death I view  
I own (Dear Lord) the conquest of thy love,  
Thou dost my highest flights outdo,  
I in a lower orb, and slower move.  
Thus in this strife's a double weakness shown,  
Thy Love I cannot equal, nor yet bear my own.    

The Impatient.  

I.  
WHat envious laws are those of Fate  
Which fix a gulf (Blest Souls) 'twixt us and you!  
How 'twould refresh and cheer our Mortal state  
When our dejected looks confess  
The emptiness of earthly bliss,  
Could we in this black night your brighter glories view!   

II.  
Vain comfort when I thus complain  
To hear the Wise and Solemn gravely say,  
Your grief and curiosity restrain,  
Death will e'er long this Bar remove,  
And bring you to the Blessed above,  
Till then with this great Prospect all your longings stay.   

III.  
But ah the joy peculiar here  
Does from the greater excellence arise  
'Twill be worth nothing in an equal Sphere.  
Let me your noble converse have  
Blest Spirits, on this side the grave,  
I shall hereafter be as great as you, as wise.   

IV.  
Besides when plunged in bliss divine  
I shall not taste, or need this lesser joy.  
What comfort then does from this Prospect shine?  
'Tis just as if in depth of night  
You rob a Traveller of his light  
And promise to restore when 'tis clear day.    

Content.  

I.  
I Bless my stars I envy none  
Not great, nor wealthy, no nor yet the Wise,  
I've learned the Art to like my own,  
And what I can't attain to, not to prise.  
Vast Tracts of Learning I descry  
Beyond the Sphere perhaps of my Activity,  
And yet I'm ne'er the more concerned at this,  
Than for the Gems that lie in the profound Abyss.   

II.  
Should I my proper lot disdain  
As long as further good eclipses mine,  
I may t' eternity complain,  
And in the Mansions of the Blessed repine.  
There shall I numbers vast espy▪  
Of Forms more excellent, more wise, more Blest than I.  
I shall not then lament my unequal fate,  
And why should larger Prospects now molest my state?   

III.  
Where all in equal stations move  
What place for Harmony can there be found?  
The lower Spheres with those above  
Agree, and dance as free and briskly round▪  
Degrees of Essences conspire  
As well as various notes▪ t' accomplish heaven's Quire.  
Thus would I have't below, nor will I care  
So the Result be Harmony, what part I bear.    

Against Knowledge.  

I.  
WEll, let it be the Censure of the Wise  
That Wisdom none but Fools despise,  
I like not what they gravely preach  
And must another Doctrine teach.  
Since all's so false and vain below  
There's nought so indiscreet as this, to know.   

II.  
The thoughtless, dull and less discerning mind  
No flaws in earthly joys can find,  
He Closes with what Courts his sight,  
All Coin will pass by his dim light.  
Though often balked, he hopes for rest,  
Sleeps on and dreams, and is in Error Blest.   

III.  
But he that has refined and high-raised sense  
Can nothing taste but excellence.  
Nor can he nature's faults supply  
By Fancy's happy Imagery.  
He sees that all Fruition's vain,  
Can't taste the present, nor yet trust again.   

IV.  
Our Joys like Tricks, do all on cheats depend,  
And when once known are at an end.  
Happy and Wise two Blessings are  
Which meet not in this mortal Sphere,  
Let me be ignorant below,  
And when I've Solid good, then let me Know.    

Seeing a great Person lying in State.  

I.  
WEll now I needs must own  
That I hate greatness more and more,  
'Tis now a just abhorrence grown  
What was Antipathy before,  
With other ills I could dispense,  
And acquiesce in Providence.  
But let not Heaven my patience try  
With this one Plague, left I repine and die.   

II.  
I knew indeed before  
That 'twas the great man's wretched fate  
While with the living to endure  
The vain impertinence of State.  
But sure thought I, in death he'll be  
From that and other troubles free.  
What e'er his life, he then will lie  
As free, as undisturbed, as calm as I.   

III.  
But 'twas a gross mistake,  
Honour that too officious ill,  
Won't even his breathless corpse forsake,  
But haunts and waits about him still.  
Strange persecution, when the grave  
Can't the distressed Martyr save!  
What Remedy can there avail  
Where Death the great Catholicon does fail?   

IV.  
Thanks to my stars that I  
Am with so low a fortune blest  
That what e'er Blessings fate deny,  
I'm sure of privacy and rest.  
'Tis well; thus long I am content,  
And rest as in my Element.  
Then Fate, if you'll appear my friend,  
Force me not 'gainst my nature to ascend.   

V.  
No, I would still be low,  
Or else I would be very high,  
Beyond the state which mortals know,  
A kind of Semideity.  
So of the Regions of the air  
The Highest and Lowest quiet are,  
But 'tis this middle Height I fear,  
For storms and thunder are engendered there.    

Second Chap. of the Cant. from the 10. verse, to the 13.  

I.  
'T Was my Beloved spoke,  
I know his charming voice, I heard him say,  
Rise up my Love, my fairest one awake,  
Awake and come away.   

II.  
The Winter all is past  
And stormy winds that with such rudeness blew,  
The heavens are no longer overcast,  
But try to look like you.   

III.  
The flowers their sweets display,  
The Birds in short praeludiums tune their throat,  
The Turtle in low murmurs does essay  
Her melancholy note.   

IV.  
The fruitful Vineyards make  
An odorous smell, the Fig looks fresh and gay,  
Arise my Love, my fairest one awake,  
Awake and come away.    

To a Friend in Honour.  

I.  
SOme thoughtless heads perhaps admire to see  
That I so little to your titles bow,  
But wonder not my Friend, I swear to me  
You were as great before as now.  
Honour to you does nothing give,  
Tho from your worth much lustre she receive.   

II.  
Your native glory does so far outdo  
That of the Sphere wherein you move,  
That I can nothing but yourself in you  
Observe, admire, esteem or love.  
You are a Diamond set in gold,  
The Curious the rich stone, not this behold.   

III.  
All that to your late honour you can owe  
Is only that you're brought in view,  
You don't begin to have, but men to know,  
Your Votaries are increased, not you.  
So the Sun's height adds not t'his light,  
But only does expose him more to sight.   

IV.  
To some whose native worth more dimly shined  
Honour might some improvement give,  
As metals which the Sun has less refined  
A value from their Stamp receive.  
But you like gold, pass for no more  
Tho Stamped, than for your weight you would before.    

A divine Hymn on the Creation.  

I.  
AWake my Lyre, and thy sweet forces join  
With me to sing an Hymn divine,  
Let both our Strains in pleasing numbers flow,  
But see, thy strings with tediousness and pain  
Arise into a tuneful strain,  
How canst thou silently?  
The universe is Harmony,  
Awake, and move by sympathy,  
My heart's already tuned, O why art thou so slow.   

II.  
Jehovah is our Theme, th' eternal King,  
Whose Praise admiring Angels sing,  
They see with steady and attentive eyes  
His naked Beauties, and from Vision raise  
To wondrous heights their Love and Praise.  
We mortals only view  
His Backparts, and that darkly too,  
We must fall short, what shall we do,  
But neither too can they up to his grandeur rise.   

III.  
No power can justly praise him but must be  
As great, as infinite as he,  
He comprehends his boundless self alone,  
Created minds too shallow are and dim  
His works to fathom, much more him.  
Our Praise at height will be  
Short by a whole Infinity,  
Of his all glorious Deity,  
He cannot have the full, and stands in need of none.   

IV.  
He can't be less, nor can he more receive  
But stands one fixed Superlative.  
He's in himself compendiously blest,  
We acted by the weights of strong desire  
To good without our selves aspire,  
We're always moving hence  
Like lines from the Circumference  
To some more in-lodged excellence,  
But he is one unmoved self-centered Point of Rest.   

V.  
Why then, if full of bliss that ne'er could cloy,  
Would he do aught but still enjoy.  
Why not indulge his self-sufficing state,  
Live to himself at large, calm and secure,  
A wise eternal Epicure?  
Why six days work, to frame  
A monument of Praise and Fame  
To him whose bliss is still the same?  
What need the wealthy coin, or he that's Blest Created?   

VI  
Almighty Love the fairest gem that shone  
All-round, and half made up his throne,  
His Favourite and darling excellence,  
Whom oft he would his Royal virtue stile,  
And view with a peculiar smile,  
Love moved him to create  
Being's that might participate  
Of their Creator's happy state,  
And that good which he could not heighten, to dispense.   

VII.  
How large thy empire, Love, how great thy sway!  
Omnipotence does thee obey.  
What complicated wonders in thee shine!  
He that the infinity itself is great  
Has one way to be greater yet,  
Love will the method show,  
'Tis to impart; what is't that thou  
O sovereign Passion canst not do?  
Thou mak'st Divinity itself much more divine.   

VIII.  
With pregnant love full-fraught, the great Three-one  
Would now no longer be alone.  
Love, gentle love unlocked his fruitful breast  
And' work th' Ideas which there dormant lay,  
Awaked their Beauties they display,  
Th' Almighty smiled to see  
The comely form and harmony  
Of his eternal Imagery,  
He saw 'twas good and fair, and th' infant platform blest.   

IX.  
Ye seeds of Being in whose fair bosoms dwell  
The Forms of all things possible,  
Arise, and your Prolific force display,  
Let a fair issue in your moulds be cast  
To fill in part this empty waist.  
He spoke. The Empty space  
Immediately in travel was  
And soon brought forth a formless mass,  
First matter came undressed, she made such haste t' obey.   

X.  
But soon a Plastic spirit did ferment  
The liquid dusky element.  
The Mass harmoniously begins to move  
Let there be Light said God, 'twas said, and done,  
The Mass dipped through with brightness shone.  
Nature was pleased to see  
This feature of Divinity,  
Th' Almighty smiled as well as she,  
He owned his likeness there, and did his Firstborn love.   

XI.  
But lo, I see a goodly frame arise,  
Vast folding Orbs, and azure skies,  
With lucid whirle-pools the vast Arch does shine,  
The Sun by day shows to each world his light  
The stars stand sentinel by night.  
In midst of all is spread  
That ponderous bulk whereon we tread,  
But where is its foundation laid?  
'Tis pompous all and great, and worthy hands divine.   

XII.  
Thy Temple's built great God, but where is he  
That must admire both it and thee?  
Open one Scene more my Muse, bless and adore,  
See there in solemn Council and debate  
The great divine Triumvirate.  
The rest one Word obeyed,  
'Twas done almost before 'twas said,  
But Man was not so cheaply made,  
To make the world was great, but t' epitomise it more.   

XIII.  
Th' accomplished work stands his severe review  
Whose judgement's most exactly ture.  
In nature's Book were no Erratas found,  
All things are good, said God, they answer well  
Th' Ideas which within me dwell;  
Th' Angelic voices join  
Their Praise to the Applause divine,  
The Morning stars in Hymns combine,  
And as they sung & played, the jocant Orbs danced round.   

XIV.  
With this thy Choir divine, great God I bring  
My Eucharistic Offering.  
I cannot here sing more exalted lays,  
But what's defective now I will supply  
When I enjoy thy Deity.  
Then may'st thou sleep my Lyre,  
I shall not then thy help require,  
Diviner thoughts will then me fire  
Than thou though played on by an Angel's hand, canst raise.    

Plato's two Cupids.  

I.  
THe heart of man's a living Butt,  
At which two different Archers shoot,  
Their Shafts are pointed both with fire,  
Both wound our hearts with hot desire.   

II.  
In this they differ, he that lies  
A sacrifice t' his Mistress eyes,  
In pain does live, in pain expire,  
And melts and drops before the fire.   

III.  
But he that flame's with love divine  
Does not in th' heat consume, but shine.  
HE enjoys the fire that round him lies,  
Serenely lives, serenely dies.   

IV.  
So Devils and damned Souls in hell  
Fry in the fire with which they dwell,  
But Angels suffer not the same,  
Although their Vehicles be flame.   

V.  
The heart whose fire's divine and chaste  
Is like the Bush that did not waste.  
Moses beheld the flame with fear,  
That wasted not, for God was there.    

A Wish..  

I.  
WHatever Blessing you my Life deny  
Grant me kind Heaven this one thing when I die.  
I charge thee guardian Spirit hear,  
And as thou lov'st me, further this my Prayer.   

II.  
When I'm to leave this grosser Sphere, and try  
Death, that amazing Curiosity,  
When just about to breathe my last,  
Then when no Mortal joy can strike my taste,   

III.  
Let me soft melting strains of Music hear  
Whose Dying sounds may speak Death to my ear,  
Gently the Bands of life untie,  
Till in sweet raptures I dissolve and die.   

IV.  
How soft and easy my new Birth will be  
Helped on by Music▪ s gentle Midwifery!  
And I who 'midst these charms expire  
Shall bring a Soul well tuned to Heaven's Quire.    

To Dr. More.  
Ode.  

I.  
GO Muse, go hasten to the Cell of Fame  
(Thou kow'st her reverend awful seat,  
It stands hard by your blessed retreat)  
Go with a brisk alarm assault her ear,  
Bid her her loudest Trump prepare  
To sound a more than Human name,  
A name more excellent and great  
Than she could ever publish yet,  
Tell her she need not stay till Fate shall give  
A Licence to his Works, and bid them live,  
His Worth now shines through Envys base Alloy,  
'Twill fill her widest Trump, and all her Breath employ.   

II.  
Learning which long like an enchanted Land  
Did Human force and Art defy  
And stood the Vertuoso's best Artillery,  
Which nothing mortal could subdue,  
Has yielded to this Hero's Fatal hand,  
By him is conquered, held, and peopled too.  
Like Seas that border on the shore  
The Muse's Suburbs some possession knew,  
But like the deep Abyss their iuner store  
Lay unpossess'd, till seized and owned by you▪  
Truth's outer Courts were trod before,  
Sacred was her recess, that Fate reserved for More.   

III.  
Others in Learning's Chorus bear their part  
And the great Work distinctly share,  
Thou our great Catholic Professor art,  
All Science is annexed to thy unerring Chair.  
Some lesser Synods of the Wise  
The Muses kept in Universitys,  
But never yet till in thy Soul  
Had they a Council Ecumenical.  
An Abstract they'd a mind to see  
Of all their scattered gifts, and summed them up in thee▪  
Thou hast the Arts whole Zodiac run  
And fathom'st all that here is known.  
Strange restless Curiosity;  
Adam himself came short of thee,  
He tasted of the Fruit, thou bearest away the Tree.   

IV.  
Whilst to be great the most aspire  
Or with low Souls to raise their fortunes higher,  
Knowledge the chiefest Treasure of the Blessed  
Knowledge the Wise man's best Request  
Was made thy choice, for this thou hast declined  
A life of noise, impertinence and State  
And what e'er else the Muse's hate  
And mad'st it thy one business to enrich thy mind.  
How calm thy life, how easy, how secure  
Thou Intellectual Epicure.  
Thou as another Solomon hast tried  
All Nature through, and nothing to thy Soul denied.  
Who can two such examples show?  
He all things tried t' enjoy, and you all things to know.   

V.  
By Babel's Curse, and our Contracted span  
Heaven thought to check the swift career of man.  
And so it proved till now, our age  
Is much too short to run so long a Stage.  
And to learn words is such a vast delay  
That we're benighted e'er we come half way.  
Thou with unusual haste driv'st on  
And dost even Time itself outrun.  
No hindrance can retard thy Course▪  
Thou rid'st the Muse's winged horse,  
Thy Stage of Learning ends ere that of Life be done.  
There's now no work left for thy accomplished mind  
But to Survey thy Conquests, and inform mankind.    

The Passion of the Virgin Mother Beholding the Crucifixion of her divine Son.  

1.  
NIgh to the Fatal and yet Sovereign wood  
Which crowds of wondering Angels did surround  
Devoutly sad the Holy Mother stood,  
And viewed her Son, & sympathized with every wound.   

II.  
Angelic piety in her mournful face  
Like rays of light through a watery cloud, did shine,  
Two mighty Passions in her breast took place  
And like her Son sh' appeared, half human, half divine.   

III.  
She saw a blacker and more tragic Scene  
Than e'er the Sun before or then would see,  
In vain did nature draw her dusky Screen,  
She saw, and wept, and felt the dreadful Agony.   

IV.  
Grief in the abstract sure can rise no higher  
Than that which this deep Tragedy did move,  
She saw in tortures and in shame expire  
Her Son, her God, her worship and her Love.   

V.  
That sacred head which all divine and bright  
Struck with deep awe the Votaries of the East,  
To which a Star paid Tributary light,  
Which the (than joyful) mother kissed, adored and blest,   

VI  
That head which Angels with pure light had crowned  
Where Wisdom's Seat and Oracle was placed,  
Whose air divine threw his Traitors to the ground,  
She saw with pointed circles of rude thorns embraced.   

VII.  
Those hands whose sovereign touch were wont to heal  
All wounds and hurts that others did endure  
Did now the peircing of rough iron feel,  
Nor could the wounded heart of his sad mother cure.   

VIII.  
No, No it bled to see his body torn  
With nails, and decked with gems of purple gore,  
On four great wounds to see him rudely born,  
Whom oft her arms a happy burden found before.   

IX.  
It bled to hear that voice of grief and dread  
Which the Earth's pillars and foundations shook,  
Which rend the Rocks, and' work the sleeping dead,  
My God, my God O why, why hast thou me forsaken?   

X.  
And can the tide of Sorrow rise more high?  
Her melting face stood thick with tears to view  
Like those of heaven his setting glories die,  
As flowers left by the Sun are charged with evening dew.   

XI.  
But see grief spreads her empire still more wide,  
Another Spring of tears begins to flow,  
A barbarous hand wounds his now senseless side,  
And death that ends the Son's, renews the Mother's woe.   

XII.  
She sees now by the rude inhuman stroke  
The Mystic river flow, and in her breast  
Wonders by what strange figure th' Angel spoke  
When amongst all the Daughters he pronounced her Blessed.   

XIII.  
Thus far did Nature, pity, grief and love  
And all the Passions their strong efforts try,  
But still though dark below, 'twas clear above,  
She had (as once her Son) her strengthening Angel by.   

XIV.  
Gabriel the chiefest of th' Almighty's train  
That first with happy tidings blest her ear,  
Th' Archangel Gabriel was sent again,  
To stem the tide of grief, and qualify her fear.   

XV.  
A large Perspective wrought by hands divine  
He set before her first enlightened eye,  
'Twas hewn out of the heaven Crystalline,  
One of whose ends did lessen, th' other magnify.   

XVI.  
With that his sufferings he exposed to sight  
With this his Glories he did represent,  
The weight of this made th' other seem but light,  
She saw the mighty odds, adored, and was content.    

Damon and Pythias. Or, Friendship in perfection.  Pyth. 

I.  
'TIs true (my Damon) we as yet have been  
Patterns of constant love I know,  
We have stuck so close, no third could come between,  
But will it (Damon) will it still be so?   Da. 

II.  
Keep your love true, I dare engage that mine  
Shall like my Soul immortal prove.  
In friendship's Orb how brightly shall we shine  
Where all shall envy, none divide our love!   Pyth. 

III.  
Death will; when once (as 'tis by fate designed)  
T' Elysium you shall be removed,  
Such sweet Companions there no doubt you'll find  
That you'll forget that Pythias e'er you loved.   Da. 

IV.  
No, banish all such fears, I then will be  
Your Friend and guardian Angel too.  
And though with more refined Society  
I'll leave Elysium to converse with you.   Pyth. 

V.  
But grant that after fate you still are kind,  
You cannot long continue so,  
When I like you become all thought and mind  
By what mark then shall we each other know?   Da. 

VI  
With care on your last hour I will attend,  
And lest like Souls should me deceive  
I closely will embrace my newborn friend,  
And never after my dear Pythias leave.    

The Indifferency.  

I.  
WHether 'tis from stupidity or no  
I know not, but I ne'er could find  
Why I one Thought or Passion should bestow  
On Fame, that gaudy Idol of mankind.  
Call me not Stoic, no I can pursue  
Things excellent with as much zeal as you,  
But here I own myself to be  
A very lukewarm Votary.   

II.  
Should thousand excellencies in me meet  
And one bright Constellation frame  
'Tis still as men's fantastic humours hit  
Whether I'm written in the book of Fame.  
So though the Sun be ne'er so fair and bright  
And shine with free, uninterrupted light,  
'Tis as the Clouds disposed are,  
ere he can paint his image there.   

III.  
The world is seldom to true merit just  
Through Envy or through Ignorance.  
True worth like Valour oft lies hid in dust,  
While some false Hero's graced with a Romance.  
The true God's Altar oft neglected lies  
When Idols have Perfumes and Sacrifice.  
And though the true one some adore  
Yet those that do blaspheme are more.   

IV.  
Yet grant that merit were of fame secure,  
What's Reputation, what is Praise?  
Who'd one day's toil, or sleepless night endure  
Such a vain Babel of esteem to raise?  
Pleased with his hidden worth the great and wise  
Can like his God this foreign good despise,  
Whose happiness would ne'er be less  
Tho none were made to praise o● bless.   

V.  
Even I who dare not rank myself with those  
Who pleased into themselves retire,  
Find yet in great Applauses less repose,  
And do Fame less, less than my self admire.  
Let her loud trumpet sound me far and near,  
Th' Antipodes will never of me hear.  
Or were I known throughout this ball▪  
I've but a Point, when I have All.   

VI  
Then as for glory which comes after Fate,  
All that can then of me be said  
I value least of all, it comes too late,  
'Tis like th' embalming of the senseless dead.  
Others with pleasure, what me labour cost  
May read, and praise, but to me all is lost.  
Just as the Sun no joy does find  
In that his light which cheers mankind.   

VII.  
Or should I after Fate has closed my eyes  
Should I my living glories know,  
My wiser, improved Soul will then despise  
All that poor Mortals say or think below.  
Even they who of men's ignorance before  
Complained, because few did their works adore,  
Will then the self same Censure raise  
Not from their silence, but their praise.   

VIII.  
Or grant 'twould pleasure bring to know that I  
After my death live still in Fame,  
Those that admire me too must shortly die,  
And then where's my Memorial, where my name?  
My Fame though longer-lived, yet once shall have  
Like me its Death, its Funeral, its Grave.  
This only difference will remain,  
I shall, that never rise again.   

IX.  
Death and Destruction shall e'er long deface  
The World, the work of hands divine,  
What Pillars then or Monuments of brass  
Shall from the general ruin rescue mine?  
All then shall equal be; I care not then  
To be a while the talk and boast of men.  
This only grant, that I may be  
Praised by thy Angels, Lord, and thee.    

The Infirmity.  

I.  
IN other things I ne'er admired to see  
Men injured by extremity.  
But little thought in Happiness  
There might be danger of excess.  
At least I thought there was no fear  
Of ever meeting with too much on't here.   

II.  
But now these melting sounds strike on my sense  
With such a powerful excellence,  
I find that Happiness may be  
Screwed up to such extremity,  
That our too Feeble faculties  
May not be said t' enjoy, but suffer Bliss.   

III.  
So frail's our mortal state, we can sustain  
A mighty bliss no more than pain.  
We lose our weak precarious breath  
Tortured or tickled unto death.  
As sprights and Angels alike fright  
With too much Horror, or with too much light.   

IV.  
Alas; I'm over-pleased; what shall I do  
The painful joy to undergo?  
Temper your too melodious song,  
Your dose of bliss is much too strong,  
Like those that too rich Cordials have,  
It don't so much revive, as make me rave.   

V.  
What Cruelty 'twould be still to confine  
A mortal ear to Airs divine?  
The Curse of Cain you have on me  
Inverted by your Harmony,  
For since with that you charmed my ear  
My Bliss is much too great for me to bear.   

VI  
Relieve this Paroxysm of delight,  
And let it be less exquisite.  
Let down my Soul; 'tis too high set,  
I am not ripe for Heaven yet.  
Give me a Region more beneath,  
This Element's too fine for me to breath.    

The Arrest.  

I.  
WHither so fast fond Passion dost thou rove,  
Licentious and unconfined?  
Sure this is not the proper Sphere of Love,  
Obey; and be not deaf, as thou art blind.  
All is so false and treacherous here  
That I must love with Caution, and enjoy with fear.   

II.  
Contract thy Sails, lest a too gusty blast  
Make thee from shore launch out too far,  
Weigh well this Ocean, ere thou make such haste,  
It has a nature very singular.  
Men of the treacherous shore complain  
In other Seas, but here most danger's in the Main.   

III.  
Shouldst thou my Soul indulge thy forward love,  
▪ And not control its headlong course,  
The Object in th' enjoyment vain will prove,  
And thou on Nothing fall with all thy force.  
So th' eager Hawk makes sure of's prize,  
Strikes with full might, but overshoots himself and dies.   

IV.  
Or shouldst thou with long search on something light  
That might content and stay thy mind,  
All good's here winged, and stands prepared for flight,  
'Twill leave thee reaching out in vain, behind.  
Then when unconstant fate thou'st proved,  
Thou'lt sigh, and say with tears, I wish I ne re had loved.   

V.  
Well then ye softer Powers that love Command  
And wound our breasts with pleasing smart,  
Gage well your Lance, and bear a steady hand,  
Lest it run in too deep into my heart.  
Or if you're fixed in your design  
Deeply to wound my heart, wound it with love divine.    

To the Memory of my dear Niece M. C.  

I.  
BY tears to ease my grief I've tried,  
And Philosophic med'cins have applied,  
From Books and Company I've sought relief,  
I've used all spells and charms of Art  
To Lay this Troubler of my heart,  
I have, yet I'm still haunted by my grief.  
These give some ease, but yet I find  
'Tis Poetry at last must cure my mind.   

II.  
Come then, t' assuage my pain I'll try  
By the sweet magic of thy Harmony.  
Begin my Muse, but 'twill be hard I know  
For thee my Genius to screw  
To heights that to my Theme are due,  
The weight of grief has set my Soul so low.  
To grace her death my strains should be  
As far above Mortality as she.   

III.  
Is she then dead, and can it be  
That I can live to write her Elegy?  
I hoped, since 'twas not to my Soul denied  
To sympathise in all the pain  
Which she tho long, did well sustain,  
T' have carried on the sympathy, and died.  
But Death was so o'rpleased I see  
At this rich spoil, that she neglected me.   

IV.  
Yet has sh' of all things made me bare  
But Life, nor was it kindness here to spare.  
So when th' Almighty would t' inform mankind  
His Eastern Hero's patience try  
With the Extremes of misery,  
He gave this Charge to the malicious Fiend;  
Of all Life's Blessings him deprive,  
Vex him with all thy Plagues, but let him live.   

V.  
Yet I will live (sweet Soul) to save  
Thy name, since thee I cannot, from the grave.  
I will not of this burden Life complain  
Tho tears than verses faster flow,  
Tho I am plunged in grief and woe,  
And like th' inspired Sibylls write in pain.  
To die for Friends is thought to be  
Heroic, but I'll Life endure for thee.   

VI  
'Tis just, since I in thee did live  
That thou shouldst Life and Fame from me receive.  
But how shall I this Debt of Justice pay?  
The Colours of my Poetry  
Are all too dead to Copy thee,  
'Twill be Abuse the best that I can say.  
Nature that wrought thy curious frame  
Will find it hard to draw again the same.   

VII.  
In Council the Almighty sat  
When he did man his Masterpiece create.  
His Agent Nature did the same for thee,  
In making thee she wrought for Fame,  
And with slow progress drew thy frame,  
As he that painted for Eternity.  
In her best Mould she did thee cast,  
But thou wast overwrought, and made too fine to last.   

VIII.  
Thy Soul the Saint of this fair Shrine  
Was pure without Alloy, and all divine.  
Active and nimble as Aethereal light,  
Kind as the Angels are above  
Who live on Harmony and Love,  
The Rays thou shott'st were warm, as well as bright.  
So mild so pleasing was thy fire,  
That none could envy, and all must admire.   

IX.  
Sickness to whose strong siege resign  
The best of natures, did but set forth thine.  
Wisely thou didst thy passions all Control,  
And like a Martyr in the fire  
Devout and patient didst expire,  
Pains could expel, but not untune thy Soul.  
Thou bore'st them all so Moderately  
As if thou meanest to teach how I should mourn for thee.   

X.  
No wonder such a noble mind  
Her way again to Heaven so soon could find.  
Angels, as 'tis but seldom they appear  
So neither do they make long stay,  
They do but visit, and away,  
'tis pain for them t' endure our too gross Sphere.  
We could not hope for a Reprieve,  
She must die soon, that made such haste to live.   

XI.  
Heaven did thy lovely presence want  
And therefore did so early thee transplant.  
Not'cause he dared not trust thee longer here,  
No, such sweet Innocence as thine  
To take a Stain was too divine,  
But sure he Coveted to have thee there▪  
For meaner Souls he could delay,  
Impatient for thine, he would not stay.   

XII.  
The Angels too did covet thee  
T' advance their Love, their Bliss, their Harmony.  
They'd lately made an Anthem to their King,  
An Anthem which contained a part  
All sweet, and full of Heavenly Art,  
Which none but thy Harmonious Soul could sing.  
'Twas all Heaven's Vote thou shouldst be gone  
To fill th' Almighty's Choir, and to adorn his Throne.   

XIII.  
Others when gone t' eternal rest  
Are said t' augment the number of the Blessed.  
Thou dost their very Happiness improve,  
Out of the Crowd they single thee,  
Fond of thy sweet society,  
Thou wast our Darling, and art so above.  
Why should we of thy loss Complain  
Which is not only thine, but Heaven's gain?   

XIV.  
There dost thou sit in Bliss and light,  
Whilst I thy praise in mournful numbers write.  
There dost thou drink at pleasures virgin Spring,  
And findest no leisure in thy Bliss  
Ought to admire below, but this  
How I can mourn, when thou dost Anthems sing▪  
Thy pardon my sweet Saint I implore,  
My Soul ne'er disconformed from thine before.   

XV.  
Nor will I now; My tears shall flow  
No more, I will be blest 'cause thou art so.  
I'll borrow Comfort from thy happy state,  
In Bliss I'll sympathise with thee  
As once I did in misery,  
And by Reflection will be Fortunate.  
I'll practise now, what's done above,  
And by thy happy state my own improve.    

The Resignation.  

I.  
LOng have I viewed, long have I thought,  
And held with trembling hand this bitter Draught,  
'Twas now just to my lips applied,  
Nature shrank in, and all my Courage died.  
But now Resolved, and firm I'll be,  
Since Lord, 'tis mingled, and reached out by thee.   

II.  
I'll trust my great Physician's skill,  
I know what he prescribes can ne'er be ill,  
To each disease he knows what's fit,  
I own him wise and good, and do submit.  
I'll now no longer grieve or pine,  
Since 'tis thy pleasure Lord, it shall be mine.   

III.  
Thy Medicine put's me to great smart,  
Thou'st wounded me in my most tender part,  
But 'tis with a design to cure,  
I must and will thy Sovereign touch endure.  
All that I prized below is gone,  
But yet I still will pray, thy will be done.   

IV.  
Since 'tis thy sentence I should part  
With the most precious treasure of my heart,  
I freely that and more resign,  
My heart itself, as its Delight, is thine,  
My little All I give to thee,  
Thou gav'st a greater gift, thy Son, to me.   

V.  
He left true Bliss and Joys above,  
Himself he emptied of all good, but love.  
For me he freely did forsake  
More good, than he from me can ever take.  
A mortal life for a divine  
He took, and did at last even that resign.   

VI  
Take all great God, I will not grieve,  
But still will wish, that I had still to give.  
I hear thy voice, thou bid'st me quit  
My Paradise, I bless and do submit.  
I will not murmur at thy word.  
Nor beg thy Angel to sheathe up his sword.    

To my guardian Angel.  

I.  
I Own (my gentle guide) that much I owe  
For all thy tutelary care and love,  
Through life's wild maze thou'st led me hitherto,  
Nor ever wilt (I hope) thy tent remove,  
But yet t' have been completely true,  
Thou shouldst have guarded her life too.  
Thou knowst my Soul did most inhabit there,  
I could have spared thee, to have guarded her.   

II.  
But since by thy neglect, or heaven's decree,  
She's gone to increase the pleasures of the Blessed,  
Since in this Sphere my Sun I ne'er shall see,  
Grant me (kind Spirit) grant me this request.  
When I shall ease thy Charge and die,  
(For sure I think thou wilt be by)  
Led me through all the numerous host above,  
And bring my new-flown Soul to her I love.   

III.  
With what high passion shall we then embrace!  
What pleasure will she take t' impart to me  
The Rites and Methods of that sacred place,  
And what a Heaven 'twill be to learn from thee!  
That pleasure I shall then I fear  
As ill as now my sorrow bear;  
And could then any Chance my life destroy,  
I should I fear then die again with Joy.    

The Defiance.  

I.  
WEll Fortune, now (if e'er you've shown  
What you had in your power to do,  
My wand'ring love at length had fixed on one,  
One who might please even unconstant you.  
Me of this one you have deprived  
On whom I stayed my Soul, in whom I lived,  
You've shown your power, and I resign,  
But now I'll show thee Fortune, what's in mine.   

II.  
I will not, no I will not grieve,  
My tears within their banks shall stand,  
Do what thou wilt, I am resolved to Live,  
Since thee I can't, I will my self command.  
I will my passions so control  
That neither they, nor thou shalt hurt my Soul,  
I'll run so counter to thy will,  
Thy good I'll relish, but not feel thy iii.   

III.  
I felt the shaft that last was sent,  
But now thy Quiver I defy.  
I fear no Pain from thee or Discontent,  
Clad in the Armour of Philosophy.  
Thy last seized on me out of guard,  
Unarmed too far within thy reach I dared,  
But now the field I'll dearly sell,  
I'm now (at least by thee) Impassable.   

IV.  
My Soul now soars high and sublime  
Beyond the Spring of thy best bow,  
Like those who so long on high mountains climb  
Till they see rain, and thunder hear below.  
In vain thou'lt spend thy darts on me,  
My Fort's too strong for thy Artillery,  
Thy closest aim won't touch my mind,  
Here's all thy gain, still to be thought more blind.    

Superstition.  

I.  
I Care not though it be  
By the preciser sort thought Popery,  
We Poets, can a Licence show  
For every thing we do,  
Hear then my little Saint, I'll pray to thee.   

II.  
If now thy happy mind  
Amidst its various joys can leisure find  
T' attend to any thing so low  
As what I say or do,  
Regard, and be what thou wast ever, kind.   

III.  
Let not the Blessed above  
Engross thee quite, but sometimes hither rove,  
Feign would I thy sweet image see  
And sit, and talk with thee,  
Nor is it Curiosity but Love.   

IV.  
Ah what delight 'twould be  
Wouldst thou sometimes by stealth converse with me!  
How should I thy sweet commerce prize  
And other joys despise!  
Come then, I ne'er was yet denied by thee.   

V.  
I would not long detain  
Thy Soul from Bliss, nor keep thee here in pain.  
Nor should thy fellow-Saints ere know  
Of thy escape below,  
Before thou'rt missed, thou shouldst return again.   

VI  
Sure heaven must needs thy love  
As well as other qualities improve.  
Come then and recreate my sight  
With rays of thy pure light,  
'Twill cheer my eyes more than the lamps above.   

VII.  
But if Fate's so severe  
As to confine thee to thy blissful Sphere,  
(And by thy absence I shall know  
Whether thy state be so)  
Live happy, but be mindful of me there.    

The complaint of Adam turned out of Paradise.  

I.  
ANd must I go, and must I be no more  
The Tenant of this happy ground?  
Can no reserves of pity me restore,  
Can no atonement for my stay compound?  
All the rich Odours that here grow I'd give  
To Heaven in incense, might I here but live.  
Or if it be a grace too high  
To live in Eden, let me there but dye.   

II.  
Fair place, thy sweets I just began to know,  
And must I leave thee now again?  
Ah why does Heaven such short-lived Bliss bestow?  
A taste of pleasure, but full draught of pain.  
I ask not to be chief in this blessed state,  
Let Heaven some other for that place create.  
So 'tis in Eden, let me but have  
An under-gardener's place, 'tis all I crave.   

III.  
But 'twill not do I see, I must away,  
My feet profane this sacred ground;  
Stay then bright Minister, one minute stay,  
Let me in Eden take one farewell round.  
Let me go gather but one fragrant bough  
Which as a Relic I may keep and show,  
Fear not the Tree of Life; it were  
A Curse to be immortal, and not here.   

IV.  
'Tis done; Now farewell thou most happy place,  
Farewell ye streams that softly creep,  
I ne'er again in you shall view my face,  
Farewell ye Bowers, in you I ne'er shall sleep.  
Farewell ye trees, ye flowery beds farewell,  
You ne'er will bless my taste, nor you my smell.  
Farewell thou Guardian divine,  
To thee my happy Rival I resign.   

V.  
O whither now, whither shall I repair  
Exiled from this Angelic coast?  
There's nothing left that's pleasant, good or fair,  
The world can't recompense for Eden lost.  
'Tis true I've here a universal sway,  
The Creatures me as their chief Lord obey,  
But yet the world though all my Seat,  
Can't make me happy, though it make me great.   

VI  
Had I lost lesser and but seeming Bliss,  
Reason my sorrows might relieve.  
But when the loss great and substantial is,  
To think is but to see good cause to grieve.  
'Tis well I'm mortal, 'tis well I shortly must  
Lose all the thoughts of Eden in the dust.  
Senseless and thoughtless now I'd be,  
I'd lose even my self, since I've lost thee.    

To Sleep.  

I.  
BReak off thy slumber gentle god  
And hither bring thy charming rod  
The rod that weeping eyes does close  
And gives to melancholy hearts repose,  
With that my temples stroke, and let me be  
Held by thy soft Captivity.  
But do not all my senses bind,  
Nor fetter up too close my mind,  
Let mimic Fancy wake, and freely rove,  
And bring th' Idea of the Saint I love.   

II.  
Her lovely image has been brought  
So often to my waking thought  
That 'tis at length worn out and dead,  
And with its fair Original is fled.  
Or else my working overthoughtful mind  
With much intention is made blind,  
Like those who look on Objects bright  
So long till they quite lose their sight.  
Ah Cruel Fates, is't not enough for you  
To take my Saint, but I must lose her Image too?   

III.  
Thee gentle Charmer I implore  
This my lost Treasure to restore,  
Thy magic virtues all apply,  
Set up again my Bankrupt memory.  
Search every Cell and corner of my brain,  
And bring my Fugitive again.  
To thy dark cave thyself betake  
And 'mong thy Dreams enquiry make,  
Summon thy best Ideas to appear  
And bring that Form which most resembles her.   

IV.  
But if in all thy store there be  
None (as I fear) so fair as she,  
Then let thy Painter Fancy limn  
Her Form anew, and send it by a Dream.  
Thou canst him all her lively Features tell  
For sure I think thou knewest her well.  
But if description want suffice  
For him to draw a Piece so nice,  
Then let him to my Breast and Heart repair,  
For sure her Image is not worn out there.    

The Grant.  

I.  
'T Was when the Tide of the returning day  
Began to chase ill forms away,  
When pious dreams the sense employ,  
And all within is Innocence and Joy,  
My melancholy, thoughtful mind  
O'ercome at length to sleep resigned;  
Not common sleep, for I was blest  
With something more divine, more sweet than rest.   

II.  
She who her fine-wrought clay had lately left,  
Of whose sweet form I was bereft,  
Was by kind Fancy to me brought,  
And made the Object of my happy thought.  
Clad she was all in virgin white,  
And shone with Empyreal light,  
A radiant glory crowned her head,  
She streamed with Light and Love, and thus she said,   

III.  
And why this grief and Passion for the Blessed?  
Let all your sorrows with me rest.  
My state is Bliss, but I should live  
Yet much more happy, would you cease to grieve.  
Dry up your tears (Dear Friend) and be  
Happy in my Felicity.  
By this your wisdom you'll approve,  
Nay (what you'd most of all commend) your Love.   

IV.  
She spoke, dissolved I lay and overcome,  
And was with ecstasy struck dumb,  
But ah the fierce tumultuous joy  
It's own weak being hastened to destroy.  
To see that lovely Form appear  
My spirits in such commotion were,  
Sleep could no more their force control,  
They shook their fetters off, & freed my unwilling Soul.   

V.  
What Bliss do we oft to Deluston owe!  
Who would not still be cheated so?  
Opinion an Ingredient  
That goes so far to make up true content,  
That even a Dream of Happiness  
With real joy the Soul does bless,  
Let me but always dream of this,  
And I will envy none their waking Bliss.    

The Aspiration.  

I.  
HOw long great God, how long must I  
Immured in this dark Prison lie?  
Where at the Grates and Avenues of sense  
My Soul must watch to have intelligence.  
Where but faint gleams of thee salute my sight,  
Like doubtful Moonshine in a Cloudy night.  
When shall I leave this magic Sphere,  
And be all mind, all eye, all ear!   

II.  
How Cold this Clime I and yet my sense  
Perceives even here thy influence.  
Even here thy strong Magnetic charms I feel,  
And pant and tremble like the Amorous steel.  
To lower good and Beauties less Divine  
Sometimes my erroneous Needle does decline  
But yet (so strong the sympathy)  
It turns, and points again to thee.   

III.  
I long to see this Excellence  
Which at such distance strikes my sense.  
My impatient Soul struggles to disengage  
Her wings from the confinement of her cage.  
Wouldst thou great Love this Prisoner once set free  
How would she hasten to be linked to thee!  
She'd for no Angels conduct stay,  
But fly, and love on all the way.    

The Defence.  

I.  
THat I am colder in my Friendship grown  
My Faith and Constancy you blame,  
But sure th' inconstancy is all your own,  
I am, but you are not the same.  
The flame of love must needs expire  
If you subtract what should maintain the fire.   

II.  
While to the Laws of Virtue you were true  
You had, and might retain my heart,  
Now give me leave to turn Apostate too,  
Since you do from yourself depart.  
Thus the Reformed are counted free  
From Schism, though they desert the Roman See.   

III.  
The strictest union to be found below  
Is that which Soul and Body ties,  
They all the Mysteries of Friendship know  
And with each other sympathise.  
And yet the Soul will bid adieu  
TO her much distempered mate, as I leave you.    

The Retractation.  

I.  
I'Ve often charged all sublunary bliss  
With vanity and emptiness.  
You woods and streams have heard me oft complain  
How all things, how even your delights were vain.  
Methought I could with one short simple view  
Glance o'er all human joys, and see them through.  
But now great Preacher pardon me,  
I cannot wholly to thy charge agree,  
For Music sure and Friendship have no vanity.   

II.  
No, each of these is a firm massy joy  
Which tho eternal will not cloy.  
Here may the Venturous Soul love on, and find.  
Grasp what she can, that more remains behind.  
Such Depths of joy these living springs contain  
As man t' eternity can never drain.  
These Sweets the truth of Heaven prove,  
Only there's greater Bliss with Saints above  
Because they've better Music there, and firmer love.    

The Prospect.  

I.  
WHat a strange moment will that be  
My Soul, how full of Curiosity,  
When winged, and ready for thy eternal flight  
To th' utmost edges of thy tottering Clay  
Hover and wishing longer stay  
Thou shalt advance, and have Eternity in sight!  
When just about to try that unknown Sea,  
What a strange moment will that be!   

II.  
But yet how much more strange that state  
When loosened from th' embrace of this close mate  
Thou shalt at once be plunged in liberty,  
And move as swift and active as a Ray  
Shot from the lucid spring of day,  
Thou who just now waste clogged with dull mortality,  
How wilt thou bear the mighty change, how know  
Whether thou'rt then the same or no!   

III.  
Then to strange Mansions of the air  
And stranger Company must thou repair:  
What a new Scene of things will then appear!  
This world thou by degrees wast taught to know  
Which lessened thy surprise below,  
But Knowledge all at once will overflow thee there.  
That world as the first man did this, thou'lt see,  
Ripe-grown, in full maturity.   

IV.  
There with bright Splendours must thou dwell,  
And be— what only those pure Forms can tell.  
There must thou live a while, gaze and admire,  
Till the great Angel's Trump this fabric shike  
And all the slumbering Dead awake,  
Then to thy old, forgotten state must thou retire.  
This union than will seem as strange or more  
Than thy new Liberty before.   

V.  
Now for the greatest Change prepare,  
To see the only Great, the only Fair.  
Veil now thy feeble eyes, gaze and be blest;  
Here all thy turns and Revolutions cease,  
Here's all serenity and peace,  
thou'rt to the Centre come, the native seat of rest.  
There's now no further change, nor need there be,  
When One shall be Variety.    

The Return.  

I.  
DEar Contemplation my divinest Joy,  
When I thy sacred Mount ascend  
What Heavenly sweets my Soul employ▪  
Why can't I there my days for ever spend?  
When I have conquered thy steep Heights with Pain  
What pity 'tis that I must down again.   

II.  
And yet I must; my Passions would rebel  
Should I too long continue here,  
No, here I must not think to dwell,  
But mind the Duties of my proper Sphere.  
So Angels, though they Heaven's glories know,  
Forget not to attend their Charge below.    

The 137 Psalms Paraphrased to the 7 Verse.  

I.  
BEneath a reverend gloomy shade  
Where Tigris and Euphrates cut their way,  
With folded arms and heads supinely laid  
We sat, and wept out all the tedious day,  
Within its Banks grief could not be  
Contained, when, Zion, we remembered thee.   

II.  
Our Harps with which we oft had sung  
In solemn strains the great Jehovah's praise,  
Our warbling Harps upon the Trees we hung,  
Too deep our grief to hear their pleasing Lays.  
Our Harps were sad, as well as we  
And tho by Angels touched would yield no Harmony.   

III.  
But they who forced us from our seat  
The Happy Land, and sweet abode of Rest,  
Had one way left to be more cruel yet  
And asked a Song from hearts with grief oppressed.  
Let's hear, say they, upon the Lyre  
One of the Anthems of your Hebrew Quire.   

IV.  
How can we frame our voice to sing  
The Hymns of Joy, Festivity and Praise  
To those who'd aliens to our Heavenly king,  
And want a taste for such exalted Lays.  
Our Harps will here refuse to sound,  
An Holy Song is due to Holy ground.   

V.  
No, dearest Zion, if we can  
So far forget thy melancholy state  
As now thou mournest, to sing one cheerful strain,  
This ill be added to our Ebb of Fate.  
Let neither Harp nor Voice ere try  
One Hallelujah more, but ever silent lie.    

The 139 Psalms Paraphrased to the 14 Verse.  

I.  
IN vain, great God, in vain I try  
T' escape thy quick all-searching eye.  
Thou with one undivided view  
Dost look the whole Creation through.  
The unshaped Embryo's of my mind  
Not yet to Form or likeness wrought,  
The tender rudiments of thought  
Thou see'st, before she can her own Conception find.   

II.  
My Private walks to thee are known,  
In Solitude I'm not alone;  
Thou round my bed a guard dost keep,  
Thy eyes are open, while mine sleep.  
My softest whispers reach thy ear.  
'Tis vain to fancy secrecy;  
Which way so ere I turn thou'rt there,  
I am all round beset with thy Immensity.   

III.  
I can't wade through this Depth, I find,  
It drowns and swallows up my mind.  
'Tis like thy immense Deity,  
I cannot fathom that, or thee.  
Where then shall I a refuge find  
From thy bright comprehensive eye?  
Whither, O whither shall I fly,  
What place is not possessed by thy all-filling mind?   

IV.  
If to the heavenly Orbs I fly,  
There is thy Seat of Majesty.  
If down to Hell's Abyss I go  
There I am sure to meet thee too.  
Should I with the swift wings of Light  
Seek some remote and unknown land,  
Thou soon wouldst overtake my flight,  
And all my Motions rule with thy long-reaching hand.   

V.  
Should I t' avoid thy piercing sight,  
Retire behind the screen of night,  
Thou canst with one celestial ray  
Dispel the shades, and make it day.  
Nor needest thou by such Mediums see,  
The force of thy clear, radiant sight  
Depends not on our grosser light,  
On Light thou sittest enthroned, 'tis ever Day with thee.   

VI  
The Springs which Life and Motion give  
Are thine, by thee I move and live.  
My Frame has nothing hid from thee,  
Thou knowst my whole Anatomy.  
T' an Hymn of Praise I'll tune my Lyre;  
How amazing is this work of thine!  
With dread I into my self retire,  
For though the Metal's base, the Stamp is all divine.    

To Dr. Plot on his Natural History of Stafford-shire.  

I.  
WHat strange Perversity is this of Man!  
When 'twas a Crime to taste th' enlightening Tree  
He could not then his hand refrain  
None then so inquisitive, so Curious as Herald  
But now he has Liberty to try and know  
God's whole Plantation below,  
Now the Angelic fruit may be  
Tasted by all whose arms can reach the Tree,  
he's now by Licence careless made,  
The Tree neglects to climb, and sleeps beneath the shade.   

II.  
Such drowsy sedentary Souls have they  
Who could to Patriarchal years live on  
Fixed to Hereditary Clay  
And know no Climate but their own.  
Contracted to their narrow Sphere  
Rest before Knowledge they prefer,  
And of this globe wherein they dwell  
No more than of the Heavenly Orbs can tell.  
As if by Nature placed below  
Not on this Earth to dwell, but to take root and grow.   

III.  
Dull Souls, why did great Nature take such care  
To write in such a Splendid character.  
If Man the only thing below  
That can pretend her hand to know  
Her fair-writ Volumn does despise,  
And though designed for Wisdom won't be wise?  
Th' Almighty gets no Praise from this dull kind,  
The Sun was never worshipped by the Blind.  
Such Ignorance can ne'er Devotion raise,  
They will want Wisdom, and their Maker Praise.   

IV.  
They only can this Tribute duly yield  
Whose active Spirits range abroad  
Who traverse o'er all Nature's field  
And view the great Magnificence of God.  
They see the hidden wealth of Nature's store  
Fall down, and Learnedly adore,  
But They most justly yet this Tribute pay  
Who done't Contemplate only, but display  
Comment on Nature's Text, and to the sense  
Expose her latent excellence,  
Who like the Sun not only travel o'er  
The world, but give it light that others may adore.   

V.  
In th' Head of these Heroic Few  
Our Learned Author first appears in view,  
Whose searching genius like the Lamp of day  
Does the Earth's Furniture display,  
Nor suffers to lie buried and unknown  
Nature's rich Talon or his own.  
Drake and Columbus do in thee revive,  
And we from thy Research as much receive.  
Thou art as great as they, for 'tis all one  
New Worlds to find, or nicely to describe the known.   

VI  
On Mighty Hero, our whole Isle survey,  
Advance thy Standard, conquer all the way.  
Let nothing but the Sea control  
The progress of thy active Soul.  
Act like a pious Courteous ghost  
And to mankind retrieve what's lost.  
With thy victorious charitable hand  
Point out the hidden Treasures of our Land.  
Envy or Ignorance do what they will,  
Thou hast a Blessing from the Muses Hill.  
Great be thy Spirit as thy Work's divine,  
Show thou thy Maker's Praise, we Poets will sing thine.    

The Exchange.  

I.  
WHen Corydon had lost his Liberty  
And felt the Tyrant's heavy chain;  
He swore, could he but once get free  
He'd never, no, he'd never love again.   

II.  
But stay dull shepherd, if you quench your fire,  
Too dear you'll buy your Liberty:  
Let not such vigorous heats expire,  
I'll teach thee how to love, and yet be free,   

III.  
Take bright Urania to thy Amorous breast,  
To her thy flaming heart resign;  
Void not the room, but change the guest,  
And let thy sensual love commence Divine.   

IV.  
The Swain obeyed, and when he once had known  
This foretaste of the joys above,  
He vowed, though he might be his own,  
Yet he would ever, yes, he'd ever love.    

The Refinement.  

I.  
WEll, 'twas a hard Decree of Fate,  
My Soul, to Clip thy pinions so,  
To make thee leave thy pure Ethereal state  
And breathe the Vapours of this Sphere below,  
Where he that can pretend to have  
Most Freedom, 's still his body's slave.   

II.  
Was e'er a Substance so divine  
With such an unlike Consort joined?  
Did ever things so wide, so close combine  
As massy Clods and Sunbeams, Earth and mind?  
When yet two Souls can ne'er agree  
In Friendship, but by parity.   

III.  
Unequal match! what wilt thou do,  
My Soul, to raise thy Plumes again?  
How wilt thou this gross vehicle subdue,  
And thy first Bliss, first Purity obtain?  
Thy Consort how wilt thou refine,  
And be again all o'er divine?   

IV.  
Fix on the Sovereign Fair thy eye,  
And kindle in thy breast a flame,  
Wind up thy Passions to a pitch so high  
Till they melt down, and rarify thy frame.  
Like the great Prophet then aspire,  
Thy Chariot will like his, be Fire.    

To Melancholy.  

I.  
Mysterious Passion, dearest Pain,  
Tell me, what wondrous Charms are these  
With which thou dost torment and please,  
I grieve to be thy slave, yet would not Freedom gain.  
No Tyranny like thine we know,  
That half so cruel ere appeared,  
And yet thou'rt Loved as well as Feared,  
Perhaps the only Tyrant that is so.   

II.  
Long have I been thy Votary,  
Thou'st led me out to woods and groves,  
Made'st me despise all other Loves,  
And give up all my Passions, all my Soul to thee.  
Thee for my first Companion did I choose  
First, even before my darling Muse,  
And yet I know of thee no more  
Than those who never did thy shrine adore.   

III.  
thou'rt Mystery and Riddle all,  
Like those thou inspirest, thou lov'st to be  
In darkness and obscurity,  
Even learned Athens thee an unknown God might call.  
Strange contraries in thee combine,  
Both Hell and Heaven in thee meet  
Thou greatest bitter, greetest sweet,  
No Pain is like thy Pain, no Pleasure too like thine.   

IV.  
'Tis the grave doctrine of the Schools  
That Contraries can never be  
Consistent in the highest degree,  
But thou must stand exempt from their dull narrow Rules.  
And yet 'tis said the brightest mind  
Is that which is by thee refined.  
See here a greater Mystery;  
Thou makest us wise, yet ruin'st our Philosophy.    

The Discontent.  

I.  
NOt that it is not made my Fate  
To stand upon the dangerous heights of state,  
Nor that I cannot be possessed  
Of th' hidden treasures of the East,  
Nor that I cannot bathe in Pleasure's Spring  
And rifle all the sweets which Natures gardens bring  
Do I repine, my Destiny,  
I can all these despise as well as you deny.   

II.  
It shall not discompose my mind  
Though not one star above to me prove kind.  
Their influence may sway the Sea,  
But make not the least change in me.  
They neither can afflict my state, nor bless,  
Their greatest gifts are small, and my desires are less.  
My Vessel bears but little sail,  
What need I then a full and swelling gale.   

III.  
And yet I'm discontented too,  
Perhaps ye aspiring Souls as much as you,  
We both in equal trouble live,  
But for much different Causes grieve.  
You, that these gilded joys you can't obtain,  
And I, because I know they're empty all and vain.  
You still pursue in hopes to find,  
I stand, and dare not flatter on my mind.   

IV.  
This Tree of Knowledge is, I see,  
Still fatal to poor man's felicity.  
That which yields others great repast,  
Can't please my now enlightened taste.  
Before, though I could nothing solid find,  
Yet still with specious Prospects I could please my mind.  
Now all at farthest I can see  
Is one perpetual Round of Vanity.    

Beauty.  

I.  
BEst Object of the Passion most divine  
What excellence can Nature show  
In all her various store below  
Whose Charms may be compared to thine?  
Even Light itself is therefore fair  
Only because it makes thy Sweets appear.   

II.  
Thou streaming Splendour of the face divive  
What in the Regions above  
Do Saints like thee adore or love,  
What excellence is there like thine?  
I except not the Divinity  
That great and Sovereign good, for thou art Herald   

III.  
He's Beauty's vast Abyss and boundless Sea,  
The Primitive and greatest Fair,  
All his Perfections Beauty's are,  
Beauty is all the Deity.  
Some streams from this vast Ocean flow,  
And that is all that pleases, all that's Fair below.   

IV.  
Divine Perfection who alone art all  
That various Scene of Excellence  
Which pleases either mind or sense,  
Tho thee by different names we call!  
Search Nature through, thou still wilt be  
The Sum of all that's good in her Variety.   

V.  
Love that most active Passion of the mind,  
Whose roving Flame does traverse o'er  
All Nature's good, and reach for more,  
Still to thy magic Sphere's confined.  
'Tis Beauty all we can desire,  
Beauty's the native Mansion of Love's Fire.   

VI  
Those Finer Spirits who from the Crowd retire  
To study Nature's artful Scheme,  
Or speculate a Theorem,  
What is't but Beauty they admire?  
And they too who enamoured are  
Of Virtue's face, love her because she's Fair.   

VII.  
No empire, Sovereign Beauty, is like thine,  
Thou reign'st unrivalled and alone,  
And universal is thy throne,  
Stoics themselves to thee resign.  
From Passions be they ne'er so free  
Something they needs must love, and that is Thee.   

VIII.  
He whom we all adore, that mighty He,  
Owns thy supreme dominion,  
And happy lives in thee alone,  
We're blest in him, and He in thee;  
In thee he's infinitely blest,  
Thou art the inmost Centre of his Rest.   

IX.  
Pleased with thy Form which in his essence shined  
Th' Almighty chose to multiply  
This Flower of his Divinity  
And lesser Beauties soon designed.  
The unformed Chaos he removed,  
Tinctured the Mass with thee, and then it loved.   

X.  
But do not thou My Soul, fixed here remain,  
All Streams of Beauty here below  
Do from that immense Ocean flow,  
And thither they should lead again.  
Trace then these Streams, till thou shall be  
At length overwhelmed in Beauty's boundless Sea.    

Love.  

I.  
IMperial Passion! Sacred fire!  
When we of meaner Subjects sing,  
Thou tune'st our Harps, thou dost our Souls inspire,  
'Tis Love directs the Quill, 'tis Love strikes every string.  
But where's another Deity  
T' inspire the man that sings of thee?   

II.  
W' are by mistaken Chemists told  
That the most active part of all  
The various Compound cast in nature's mould  
Is that which they Mercurial spirit call.  
But sure 'tis Love they should have said,  
Without this even their Spirit is Dead.   

III.  
Love's the great Spring of Nature's wheel,  
Love does the Mass pervade and move,  
What 'scapes the Sun's, does thy warm influence feel,  
The Universe is kept in tune by Love.  
Thou Nature giv'st her Sympathy,  
The Centre has its Charm from thee.   

IV.  
Love did great Nothing's barren womb  
Impregnate with his genial fire,  
From this first Parent did all creatures come,  
Th' Almighty willed, and made all by Desire.  
Nay more, among the Sacred Three,  
The third subsistence is from thee.   

V.  
The Happiest Order of the Blessed  
Are those whose Tide of Love's most high,  
The bright Seraphic Host; who'd more possessed  
Of good, because more like the Deity.  
TO him they advance as they improve  
Their noble heat, for God is love.   

VI  
Shall then a Passion so Divine  
Stoop down and Mortal Beauties know?  
Nature's great Statute Law did ne'er design  
That Heavenly fire should kindle here below.  
Let it ascend and dwell above,  
The proper Element of Love.    

The Consummation. A Pindaric Ode.  

I.  
THe rise of Monarchys, and their long, weighty fall  
My Muse outsoars; she proudly leaves behind  
The Pomp's of Courts, she leaves our little All,  
To be the humble Song of a less reaching Mind.  
In vain I kerb her towering flight;  
All I can here presents too small.  
She presses on, and now has lost their sight,  
She fly's, and hastens to relate  
The last and dreadful Scene of Fate,  
Nature's great solemn Funeral.  
I see the mighty Angel stand  
Clothed with a Cloud, and Rainbow round his head,  
His right foot on the Sea, his other on the Land,  
He lifted up his dreadful arm, and thus he said:  
By the mysterious great Three-one  
Whose Power we fear, and Truth adore  
I swear the Fatal Thread is spun,  
Nature shall breathe her last, and Time shall be no more.  
The Ancient Stager of the Day  
Has run his minutes out, and numbered all his way.  
The parting Isthmus is thrown down  
And all shall now be overflown.  
Time shall no more her under-current know  
But one with great Eternity shall grow,  
Their streams shall mix, and in one Circling channel flow.   

II.  
He spoke. Fate writ the Sentence with her Iron pen,  
And mighty Thunderings said, Amen.  
What dreadful sound's this strikes my ear?  
'Tis sure th' Archangel's trump I hear  
Nature's great Passing-bell, the only Call  
Of God's that will be heard by all.  
The Universe takes the alarm, the Sea  
Trembles at the great Angel's sound  
And roars almost as loud as he,  
Seeks a new channel, and would fain run underground.  
The Earth itself does no less quake  
And all throughout, down to the Centre shake,  
The Graves unclose, and the deep sleepers there awake.  
The Sun's arrested in his way,  
He dares not forward go,  
But wondering stands at the great hurry here below.  
The Stars forget their laws, and like loose Planets stray.  
See how the Elements resign  
Their numerous charge, the scattered Atoms home repair  
Some from the Earth, some from the Sea, some from the Air:  
They know the great alarm,  
And in confused mixed numbers swarm,  
Till ranged, and severed by the Chemistry divine.  
The Father of Mankind's amazed to see  
The Globe too narrow for his Progeny.  
But 'tis the closing of the Age,  
And all the Actors now at once must grace the Stage.   

III.  
Now Muse exalt thy wing, be bold and dare,  
Fate does a wondrous Scene prepare,  
The Central fire which hitherto did burn  
Dull like a Lamp in a moist clammy Urn,  
Fanned by the breath divine begins to glow,  
The Fiends are all amazed below.  
But that will no confinement know  
Breaks through its Sacred Fence, and plays more free  
Than thou with all thy vast Pindaric Liberty.  
Nature does sick of a strong Fever lie.  
The fire the subterraneous Vaults does spoil;  
The Mountain's sweat, the Sea does boil;  
The Sea, her mighty Pulse, beats high.  
The waves of fire more proudly roll;  
The Fiends in their deep Caverns howl,  
And with the frightful Trumpet mix their hideous cry.  
Now is the Tragic Scene begun;  
The Fire in triumph marches on;  
The Earth's girt round with flames, and seems another Sun.   

IV.  
But whither does this lawless Judgement roam?  
Must all promiscuously expire  
A Sacrifice in Sodom's fire?  
Read thy Commission, Fate; sure all are not thy due,  
No, thou must save the virtuous Few.  
But where's the Angel guardian to avert the doom?  
Lo, with a mighty Host he's come.  
I see the parted Clouds give way.  
I see the Banner of the Cross display.  
Death's Conqueror in pomp appears,  
In his right hand a Palm he bears,  
And in his looks Redemption wears,  
Th' illustrious glory of this Scene  
Does the despairing Saints inspire  
With Joy, with Rapture and desire;  
Kindles the higher life that dormant lay within.  
Th' awakened virtue does its strength display  
Melts and refines their dros●y Clay;  
New-cast into a pure Aethereal frame  
They fly and mount aloft in vehicles of flame.  
Slack here my Muse thy roving wing  
And now the world's untuned, let down thy high-set string.    

Freedom.  

I.  
I Do not ask thee Fate to give  
This little span a long reprieve.  
Thy pleasures here are all so poor and vain,  
I care not hence how soon I'm gone.  
Date as thou wilt my time, I shan't complain;  
May I but still live free, and call it all my own.   

II.  
Let my sand slide away apace,  
I care not, so I hold the glass.  
Let me my Time, my Books, my Self enjoy,  
Give me from cares a sure retreat;  
Let no impertinence my hours employ,  
That's in one word, kind Heaven, ●et me ne'er be great.   

III.  
In vain from chains and fetters free  
The great man boasts of Liberty.  
He's pinioned up by formal rules of state;  
Can ne'er from noise and dust retire;  
He's haunted still by Crowds that round him wait,  
His lot's to be in Pain, as that of Fools t' admire.   

IV.  
Mean while the Swain has calm repose,  
Freely he comes and freely goes.  
Thus the bright Stars whose station is more high  
Are fixed, and by strict measures move,  
While lower Planets wanton in the sky,  
Are bound to no set laws, but humoursomly rove.    

To his Muse.  

I.  
COme Muse, let's cast up our Accounts, and see  
How much you are in Debt to me;  
You've reigned thus long the Mistress of my heart  
You've been the ruling Planet of my days,  
In my spare-hours you've had your part,  
Even now my servile hand your sovereign will obeys.  
Too great such service to be Free,  
Tell me what I'm to have for being thy Votary,   

II.  
You have Preferments in your gift you say,  
You can with gold my service pay;  
I fear thy boast, your sacred Hill I'm told  
In a ▪ poor, cursed, and barren Country lies,  
Besides what's state to me, or gold,  
These you long since have taught me to despise.  
To put me off with this would be  
Not to reward, but tax my ill Proficiency.   

III.  
But Fame you say will make amends for all,  
This you your sovereign Blessing call,  
The only lasting good that never dies,  
A good which never can be bought too dear,  
Which all the wise and virtuous prize,  
The gods too with delight their Praises hear.  
This shall my Portion be you say,  
You'll crown my head with an immortal Bay.   

IV.  
Give me a place less high, and more secure,  
This dangerous good I can't endure.  
The peaceful banks which profound silence keep  
The little Boat securely passes by,  
But where with noise the waters creep  
Turn off with Care, for treacherous rocks are nigh.  
Then Muse farewell, I see your store  
Can't pay for what is past, and I can trust no more.     


Of the advantages of Thinking.  
MAN being the only Creature here below designed for a sociable life, has two faculties to distinguish him from other Créatures, Thinking and Speaking. The one, to fit him for the society of others; and the other, to qualify him also for his own. As to the latter of these Faculties, there's no fear of its gathering rust for want of use. We are rather apt to speak too much; and the most Reserved have reason to pray with the Psalmist, Set a watch O Lord before my mouth, and keep the door of my lips.  
But the former, is that which generally lies fallow and neglected; as may be guessed from the intemperate use of the other. There are few indeed, that are capable of thinking to any great purpose: but among those that are, there are fewer that employ this excellent Talon. And for aught I know, however strange it may seem, among the Ingenious and well educated there are as few Thinkers as among the Herd of the vulgar and illiterate. For either they live a Popular life; and than what for business, pleasures, Company, visits, with a world of other impertinencies, there's scarce room for so much as a Morning reflection. Or else, they live retired, and then either they dose away their time in drowsiness and brown studies; or, if brisk and active, they lay themselves out wholly upon devouring books and making Common places, and scarce entertain their Solitude with a Meditation once in a Moon.  
But 'tis merely for want of Thinking that they can allow themselves in doing so. For by a little of this, they would soon discover that of all the Methods of improvement that can be used, there is none so advantageous as Thinking; either for our Intellectuals or our Morals; to make us wiser, or to make us better. And first, for our Intellectuals. 'Tis the perfection of our Rational part to know; that is, to be able to frame clear and distinct conceptions, to form right Judgements, and to draw true consequences from one thing to another. Now besides that the Powers of the mind are made more bright, vigorous, and active by use, as all other faculties are; there is this further advantage, that by habitual thinking the object is made more familiar to the understanding, the Habitudes and relations of Ideas one towards another, by frequent comparing, become more visible and apparent; and consequently, 'tis more easy to divide what ought to be divided, and to compound what ought to be compounded; wherein consists the sum of all Truth and Science.  
Reading is indeed very excellent and useful to this purpose; but Thinking is necessary. This may do without the other, as appears in the first Inventors of Arts and Sciences; who were fain to think out their way to the Recesses of Truth; but the other can never do, without this. Reading without thinking, may indeed make a rich Common place, but 'twill never make a rich head; it may, indeed, bring in a great store of Hyle, but 'tis yet without form and void, till Thinking, like the Seminal spirit, agitates the dead shapeless lump, and works it up into figure and symmetry.  
But of what advantage Thinking is to the advancement of Knowledge, will further appear by considering some of the chief impediments of it; and how they are removed by Thinking. And the first that I shall mention, is the Prejudice of Infancy. We form infinite rash judgements of things, before we duly understand any thing; and these grow up with us, take root, spread and multiply; till, after long use and custom, we mistake them for common notions and dictates of nature; and then we think it a crime to go about to unlearn or eradicate them. And as long as we stand thus affected, we are condemned to errors and perpetual wander. So great reason had the excellent Des-Cartes to lay the foundation of his Philosophy in an Equipoise of mind; and to make the removal of these Prejudices the very entrance and beginning of wisdom.  
But now when a man sets upon a course of Thinking, nothing will be so obvious as to consider, that since we come so late to the perfect use of our reason; among those many judgements we have made, 'tis very likely the major part are false and erroneous. And this is a fair step to the shaking off those infant-Prejudices; at least he will be thereby induced not to believe any thing the rather, because he had given it such early entertainment. From this general reflection he proceeds to examine the things themselves. And now he is a capable Judge, can hear both sides with an indifferent ear, is determined only by the moments of truth▪ and so retracts his past errors, and has the best Moral security against any for the future.  
Another great hindrance to knowledge is the wrong perception of things. When the simple Ideas of our minds are confused, our Judgements can never proceed without error. 'Tis like a fault in the first concoction, which is never corrected in either of the other. For how can I judge whether the Attribute agree to the subject, it my notion of both be confused and obscure? But now, the only cause of the confusedness of our notions, next to the natural inability of our faculties, is want of Attention and close application of mind. We don't dwell enough upon the object; but speculate it transiently and in haste; and then, no wonder that we conceive it by halves. Thinking therefore is a proper Remedy for this defect also.  
Another great hindrance to knowledge is ambiguity of Terms and Phrases. This has bred a world of confusion and misunderstanding, especially in controversies of Religion; a great many of which, if thoroughly sifted and well compared, will be found to be mere verbal contentions. As may appear from what the excellent Monsieur Le Blanc has performed in this kind. But now, this is owing merely to want of thinking. There is a latitude in the Phrase; and one writer not sufficiently attending to that determinate sense of it which his Adversary intends, very hastily and furiously denys what the other does not affirm; and he again as furiously affirms what this does not deny. So that they are really agreed all along, and yet fight on like Fools in the dark. And there is no hopes they will ever be reconciled, till either they will take the pains to think themselves, or some body else will be so kind, as to think for 'em.  
Another great hindrance to knowledge is an overfond and superstitious deference to Authority, especially that of Antiquity. There is nothing that cramps the Parts, and fetters the understandings of men like this straitlaced humour. Men are resolved never to outshoot their forefathers mark; but write one after another, and so the dance goes round in a circle; and the world is never the wiser for being older. Take an instance of this in the Schoolmen, and in the best of them, Aquinas. 'Tis pleasant to see how that great Wit is oftentimes put to't to maintain some unlucky Authorities, for the salving of which he is forced to such shifts and expedients which he must needs (should he dare to think freely) see through and discern to be false; and yet such a slave was he, that he would rather lose truth, than go out of the Road to find it. This also makes men, otherwise senseful and Ingenious, quote such things many times out of an old dull Author, and with a peculiar emphasis of commendation too, as would never pass even in ordinary conversation; and which they themselves would never have took notice of, had not such an Author said it. But now, no sooner does a man give himself leave to think, but he perceives how abusurd and unreasonable 'tis, that one man should prescribe to all Posterity: that men, like beasts, should follow the foremost of the Herd; and that venerable nonsense should be preferred before new-sense: He considers, that that which we call Antiquity, is properly the nonage of the world; that the sagest of his Authoritys were once new; and that there is no other difference between an ancient Author and himself, but only that of time; which, if of any advantage, 'tis rather on his side, as living in a more refined and mature age of the world. And thus having cast off this Intellectual slavery, like one of the brave 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 mentioned by Laertius, he addicts himself to no Author, Sect or Party▪ but freely picks up Truth wherever he can find it; puts to Sea upon his own bottom; holds the Stern himself; and now, if ever, we may expect new discoveries.  
There are other notable impediments to the improvement of knowledge, such as Passion, Interest, fear of being taxed with inconstancy, scorn of being informed by another, Envy, the humour of Contradiction, and sometimes Flattery in applauding every thing we hear, and the like. Now as to the manner how all these are removed by thinking, it may suffice to sav in general, that they are all obviously absurd and ridiculous; and however unthinking men may be abused by them, yet a free and close Thinker must needs quickly perceive that they are so: and there is no better Moral way that I know of to be quit of ill habits, than the being convinced of their Folly and Mischief.  
But the greatest advantage of thinking is yet behind, that it improves our Morals as well as our Intellectuals; and serves to make us Better, as well as Wiser. This is in a great measure included in the other. All therefore that I shall further remark concerning it is this, that considering the great influence the understanding has upon the will, there are but two things necessary to preserve us in our duty. First an habitual Theory of what we ought and ought not to do; and of all the motives and engagements to the one and to the other. Secondly an actual and clear presence of all this to the mind, in every Instant of action. And this is for the most part the thinking man's condition. He does not only Habitually know, but actually attends both to his Duty, and to all the engagements for its performance. He has those Considerations almost always present with him which to others are the Principles of Repentance; and this keeps him in his Duty, which brings others to it; and makes him live like those Righteous persons of whom our Saviour says, that they need no Repentance.   

Of the Care and Improvement of Time.  
TO be careful how we manage and employ our Time, is one of the first Precepts that is taught in the School of Wisdom, and one of the last that is learned. The first and leading dictate of Prudence is, That a Man propose to himself his true and best interest for his End; and the next is, That he make use of all those means and opportunities whereby that end is to be attained. And betwixt these two there is such a close connexion, that he who does not do the latter, cannot be supposed to intend the former. He that is not careful of his actions, shall never persuade me that he seriously proposes to himself his best interest, as his end, for if he did, he would as seriously apply himself to the regulation of the other as the means. And so he that is not careful of his Time, cannot in reason be supposed to be careful of his Actions; for if he were, he would certainly have a special regard to the opportunity of their performance.  
But, as I observed in the beginning, though this Precept be one of the Elementary dictates of Prudence, and stands written in the first page of the Book of Wisdom; yet such is the sottishness and stupidity of the World, that there is none that is more slowly learned. And 'tis a prodigious thing to consider, that, although among all the Talents which are committed to our Stewardship, Time upon several accounts is the most precious, yet there is not any one of which the generality of men are more profuse and regardless. Tho it be a thing of that inestimable value, that 'tis not distributed to us entirely, and at once, like other Blessings, but is dealt out in minutes and little parcels, as if man were not fit to be trusted with the entire possession of such a choice Treasure, yet there are very many that think themselves so overstocked with it, that instead of husbanding it to advantage, the main business of their thoughts is how to rid their hands of it, and accordingly they catch at every shadow and opportunity of relief; strike in at a venture with the next Companion, and so the dead Commodity be taken off, care not who be the Chapman. Nay, 'tis obvious to observe, that even those persons who are frugal and thrifty in every thing else, are yet extremely prodigal of their best Revenue, Time; Of which alone (as Seneca neatly observes) 'tis a Virtue to be Covetous.  
Neither may this Censure be fastened only upon the unthinking multitude, the Sphere of whose Consideration is supposed to be very narrow, and their Apprehension unbiased; but I observe that many of those who set up for Wits, and pretend to a more than ordinary sagacity, and delicacy of Sense, do notwithstanding spend their Time very unaccountably, and live away whole days, weeks, and sometimes months together, to as little purpose (though it may be not so innocently) as if they had been asleep all the while. And this they are so far from being ashamed to own, that they freely boast of it, and pride themselves in it, thinking that it tends to their Reputation, and commends the greatness of their Parts, that they can support themselves upon the Natural stock, without being beholden to the Interest that is brought in by Study and Industry.  
But if their Parts be so good as they would have others believe, sure they are worth improving; if not, they have the more need of it. And though it be an Argument of a rich mind, to be able to maintain itself without labour, and subsist without the advantages of Study, yet there is no man that has such a portion of Sense, but will understand the use of his Time better than to put it to the trial. Greatness of Parts is so far from being a discharge from Industry, that I find Men of the most exquisite Sense in all Ages were always most curious of their Time: Nay, the most Intelligent of all Created Being's (who may be allowed to pass a truer estimate upon things than the finest Mortal Wit) value Time at a high rate. Let me go (says the Angel to the importunate Patriarch) for the day breaketh. And therefore I very much suspect the excellency of those men's Parts, who are dissolute and careless mis-spenders of their Time: For if they were men of any thoughts, how is it possible but these should be some in the number? (viz.) That this Life is wholly in order to another, and that Time is that sole opportunity that God has given us for transacting the great business of Eternity: That our work is great, and our day of working short, much of which also is lost and rendered useless, through the cloudiness and darkness of the Morning, and the thick vapours and unwholesome fogs of the Evening; the ignorance and inadvertency of Youth, and the Diseases and Infirmities of Old Age: That our portion of Time is not only short, as to its duration, but also uncertain in the possession: That the loss of it is irreparable to the loser, and profitable to no body else: That it shall be severely accounted for at the great Judgement, and lamented in a sad Eternity.  
He that considers these things (and sure he must needs be a very unthinking man that does not) will certainly be choice of his Time, and look upon it no longer as a bare state of duration, but as an Opportunity; and consequently will let no part of it (no considerable part at least) slip away either unobserved or unimproved. This is the most effectual way that I know of to secure to ones self the Character of a Wiseman here, and the reward of one hereafter. Whereas the vain Enthusiastic Pretenders to the Gift of Wit, that trifle away their Time, betray the shallowness and poverty of their Sense to the discerning few; or whatever they may pass for here among their fellow Mortals, do most infallibly make themselves cheap in the sight of Angels.   

Of Solitude.  
IT has been urged as an Objection, by some Atheistical Persons, against the existence of a God, that if there had been such a perfect Being, who was completely happy in the enjoyment of himself, he would never have gone about to make a World. Now, though this Objection contributes nothing to the support of Atheism (the design of God in Creating the World being not to increase his happiness, but to Communicate it) yet it proceeds upon this true supposition, That Society is a Blessing. It is so, and that not only respectively, and in reference to the present circumstances of the World, and the Necessities of this Life, but also simply, and in its own Nature; since it shall be an Accessary to our bliss in Heaven, and add many moments to the weight of Glory. Neither will the truth of this assertion be at all weakened by alleging that no benefit or advantage accrues to God by it, for that it becomes unbeneficial to him (though a Blessing in its own nature) is purely by accident, because God eminently containing in himself all possible good, is uncapable of any New Accession.  
And as Society is in its own nature an instrument of Happiness, so is it made much more so by the indigencies and infirmities of Men. Man, of all Creatures in the World, is least qualified to live alone, because there is no Creature that has so many necessities to be relieved. And this I take to be one of the great Arts of Providence, to secure mutual amity and the reciprocation of good turns in the World, it being the Nature of Indigency, like common danger, to endear men to one another, and make them herd together, like Fellow-Sailors in a Storm. And this indeed is the true case of Mankind, we all Sail in one bottom, and in a rough Sea, and stand in need of one another's help at every turn, both for the Necessities and Refreshments of Life. And therefore I am very far from commending the undertaking of those Ascetics, that our of a pretence of keeping themselves unspotted from the World, take up their quarters in Deserts, and utterly abandon all Human Society. This is in short (to say no more of it) to put themselves into an incapacity either of doing any good to the World, or of receiving any from it: and certainly that can be no desirable state. No, this Eremetical way of Living is utterly inconsistent with the Circumstances and Inclinations of Human Nature; he must be a God, Self-sufficient and Independent that is fit for this state of absolute and perfect Solitude, and in this rigorous sense, It is not good for man (though in Paradise itself) to be alone.  
But though Society, as 'tis opposed to a state of perfect and perpetual Solitude, be a Blessing, yet considering how little of it there is in the World that is good, I think it advisable for every man that has sense and thoughts enough, to be his own Companion, (for certainly there is more required to qualify a man for his own company than for other men's) to be as frequent in his Retirements as he can, and to communicate as little with the World as is consistent with the duty of doing good, and the discharge of the common offices of Humanity. 'Tis true indeed (as Seneca says) Miscendae & alternandae sunt Solitudo & frequentia: Solitude and Company are to have their turns, and to be interplaced. But Wisemen use to dedicate the largest share of their Lives to the former, and let the best and most of their Time go to make up the Canonical Hours of Study, Meditation and Devotion. And for this, besides the practice of Wisemen, we have the Authentic example of our B. Lord himself, Who, as 'tis reasonably supposed (for he had passed the thirtieth year of his Life before he entered upon the stage of Action, and then also sought all opportunities to be alone, and oftentimes purchased Retirement at the expense of Night-watches) allotted the greatest part of his little Time here on Earth to Privacy and Retirement; and 'tis highly probable, would have lived much more reservedly, had not the peculiar business of his function made it necessary for him to be conversant in the World. The inclination of our Lord lay more toward the Contemplative way of Life, though the interest of Mankind engaged him oftentimes upon the Active. And 'tis very observable, that there is scarce any one thing which he vouchsafed to grace with so many marks and instances of favour and respect as he did Solitude. Which are thus summed up by the excellent Pen of a very great Master 
The Great Exemplar.  of Learning and Language; It was Solitude and Retirement in which Jesus kept his Vigils; the desert places heard him pray, in a privacy he was born, in the Wilderness he fed his thousands, upon a Mountain apart he was transfigured, upon a Mountain he died, and from a Mountain he ascended to his Father. In which Retirements his Devotion certainly did receive the advantage of convenient circumstances, and himself in such dispositions twice had the opportunities of Glory.  
Indeed, the Satisfactions and Advantages of Solitude (to a person that knows how to improve it) are very great, and far transcending those of a Secular and Popular Life. First, as to Pleasure and Satisfaction, whosoever considers the great variety of men's humours, the peevishness of some, the pride and conceitedness of others, and the impertinence of most; he that considers what unreasonable terms of Communion some persons impose upon those that partake of their Society; how rare 'tis for a man to light upon a Company, where, as his first Salutation, he shall not presently have a Bottle thrust to his Nose; he, I say, that considers these and a thousand more grievances, wherewith the folly and ill nature of men have conspired to burden Society, will find, take one time with another, Company is an occasion of almost as much displeasure as pleasure. Whereas in the mean time the Solitary and Contemplative man sits as safe in his Retirement as one of Homer's Heroes in a Cloud, and has this only trouble from the follies and extravagancies of men, that he pities them. He does not, it may be, laugh so loud, but he is better pleased: He is not perhaps so often merry, but neither is he so often disgusted; he lives to himself and God, full of Serenity and Content.  
And as the Pleasures and Satisfactions of Solitude exceed those of a Popular Life, so also do the Advantages. Of these there are two sorts, Moral and Intellectual; to both which Solitude is a particular friend. As to the first, it is plain that Solitude is the proper opportunity of Contemplation, which is both the Foundation and the Perfection of a Religious Life. It is (as the same excellent Person forecited says elsewhere of a single Life) the huge advantage of Religion, the great opportunity for the Retirements of Devotion, which being empty of Cares is full of Prayers, being unmingled with the World is apt to converse with God, and by not feeling the warmth of a too forward and indulgent Nature, flames▪ out with holy Fires, till it be burning like the Cherubin and the most ecstasied Order of holy and unpolluted Spirits. And for this reason 'twas that the ancient chose to build their Altars and Temples in Groves and Solitary▪ Recesses, thereby intimating▪ that Solitude was the best opportunity of Religion.  
Neither are our intellectual advantages less indebted to Solitude. And here, though I have in a great measure anticipated this consideration (there being nothing necessarily required to complete the Character of a Wiseman, besides the knowledge of God and himself) yet I shall not confine myself to this instance, but deduce the matter further, and venture to affirm that all kinds of Speculative knowledge as well as practical, are best improved by Solitude. Indeed there is much talk about the great benefit of keeping Great men company, and thereupon 'tis usually reckoned among the disadvantages of a Country life, that those of that condition want the opportunities of a Learned Conversation. But to confess the truth, I think there is not so much in it as people generally imagine. Indeed, were the Souls of men lodged in transparent cases, that we might read their thoughts; would they communicate what they know, were it the fashion to discourse learnedly, 'twere worth while to frequent the Cabals of Great men: But when it shall be counted a piece of errand Pedantry, and defect of good breeding to start any Question of Learning in Company; when every man is as shy of his Notions as of a Fairy-treasure; and makes his Head not a Repository or Exchequer of Knowledge, but a Grave to bury it in: A man may be a constant attendant at the Conclaves of Learned men all his life long, and yet be no more the wiser for't than a Book-worm is for dwelling in Libraries. And therefore, to speak ingeniously, I don't see for my part wherein the great advantage of great Conversation lies, as the humours of men are pleased to order it. Were I to inform myself in business, and the management of affairs, I would sooner talk with a plain illiterate Farmer or Trades-man than the greatest Vertuoso of The Society; and as for Learning (which is the only thing they are supposed able to discourse well of) that in point of Civility they decline: So that I find I must take refuge at my Study at last, and there redeem the Time that I have lost among the Learned.   

Of Courage.  
A Ristotle in his Morals begins the Doctrine of Virtues with Courage; which has found work for his Interpreters to assign the reason of his method. But, methinks, there is no great need they should either study or differ much about it. For certainly, among all the Virtues this will justly challenge the Precedency, and is the most Cardinal and fundamental part of Morality. This Virtue is pre-required to the susception of all the rest. For the very entrance into the School of wisdom and a virtuous course is a state of Discipline, Difficulty and Hardship. And therefore 'tis sapere aude, a great piece of daring and boldness to set up for a good man: especially, if to the proper difficulties and Agonies of a Virtuous engagement, we add those calamities and straits it oftentimes exposes us to, through the malice and folly of the world. So that as Plato writ upon his School 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 Let none enter here that understands not Mathematics, it may be set as a Motto upon the School of Virtue, Let none enter here that wants Courage.  
And as 'tis necessarily requisite to the susception of all other virtues, so is it their main support, guardian and establishment. Without this, every other Virtue is precarious, and lies at the mercy of every cross accident. Without this, let but a Pistol be held to the breast, and the severest Chastity will be frighted into compliance, the most Heroic Friendship into treachery, and the most ardent Piety into renunciation of God and Religion. There is nothing among all the frailnesses and uncertainties of this sublunary world so tottering and unstable, as the virtue of a Coward. He has that within him that upon occasion will infallibly betray every virtue he has; and to secure him from sin, you must keep him from Temptation. This was the Principle the Devil went upon in his encounter with Job, Do but put forth thy hand, (says he to God) and touch all that he hath, and he will curse thee to thy face. He was right enough in the Proposition, though mistaken in the application.  
Having now seen the usefulness of this great Virtue, 'twill be worth while to inquire a little into its Nature. And that the rather, because 'tis not only variously and falsely apprehended by the many, but too confusedly and darkly delivered even by Moralists themselves.  
That which with the Vulgar passes for Courage, is certainly nothing else but stupidity, desperateness or fool-hardiness; a brutish sort of Knight-errantry in seeking out needless encounters, and running into dangers without fear or wit; which is so far from having the forementioned property of Courage, of being a guardian, and security of our Virtues, that 'tis in itself a sin.  
But are we like to have a better account of it from the Moralists? why they tell you that it is a Mediocrity between Fear and Boldness; So Aristotle in his Ethics. But then as for defining what this Mediocrity is (wherein the very point of the business lies) you are as much to seek as ever.  
Others will tell you that 'tis a firmness of mind in sustaining evils, and undertaking dangers. Accordingly they assign two parts of Courage Sustinere & Aggredi. Thus Epictetus and the School of the Stoics. But what it is thus firmly to sustain or undertake an evil, and what evils are to be thus sustained or undertaken, they either could not, or have not thought fit to acquaint us.  
In order therefore to the settling the Point in hand, I consider 1st in general, that Courage has evil of Pain for its object, which in some circumstances is to be chosen or submitted to. Whence I form this general Idea of Courage that 'tis a firm and peremptory resolution of Mind to choose evil of Pain in right circumstances, or when 'tis truly eligible. This Definition I confess runs in general Terms, much like one of Aristotle's, but I intended it for no other. Only it has this advantage above his, that it lays a Foundation for one that is more particular.  
For 'tis but here to subjoin when an evil is truly eligible, and the Idea of Courage will be sufficiently determinate and express. Now to make a thing eligible 'tis necessary that some way or other it appear good; evil being no way eligible under its own formality. And to make an evil put on the nature and appearance of good, two things are necessary. 1st that it be a lesser evil than some other, and 2ly that the choosing of it be a necessary Medium for the preventing of that other. Then, and in no other case, is evil truly eligible: and consequently, we shall not be mistaken in the Idea of Courage, if we define it to be such a firm and constant 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 or disposition of mind, whereby a man is fixed and determined never to dread any evil, so far as to decline it when the choosing it is the only remedy against a greater. And this is most eminently signalised in the case of Martyrdom, when a man submits to the greatest evils of Pain to avoid that much greater one of Sin. This is the very summity and perfection of Courage, that which an Hannibal or a Scipio could never equal in all their gallantry and feats of war: and I dare venture to pronounce, that he who would rather die or part with any worldly interest than commit a sin, can never be a Coward.  
And here I cannot but take notice of a false notion of Honour and Courage whereby the world has been generally abused; especially those men that make the highest pretensions to both. According to these men's Measures of things, 'tis sufficient reason to post a man up for a Coward if he refuse a Duel; And to merit a badge of Honour from the Herald's Office if he accept it. These men would be ready to laugh at me, I know, as a lover of Paradoxes, should I tell them that their characters must be quite transposed to make them true. And yet I cannot help it, so it falls out that he who declines the Duel is indeed the man of Honour and Courage, and he who accepts it is the Coward. For he who declines it, despises the obloquy and scorn of the world that he may approve himself to God and his own Conscience, would rather be pointed and hissed at, than be damned; and so chooses a lesser evil to avoid a greater. But he that accepts the Duel, so dreads the loss of his credit among those whose good opinion is of no value, that to avoid it he chooses to incur sin and damnation; and so chooses a greater evil to avoid a less. And if this be Courage, we must strike it out of the Catalogue of the Virtues, for nothing is so, that is not under the direction of Prudence; much less what is downright Folly and the very exaltation of Madness.   

Of Seriousness.  
SInce I began to consider so far as to make Reflections upon myself, the most early and prevailing▪ disposition which I observed was an Inclination to Seriousness, and since I considered the nature of things and the circumstances of Human life, I found I had reason to thank the kind influence of my birth for making that my Temper, which otherwise I must have been at more cost to acquire.  
For though it be generally reckoned only as a Semi-vertue, and by some as no virtue at all, yet certainly nothing is of greater advantage both as to Intellectual and Moral attainments than to be of a serious, composed and recollected spirit. If it be not itself a virtue, 'tis at lest the Soil wherein it naturally grows, and the most visible mark whereby to know those that have it. This is that whereby a Man is chiefly distinguished from a Child, and a Wise man from a Fool. For (as the Son of Sirac observes) a man may be known by his 
Eccles. 19  look, and one that has understanding by his countenance when thou meetest him. And again speaking of levity and dissoluteness of behaviour, A man's attire, excess of laughter and gaiety show what he is, that is, it shows he is none of the wisest. And that this was his true meaning we may be assured from another Character of his, where he expressly makes the signs of wisdom and folly to consist in these two properties, (viz.) that a Fool lifts up his voice with 
Ecclus. 21.  laughter, but a Wise man does scarce smile a little.  
There is indeed a near Relation between Seriousness and Wisdom, and one is a most excellent Friend to the other. A man of a serious sedate and considerate temper as he is always in a ready disposition for Meditation (the best improvement both of knowledge and manners) so he thinks without disturbance, enters not upon another Notion till he is master of the first, and so makes clean work with it. Whereas a man of a loose, volatile and shattered humour thinks only by fits, and starts now and then in a Morning interval, when the serious mood comes upon him, and even then too let but the least trifle cross his way, and his desultorious fancy presently takes the Scent, leaves the unfinished and half-mangled notion, and skips away in pursuit of the new game. So that although he conceives often, yet by some chance or other he always miscarrys, and the issue proves Abortive.  
Indeed nothing excellent can be done without Seriousness, and he that courts wisdom must be in earnest. St James assures us that 'tis 
cap. 1. v. 7.  to no purpose for a wavering and unstable man to pray, because he shall be sure not to speed. And as 'tis in vain for such a one to Pray, so is it in vain for him to study. For a man to pretend to work out a neat scheme of thoughts with a magotty unsettled head, is as ridiculous and nonsensical as to think to write straight in a jumbling Coach, or to draw an exact Picture with a Palsy hand. No, he that will hit what he aims at must have a steady hand as well as a quick eye, and he that will think to any purpose, must have fix'dness and composedness of humour, as well as smartness of parts.  
And accordingly we find that those among the Philosophic Sects that professed more than ordinary eminency in wisdom or virtue, assumed also a peculiar gravity of Habit, and solemnity of Behaviour, and the most sacred and mysterious rites of Religion were usually performed with silence; and that not only for decency, but for advantage. Thus the Italians who are the gravest are also the most ingenious people under heaven, and 'tis a known observation of Aristotle's concerning melancholy, that it furthers Contemplation and makes great Wits. Thus again the Discipline of Silence was a considerable part of the Pythagoric institution, and we have it storied of our B. Lord himself who was the wisdom of his father, that he never laughed.  
But because a solemn deportment may sometimes disguise an unthinking mind, and grave in some men's Dictionaries signifies the same as Dull, I shall put the Character a little more home, and define more closely wherein the true Idea of Seriousness consists, or what it is to be in good earnest a serious man.  
And 1st I shall remove it from the neighbourhood of those things which by their symbolising with it in outward appearance prove oftentimes the occasion of mistake and confusion. It does not therefore consist in the morosity of a Cynic, nor in the severity of an Ascetic, nor in the demureness of a Precisian, nor in the deadness and sullenness of a Quaker, nor in the solemn mien of an Italian, nor in the slow pace of a Spaniard; 'Tis neither in a drooping head, nor a mortified face, nor a Primitive Beard.  
'Tis something very different and much more excellent than all this that must make up a serious man. And I believe I shall not misrepresent him if I say he is one that duly and impartially weighs the moments of things so as neither to value Trifles, nor despise things really excellent. That dwells much at home and studies to know himself as well as Books or men; that considers why he came into the world, how great his business and how short his stay in it, how uncertain 'tis when he shall leave it, and whither a sinner shall then betake himself when both Heaven and Earth shall 
Rev. 20.  fly from the presence of the Judg. That considers God as always present, and the Folly of doing what must be repent of, and of going to Hell when a man may go to Heaven. In one word, that knows how to distinguish between a moment and eternity.  
This is to be truly serious, and however the Pretenders to gaiety and lightsomness of Humour may miscall and ridicule it by the names of Melancholy, dullness and stupidity etc. He that is thus affected cannot miss of being wise and good here, and happy hereafter. And then 'twill be his turn to laugh, when the others shall mourn and weep.   

Of the slightness of all Secular, and the importance of minding our Eternal, Interest.  
IDleness and Impertinence, a doing of nothing or of nothing to the purpose, are always signs of a vain, loose, and inconsiderate spirit, but they are never more so, than when there is some very momentous and weighty business to be done. The man that sleeps away his happy Retirements, or with the Roman Emperor spends them in kill flies, betrays a great deal of weakness and incogitancy, but should he do the same at the Bar, when he's to plead for his life, he would certainly be thought a mere changeling or madman.  
And yet this I fear will prove the case of the most of those who style themselves Rational. For besides that the generality of men live at random, without any aim or design at all, and those that propose some ends seldom take up with any that are important and material, or if they do, they seldom proportion their care to the weight of things, but are serious in trifles, and trifling in things serious, I say besides all this, there is nothing relating purely to this world that can deserve the name of Business, or be worth the serious thoughts of him who has an immortal Soul, and a Salvation to work out with fear and trembling. The greatest secular affairs and interests are but Specious Trifles, and all our designs and employments about 'em Excentrical Motions, and solemn impertinencies.  
And yet this is made the Centre of all our studies and endeavours, the great Bend of the world points this way, hence are taken the measures of Wisdom and Prudence, and Religion itself is forced to truckle to worldly Policy. Whereas in the mean time there is an Affair of grand importance, and wherein all mankind are deeply concerned, and such as really deserves all that care and solicitude, which we lavish away upon other things, and infinitely more (though perhaps it might be secured with less) and yet this is the thing which by many is utterly neglected, by the most is least cared for, and by none sufficiently regarded. So that considering the general practice of the world, I think there are very few in it to whom that will not be a very proper and seasonable admonition, which our B. Lord gave to his solicitous and overbusy Disciple, Martha, Martha, thou art careful and troubled about many things, but one thing is needful.  
To cure therefore (if possible) this great folly, I have two Propositions to offer; 1st that no interest relating purely to this present world is of any great moment or concern to man, 2ly that to be very careful of our final interest, and to make sure to ourselves a happy eternity is indeed a thing of vast moment and importance.  
The first of these I know will seem very strange and paradoxical to one that takes a prospect of mankind, and contemplates the great stir and hurry of the world, the Plottings of Statesmen, the Emulations of Courtiers, and the Ambition of Princes, how busy men are in their several concerns, what variety of designs are on foot, with what trembling eagerness they are prosecuted, and what grief attends our disappointments. Sure after such a Scene as this one would be tempted to think, that there must be something very considerable in Human life, and that men had notable interests here at stake, it being a reproach to human nature that the world should so generally combine to make such ado about nothing.  
But yet that this is their folly, not to insist upon that universal vanity which the wise and great Trier of the world has charged upon it, that Hope deferred makes the heart sick, 
Prov. 13.  and yet Fruition does not cure it, that we are disappointed in our enjoyments as well as in our losses, and yet that 'tis our hard fate to weep at the Funeral of our departed Pleasures, though we were little the happier for them when we had them; that our greatest pleasures are most transient, and great mirth always ends in heaviness and demission of spirit, that the more we love or enjoy the more we venture, and put ourselves further within the reach of Fortune; that the greatest men are not always the most contented, and that they who are most envied by others think themselves more fit for their Pity; not to insist I say on these or the like considerations, I shall fix only upon one, whereby I think 'twill plainly appear that there can be no interest relating purely to this world, that is of any great moment or concern to man. And that is the shortness and uncertainty of our abode here.  
The life of man in the Book of Wisdom is compared to a shadow. Now besides that the resemblance holds in many considerable respects, as in that it is partly Life and partly Death, as the other is partly Light and partly Darkness, in that like a shadow wherever it passes it leaves no tract behind it, in that it seems to be something when indeed it is nothing, in that 'tis always altering and ends on a sudden, and when at its full height and prime is often nearest to Declension, as a shadow is to disappear when at full length, there is yet another instance of resemblance, which has a more particular aptness to our present purpose. The shadow can continue no longer at the utmost than the light of the Sun keeps its residence above the Horizontal line, which is but a little portion of time, but it may fall much short of that period by the interposition of a cloud, and when that may be is as uncertain as the weather, and depends upon a thousand accidents.  
And thus 'tis with our lives. No man can lengthen out his days beyond that natural Term which is set him by the temperament of the first Qualitys, which yet are of such jarring and unsociable natures that they can't dwell long together in a vital amity. But then how far, and how many ways, he may fall short of that compass, depends upon so many hidden causes, and so many little accidents that it may be reckoned among the greatest of uncertainties. So that there is nothing in all human life so frail and uncertain as life it self.  
A consideration sufficient to depretiate and vilify all the entertainments and interests of the Animal life, and to call off our care from the objects of secular Happiness though there were no other vanity in them. For were they never so good and solid in themselves, yet the Foundation on which they stand is so weak and rotten, that 'tis dangerous leaning hard upon them. They would be even upon this supposition like Nebuchadnezzar's statue, made up indeed of rich metal, but founded upon feet of clay. And upon this account they are to be esteemed as vile and contemptible as they are ruinous.  
This is a consideration indeed that has but little effect in the world, and the reason is because few give any serious heed and attention to it. They know it indeed habitually, and must confess it if put to the question, but it lies Dormant in 'em, and they seldom actually attend to it. And therefore 'tis that the voice bids the Prophet Isaiah, Cry and proclaim it aloud that all flesh is grass, and all the goodliness thereof as the flower of the field. He is bid to cry aloud, thereby intimating both the importance of the thing, and the general stupidity of men in not considering it.  
But if men would but often and seriously meditate upon the shortness and uncertainty of life, I persuade myself they would not set their hearts much upon any thing in it, but would look upon all its Pleasures, Honours and Profits with the same indifferency that the hasty Traveller does upon the specious fields and meadows which he passes by. For to what purpose I pray, should man who holds his Tenement here by such a short and unstable Tenure, that can't live long and may die presently, be so busy and thoughtful about worldly concerns? The ancient Patriarches, though their span was so very much longer than ours, thought it hardly worth while to build houses, but contented themselves to grow grey in Tents; and what do we mean who in comparison to them are but 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 (as Pindar calls us) people for a day, by plunging ourselves so deeply into care and trouble? Is there any thing among the actions of either Brutes or Madmen so silly and irrational as this?  
But to be a little particular, to what purpose should man who walketh in a vain shadow, difquiet himself also thus in vain, and be so greedy in heaping up riches when he can't tell who shall gather them? To what purpose should a man trouble both the world's and his own rest to make himself great? For besides the emptiness of the thing, the Play will quickly be done, and the Actors must all retire into a state of equality, and then it matters not who personated the Emperor, or who the Slave. To what purpose should a man be very earnest in the pursuit of Fame? He must shortly die, and so must those too who admire him. Nay I could almost say, to what purpose should a man lay himself out upon study, and drudge so laboriously in the Mines of Learning? He's no sooner a little wiser than his Brethren, but Death thinks him ripe for his sickle, and for aught we know after all his pains and industry, in the next world an Idiot or a Mechanic will be as forward as he. To what purpose lastly does a Tyrant oppress his people, transgress those bounds which wise Nature has set him, invade his neighbor's Countries, deprive the innocent and peaceable of their Liberty, sack Cities, plunder Provinces, depopulate Kingdoms and almost put the foundations of the Earth out of course, to what purpose is all this? Thou Fool, says our B. Saviour, this night thy Soul shall be required of thee, and then whose shall those things be which thou hast provided?  
There is certainly nothing in all Nature so strange and unaccountable as the actions of some men. They see, as the Psalmist speaks, that wise men also die and perish together as well as the ignorant and foolish, and leave their riches for others, and yet they think (at least act as if they did) that their houses shall continue for ever, and that their dwelling places shall endure from one generation to another, and call their lands after their own names.  
This they think is their wisdom, but the Psalmist assures them 'tis their foolishness, and such a foolishness too as makes them comparable to the Beasts that perish, however their Posterity may praise their saying. And certainly the Learned Apostle was of the same mind, when from this Principle, The time is short, he deduces the very same conclusion we have hitherto pleaded for, that we should be very indifferent and unconcerned about any worldly good or evil, that they that have wives should be as though they had none, and they that weep as the they wept not, they that rejoice as though they rejoiced not, they that buy as though they possessed not, and they that use this world as not abusing it, for the fashion of this world passes away. It does so, and for that reason there is nothing in this life to be very much loved, or very much feared, especially if we consider what a grand interest we have all of us at stake in the other world. For as 'tis▪ with the sufferings so is it with the enjoyments of this present time, they are neither of them worthy to be compared with the glory that shall be revealed.  
We have seen how frivolous and unconcerning the greatest affairs of this world are, how unworthy to be made the objects of our solicitude, much more to be the Business of our lives, we have weighed them in the Balance, and they are found wanting. But man is a Creature of brisk and active faculties, and is there no employment for him? yes, as God has furnished him with Powers, so also has he assigned him a work, and such a one too as is to be performed with Fear and Trembling. There is a good fight to be fought, there is a whole Body of sin to be destroyed, there are Passions to be mortified, Habits to be unlearnt, Affections to be purified, Virtuous and holy dispositions to be acquired, Acts of virtue to be opposed against Acts of sin, and Habits against Habits, in a word there is a Heaven to be obtained, and a Hell to be avoided. This indeed is a great work, and of great concernment to be done, and such as calls for our principal, (I could almost say our whole) care and diligence. The great necessity of which for more distinctness sake, I shall represent in a few Considerations.  
And Is't, it highly concerns us to be very careful concerning our final interest, because of the vast, the infinite Moment of the thing. For certainly it can be no less whether a man shall be Damned or Saved, eternally Happy, or eternally Miserable. No man certainly that thinks at all, can think this an indifferent matter, or if he does he will one day be sadly convinced of the contrary, when he shall curse the day of his Birth, and wish for the Mercy of Annihilation. The lowest conception we can frame of the condition of the Damned, is an utter exclusion from the Beatific presence of God. And though the non-enjoyment of this be no great punishment to sensual men in this state and Region of exile, who perhaps would be content that God should keep Heaven to himself, so he would let them have the free use of the Earth, yet hereafter when the Powers of their Souls shall be awakened to their full vigour and activity, when they shall have a lively and thorough apprehension of true Happiness, and of the infinite Beauties of the Supreme good, there will arise such a vehement Thirst, such an intense longing in the Soul, as will infinitely exceed the most exalted languishments of Love, the highest Droughts of a Fever. The Soul will then point to the Centre of Happiness with her full bent and verticity, which yet she shall find utterly out of her reach, and so full of Desire and full of Despair she shall lament both her Folly and her Misery to eternal ages. And who is able to dwell even with these everlasting Burnings?  
But 2ly as an Argument for our great Care we may consider, that as the interest is great, so a more than ordinary care is necessary to secure it. And that upon several accounts. Is't because our Redemption by Christ is not our immediate and actual discharge from sin, (as the Antinomians would have it) but only an instating us into a Capacity of Pardon and Reconciliation, which is to be actually obtained by the performance of Conditions, without which we shall be so far from being the better for what has been done and suffered for us, that our Condemnation will be so much the heavier for neglecting to finish so great Salvation.  
2ly, Because the Conditions of our Salvation though tempered with much mercy and accommodation to human infirmity, are yet so difficult as to engage us to put forth our whole might to the work. A great part of Christianity is very harsh to Flesh and Blood, however to the Habituated Disciple Christ's yoke may be easy and his burden light. And accordingly the Path that leads to life is called narrow, and the gate (though opened by our Saviour) is yet so straight that we are bid to strive to enter in at it. And the Righteous scarcely are saved.  
Again, because there is a strong confederacy against us among the Powers of darkness. We have a very potent and malicious enemy, who envys man should arrive to those happy mansions from whence himself by transgression fell; And accordingly, there is a great woe pronounced by the Angel against the inhabitants of the earth, because the Devil is come down among them having great wrath. And this is made by the Apostle himself an Argument for more than ordinary care and circumspection. Be sober, says he, be vigilant, because your adversary the Devil walks about as a roaring Lion seeking whom he may devour.  
Again, because we have but a little time for this our great work, and that too very precarious and uncertain. Our glass holds but very little sand though 'twere to be all spent, and drawn out in the running. But there are also several accidental impediments that may intercept its passage; And therefore as this was alleged as an argument for indifferency about the things of this world, so for the same reason, it concerns us to be eminently careful in the grand business of the next. He that duly considers how many persons die suddenly, how many more may, and that none can engage for it that he himself shall not, must needs confess himself extremely concerned to improve this short, this uncertain opportunity, this only time of Probation, and to work with all his might while 'tis day, before the night come, when no man can work.  
Lastly, it concerns us to use a more than ordinary care and diligence in securing this our great interest, because after all our Care and Vigilancy, all our strictnesses and severities, we don't know the just and precise measures of Qualification, and how much Trimming of our Lamps is requisite to fit 'em for the Sanctuary of God. For though we are well assured in general from the terms of the Evangelical Covenant, that if we repent we shall be forgiven, yet there is a great Latitude in Repentance, and what degree in some cases will be available, is a secret God has kept to himself. For we don't know the full heinousness of our Sins, nor how far God was provoked by 'em, nor consequently by what degrees of sorrow and amendment he will be appeased. And 'tis most certain there is a mighty difference. To Simon Magus 'twas almost a desperate cas e: If peradventure 
Act. 8. 22.  the thoughts of thy heart may be forgiven thee. And some are said to be saved with fear, & 
Jud. 22.  as it were pulled out of the fire. And we know what the great Apostle has said, I know nothing by myself, yet am I not thereby justified. All which argues a great latitude and variety even in necessary preparations, and how to state the matter exactly we don't know, and therefore as far as we are able should be sure to do enough, for we may easily do too little, and can never do too much in a matter of such high importance.  
From all which I conclude, Is't that those who withdraw themselves (as far as is consistent with charity and the prosecution of the public good) from the noise, hurry and business of the world, that they may apply themselves more serenely and entirely to a life of Devotion and Religion, and more freely and undistractedly attend upon the grand concern of another world, act very wisely and prudently. For this is wisdom, to take a right estimate of things, to proportion our care to their value, and to mind that most which is most concerning. This is what the Apostle commends, to lay aside every weight, that we may be the surer to win the great prize, and so to run as to obtain. This lastly is the very part which Mary chose, and which our Lord assures us shall never be taken away from her.  
Again I conclude, that all those who are either wholly negligent of this their grand interest, or that do not principally regard it, and as our Saviour speaks, in the first place seek the kingdom of God, that are more intent upon this world than the next, that will venture to play the knave for a little preferment, that make use of Religion as an instrument for secular designs, in one word, that in any kind forfeit their great interest in the other world, for a little in this, are the greatest Fools in nature. This Measure I confess will take in a great many, and some perhaps who would think it a great affront to be reckoned of the number. But it can't be helped, the charge is most unquestionably true, and they themselves however conceited of their wit and parts now, will once be of the same opinion, when they shall say, we Fools thought his life madness.  
God grant we may all so number our days, and so compare our two interests, as to apply our hearts to greater wisdom.   

A METAPHYSICAL ESSAY TOWARD THE Demonstration of a GOD, From the Steady and Immutable nature of Truth.  
A Metaphysical Essay etc.  

SECT. I. How difficult a thing 'tis to demonstrate a God by any new medium, and how far the present Essay may pretend to do so.  
1. IT has been the curious employment of so many and so excellent Pens to demonstrate the Existence of a God, and this they have done with such variety of Arguments, Moral, Physical and Metaphysical, that however easy it may be to contrive new Postures, and ring other Changes upon the same Bells, 'tis yet almost as difficult to find out an Argument for the proof of a God that has not been used already, as to resist the Cogency of those that have. So that here if any where, that of Solomon is more than ordinarily verified, The thing that has been it is that which shall 
Eccles. 1. 9  be, and that which is done is that which shall be done, and there is no new thing under the Sun.  
2. The newest indeed that has of late years appeared to the world is that of the celebrated Des-Cartes, taken from the Idea of God considered both absolutely in its self, as including all kinds and degrees of Perfection and consequently Existence, and as 'tis subjected in the mind of man, which (as he contends) could never have had such an Idea, were there not something which had all that Perfection in it Formally or eminently, which is in the Idea objectively.  
3. Now though this Procedure of his be extraordinarily fine and subtle, and such as (to the first part at least) will appear no less strong and concluding to any capable and indifferent Person, that considers it as 'tis managed at large by its ingenious Author, yet this was not a Notion newly excogitated but only revived by him. For Aquinas had before lighted upon the former and refused it, and he is beholding to St. Austin and the School of the Platonists for the latter.  
4. I speak not this to diminish one ray from the glory of that incomparable Speculatist. That which I remark here is not the Barrenness of his Invention, but that of the exhausted Subject. The matter had been squeezed before to the last drop, and his only fault was that he was not born sooner. Which might be a sufficient Apology if this Procedure of mine prove not entirely new and unblown upon. Whether it be or no 'tis not possible (without examining all the books in the world) absolutely to determine. This much I believe I may venture to say, that 'tis no where universally received, nor by any that I know of industriously and professedly managed, and that lastly 'tis as new as the matter will now afford, and consequently as any man in reason ought to expect.   

SECT. II. The various acceptations of Truth, and which that is which is made the ground of the present Demonstration.  
1. HAving undertaken to demonstrate the Existence of God from the steady and immutable nature of Truth, I am first to distinguish the Equivocalness or latitude of the word, and then to point out to that determinate part, which I intent for the ground of my Demonstration.  
2. The most general Partition of Truth is into Truth of the Thing and Truth of the understanding, or (according to the language of the Schools) Truth of the Object and Truth of the Subject. Both of these again have a double subdivision. For by Truth of the Object may be understood either that Transcendental verity which is convertible with Ens, and runs through the whole Circle of Being whereby every thing is really what it is, which is simple Truth. Or else certain Relations and Habitudes of things one towards another whether Affirmatively or Negatively, which is Complex Truth.  
3. And so again by Truth of the Subject may be understood either a due conformity between the understanding and the Object, when I compound what is compounded, and divide what is divided, which is Logical Truth. Or else a due conformity between the words and the understanding, when I speak as I think, which is Moral Truth or Veracity.  
4. Now the Truth, upon whose immutable Nature I build the Demonstration of a God, is not that of the Subject, but that of the Object. Nor that neither according to its simple and Transcendental acceptation, but as it signifies certain immutable relations and habitudes of things one towards another by way of Affirmation and Negation, which is Truth of the Object Complex.   

SECT. III. That there are such Relations and Habitudes of things toward one another, and that they are steady and immutable.  
1. TWo things are here asserted, 1st that there are Relations and Habitudes of things towards one another, and 2ly that they are steady and immutable. First I say, there are certain relations and habitudes betwixt thing and thing. Thus there is a certain habitude between some Premises and some Conclusions, for any thing will not follow from any thing; between some Objects and some Faculties; between some ends and some means; between some Subjects and some Predicates, and the like.  
2. This is as true as that there is any such thing as Truth. For Truth is nothing else, but the Composition or Division of Ideas according to their respective Habitudes and Relations. And without Truth there can be no such thing as Knowledge, for knowledge is Truth of the Subject; 'tis a man's thinking of things as they are; and that supposes Truth of the Object. Which whosoever denies, contradicts himself, and establishes the Proposition which he designed to overthrow; and consequently, universal Scepticism is the very extremity of nonsense and inconsistency.  
3. And as there are certain habitudes and relations between things; so aly some of them are steady and immutable, that never were made by any understanding or will, nor can ever be unmade or nulled by them; but have a fixed and unalterable 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 from everlasting to everlasting. And consequently there are not only Truths, but eternal Truths.  
4. As first in general, 'tis a Proposition of necessary and eternal Truth, that there must be ever such a thing as Truth, or that something must be True, for let it be affirmed or denied, Truth thrusts in upon us either way. And so 2ly there are many particular Propositions of eternal and unchangeable Verity, as in Logic, that the Cause is always before the Effect in order of Nature; in Physics, that all local motion is by succession; in Metaphysics, that nothing can be and not be at once; in Mathematics, that all right Angles are equal, that those lines which are parallel to the same Right line are also parallel to each other, etc. These and such like are standing and irrepealable Truths, such as have no precarious existence, or arbitrarious dependence upon any will or understanding whatsoever; and such as all Intellectual operations do not make, but suppose; it being as much against the nature of understanding to make that Truth which it speculates, as 'tis against the nature of the eye to create that light by which it sees, or of an Image to make that Object which it represents.   

SECT. IV. That since there are Eternal and immutable Veritys or Habitudes of things, the simple essences of things must be also, eternal and immutable.  
1. HAving gained this Point that there are eternal and immutable Veritys or Habitudes of things, the next will be, that upon this Postulatum it necessarily follows that the Simple Essences of things must be also eternal and immutable. For as there can be no Truth of the Subject without Truth of the Object to which it may be conformable (as was before observed) so neither can there be Truth of the Object Complex without Truth of the Object Simple.  
2. This will appear undeniably true to any one that attends to the Idea of Objective Truth Complex, which is nothing else but certain Habitudes or Respects betwixt thing and thing as to Composition or Division. For how can there be any such Habitudes or Relations without the Simple Essences themselves from which they result? As for instance, how can any Mathematical Proposition, suppose that of Euclid, that if two Circles touch one another inwardly they have not the same common Centre, have this habitude, unless there be two such distinct simple Essences as Circle and Centre? These Habitudes can no more subsist by themselves than any other Relations can, they must have their Simple Essences as the other have their Subject and Term, upon the position of which they immediately result.  
3. If therefore there can be no Truth of the Object Complex without Truth of the Object Simple, and there can be no Habitudes and Relations of Composition and Division without the simple Essences themselves, it follows that whensoever the one does exist the other must exist also, and consequently if the one be eternal the other must be eternal also, and so (to recur to the former instance) if it be a Proposition of eternal Truth that if two Circles touch one another inwardly they have not the same Common Centre, the two distinct simple Essences of Circle and Centre must be from Eternity also, and consequently the simple Essences of things are eternal and immutable, which was the point to be here demonstrated.   

SECT. V. That the Simple Essences of things being not Eternal in their Natural subsistences, must be so in their Ideal subsistences or realities.  
1. FRom the eternity of essential Habitudes we have demonstrated the necessity that the simple essences of things should be eternal. And now since they are not eternal (as is too plain to need Proof) in their natural subsistencies, it follows that they must be eternal in their Ideal subsistencies or realities.  
2. For there are but two conceivable ways how any thing may exist, either out of all understanding, or within some understanding. If therefore the simple Essences of things are eternal but not out of all understanding, it remains they must have an eternal existence in some understanding, or rather they are the same with that understanding itself, considered as variously exhibitive or representative according to the various modes of Imitability or Participation, which is the true Notion of Ideas as 'tis generally expressed both by Platonists and Schoolmen, and as I have more at large explained it in my Letter of Ideas, to which for brevities sake I refer.   

SECT. VI That there is therefore an Eternal Mind or understanding, Omniscient, Immutable and endowed with all possible Perfection, the same which we call God.  
1. THis evidently follows from the Conclusion of the foregoing Section, for if the simple Essences of things have a real and eternal existence in some understanding, what consequence can be more plain than that there is a Mind or understanding eternally existing? An Essence can no more eternally exist in a Temporary understanding, than a Body can be infinitely extended in a finite space. The mind therefore wherein it does exist must be eternal; there is therefore in the first place an Eternal Mind.  
2. 'Twill follow also in the next place that this Mind is Omniscient as well as Eternal. For that Mind which is eternally fraught with the simple Essences of things, must needs contain also in itself all the several Habitudes and Respects of them, these necessarily arising from the other by way of Natural result. For as before, the Argument was good from the Habitudes of things to their simple Essences, so is it as good backwards from the simple Essences of things to their Habitudes. But these are the same with Truths. That Mind therefore which has all these has all Truths, which is the same as to be Omniscient.  
3. 'Twill follow hence also in the next place, that this Mind is Immutable as well as Omniscient and Eternal. For if that Mind which has existing in itself from all eternity, all the simple Essences of things and consequently all their possible Scheses' or Habitudes should ever change, there would arise a new Schesis in this Mind that was not before, which is contrary to the supposition. 'Tis impossible therefore that this Mind should ever undergo any mutation, especially if these eternal Ideas and Habitudes be one and the same with this Mind, as I have already hinted and elsewhere 
See my Letter of Ideas.  proved.  
4. Lastly 'twill follow that this Mind is not only Eternal, Immutable and Omniscient, but that in a word 'tis endowed with all possible perfection. For to have, and itself to be all the Essences and Habitudes of things is to have and to be all that can possibly be, to be the rule and measure of all perfection, to be supreme in the Scale of Being, and to be the Root, and Spring of all Entity, which is the same as to be God. This Mind therefore so accomplished is no other than God, and consequently there is a God, which was the thing I undertook to demonstrate.   

Postscript.  
THis Essay has lain by me a considerable time, and I have lately reviewed it with all the coldness and indifferency of a Stranger, and with more severity perhaps than I am like to meet with from the most Prejudiced Reader. I have turned it and viewed it on all sides, and, after the most deliberate and impartial scrutiny that I could make, I must needs own, that I am not conscious of the least flaw in the whole Procedure.  
I know but of one place that is liable to any reasonable exception, and that is in the fourth Section. The Proposition there maintained is this, that since there are eternal and immutable Veritys or Habitudes of things, the simple Essences of things must be also eternal and immutable. Here it may be objected, that these Habitudes are not attributed absolutely to the simple Essences as actually existing, but only Hypothetically, that whensoever they shall exist, they shall also carry such Relations to one another. There is you'll say only an Hypothetical Connexion between the Subject and the Predicate, not an absolute Position of either.  
But in answer to this I say first, that these Habitudes are not (as is supposed) only by way of Hypothesis, but absolutely attributed to the simple Essences as actually existing. For when I say, for instance, that every part of a Circle is equally distant from the Centre, this Proposition does not hang in suspense, then to be verified when the things shall exist in Nature, but is at present actually true, as true as it ever will or can be; and consequently, I may thence infer that the things themselves already are. There is no necessity, I confess, they should exist in Nature, (which is all that the Objection proves) but exist they must. For of Nothing there can be no Affections.  
But 2ly, suppose I grant what the Objector would have, that these Habitudes are not absolutely attributed to the simple Essences, but only by way of Hypothesis; yet I don't see what he can gain by this concession. For thus much at least is attributed to the simple Essences at present, that whensoever they shall exist, such and such Habitudes will attend them. I say, thus much is attributed actually, and at present: But now how can any thing be said of that which is not? There is therefore another way of existing besides that in rerum Natura; namely, in the Mundus Archetypus or the Ideal world, where all the Rationes rerum or simple Essences of things whereof there are standing and immutable Affirmations and Negations, have an eternal and immutable Existence, before ever they enter upon the stage of Nature.  
Nor ought this Ideal way of subsisting to seem strange, when even while things have a Natural subsistence, the Propositions concerning them are not verified according to their Natural, but according to their Ideal subsistences. Thus we demonstrate several Propositions concerning a right line, a Circle etc. and yet 'tis most certain that none of these are to be found in Nature according to that exactness supposed in the Demonstration. Such and such Attributes therefore belong to them not as they are in Nature, but as they are in their Ideas. This is a Notion very frequently glanced at by Saint Austin, and 'tis the Conclusion of Aquinas, that the Soul Omnia vera cognoscit in rationibus aeternis, Part. 1. Qu. 84. Art 5. And of late years this Notion has been much improved by the ingenious Philosopher Du Hamel in his book De Mente humana. And if this be true in Propositions whose Subjects are in Nature, much more is it in eternal Propositions, whose simple Essences have not always a natural existence. These can no otherwise be verified but by the coeternal Existence of simple Essences in the Ideal world.  
One thing I have more to add in the vindication of this Essay; Whereas in the 3d Section it was asserted that the nature of Truth is steady and immutable, and such as has no precarious existence or arbitrarious dependénce upon any understanding whatever, and yet in the 5th Section 'tis affirmed that it owes its existence to some mind or other; lest one part of this Meditation should be thought to clash against another, I thought it requisite to adjust this seeming contradiction. For the clearing of which, we must be beholding to that celebrated Distinction of the Platonic School, of the Divine Mind into 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 and 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 Conceptive and Exhibitive. Truth does by no means depend upon any mind as Conceptive, whether Human or Divine, but is supposed by it, which is the sense of the 3d Section. But upon mind as Exhibitive it may and does ultimately depend; so that if there were no God or Eternal Mind, there could be no Truth, which is the sense of the 5th Section. So that here is no contradiction, but all Harmony and Agreement. See more of this in my Letter of Ideas.    

THE CHRISTIAN LAW Asserted and Vindicated. OR, A general Apology for the Christian Religion, both as to the Obligativeness and Reasonableness of the Institution.  
THE CHRISTIAN LAW Asserted and Vindicated, etc.  
1. I Design here to consider two things concerning Christianity:  

1st, That it is a state of Service,  
2ly, That it is a Reasonable Service.   
The eviction of these two Propositions will contain both the Assertion of the Christian Law and its Vindication, and be a plenary justification of its Divine Author from the imputation of two sorts of Adversarys, those that reflect upon his Wisdom, by supposing that he requires nothing to be done by his servants, and those that reflect upon his goodness, by supposing him a Hard Master, and that he requires unreasonable performances.  
2. I begin therefore with the 1st Proposition concerning the Christian Institution, that it is a service. It is most certain that the Christian Religion according to the genuine sense and design of its Divine Author, is the most wise and excellent Institution that could possibly be framed, both for the glory of the Divine Attributes, and the best Interests of Mankind. And without Controversy (if we take it as 'tis exhibited to us in the inspired writings) 
1 Tim. 5. 16.  great is the Mystery of Godliness. But if we consult the perverse glosses and Comments of some of our Christian Rabbins, and take our measures of the Christian Religion from those ill-favoured Schemes and Draughts of it we meet with in Dutch Systemes, as some Christians are the worst of men, so will their Religion appear to be the worst of Religions, a senseless and ridiculous Institution, not worthy the Contrivance of a wise Politician, much less of him who is the Wisdom of the Father. It fares here with Christianity as with a Picture, that is drawn at so many remote hands, till at length it degenerates from the Original Truth, and wants an under-title to discover whose it is. And indeed whatever Declamations are made against Judaisme and Paganism, the worst enemies of the Christian Religion are some of those that profess and teach it. For if it be in reality as some (who call themselves Orthodox) describe it, I may boldly say, that 'tis neither for the reputation of God to be the Author of such a Religion, nor for the interest of men to be guided by it, and that as sin took occasion by 
Rom. 7. 11.  the Law, so may it (and that more justly) by the Gospel too, to deceive and ruin the world; by that Gospel which was intended as the Instrument both of its temporal and eternal welfare▪  
3. For if you look upon Christianity as some men are pleased to hold the Perspective, it is no way accommodated for the promotion of Holiness and Virtue, but is rather a perfect Discharge from all duty, and a Charter of Licentiousness. For among other misrepresentations of the Gospel this is one, (and I think the most pernicious one that the Sophistry of Hell could ever suggest) that it requires nothing to be done by its Proselytes. A Notion so ridiculous and mischievous as is fit for none but a profane Epicure to embrace, who may be allowed to make his Religion as idle and Sedentary as he does his God. Nay, 'tis not only ridiculous and mischievous, but in the highest measure Antichristian. For what greater Antichristianism can there be than that, which strikes not only at some of the main branches, but at the very Root of Christianity, and at once evacuates the entire purpose and aim of the Gospel.  
4. But to set this mark upon the right forehead, there are three sorts of men that come in some measure or other under this Charge. The first are the Antinomians, who are impudent and ignorant enough in express terms to assert, that the Sacrifice and Satisfaction of Christ does wholly excuse us from all manner of Duty and Obedience, as if we Libertins of the Gospel were so far from being bound to work out our Salvation with fear and trembling, that we are not to work at all; and as if the Design of Christ's coming were only to satisfy for the transgressions committed against the old Covenant, and not at all to introduce a new one, and to discharge us from the Obligation of the Moral as well as Ceremonial Law.  
5. Nay some there are among them that carry the business yet higher, and exclude not only the Repentance and good works of men, but even the Mediation of Christ himself, at least the necessity of it, by supposing an Anticipating Justification or Pardon from all eternity, which they found upon the secret decree and Counsel of God.  
6. The next that have a share in the forementioned Charge are those, who make Christianity a matter of bare speculation, and think all Religion absolved in Orthodoxy of Opinion; that care not how men live but only how they teach, and are so over intent upon the Creed, that they neglect the Commandments. Little considering that Opinion is purely in order to Practise, and that Orthodoxy of judgement is necessary only in such matters, where a mistake would be of dangerous influence to our actions, that is in Fundamentals. So that the necessity of thinking rightly is derived from the necessity of doing rightly, and consequently the latter is the more necessary of the two.  
7. I am as ready to grant as the most zealous stickler for Orthodoxy can desire, that our understandings are under obligation in Divine matters, but withal I think it absurd that the Obligation should terminate there, since than 'twould follow, 1st that all Theological Science were merely speculative, 2ly that we are bound to exact Orthodoxy in all speculations, (there being then no reason why in one and not in another) and 3ly, (which is the greatest absurdity of all) that we are obliged and tied up to no purpose, because nothing is effected by it. Whenever therefore we are obliged to soundness of Judgement, 'tis purely in order to the regulation of our Practice, and consequently solitary Orthodoxy does not satisfy its own end, much less that of Christianity. For to what purpose serves the Direction of the Compass, if there be neither wind nor sail to carry on the vessel to the Haven.  
8. But there are yet another sort of men who are justly chargeable with expunging all Duty from the Christian Institution; I mean the Solifidians, who under a pretence of advancing the merits of the Cross, and the freeness of the Divine Grace, require nothing of a Christian in order to his Justification and acceptance before God, but firmly to rely on the satisfaction and merits of Christ, and without any more ado to apply all to himself. And herein, they do not only contradict the general design and particular expresses of the Gospel, but trespass against all Logic and common sense. They contradict the Gospel, in requiring nothing but faith, whereas that (as we shall see anon) equally requires obedience. And they contradict common sense in requiring such a Faith. For they put the Conclusion before the Premises, and make that the first act of faith which supposes others, and in due order ought to be the last. And besides, they make that act of Faith contribute instrumentally towards the effecting of Justification, which in order of nature is consequent to it, and supposes it already effected. For I must be first Justified before I can rightly believe that I am so, otherwise I shall believe a false Proposition, since (as the most elementary Logician well knows) the certitude of the subject does not make but suppose that of the object.  
9 But I could dispense with the unphilosophicalness of this their Hypothesis were it not withal unchristian, and utterly destructive of all Piety and Virtue. The great mischief is, they untie the cords of Duty, and exclude the necessity of Obedience as really and effectually, though not so formally and expressly as the Antinomians do. For they require nothing but Faith to qualify a man for Pardon, and though afterwards for modesty's sake they come in halting with good works, yet 'tis at such a time when they might as well have left them out. 'Tis when the grand business (for which alone they could be necessary) is over, when the man is numbered among the children of God, and his lot is among the Saints. And to say here that good works are necessary to Salvation though not to Justification, is a Mystery above my conception, or rather an absurdity below my further notice. Nor will it salve the matter to say that they are necessary to declare our Justification before men, or to ascertain it to our selves and the like, for alas what does such a necessity amount to? No more than this, that they are necessary for such ends which themselves are not necessary. And besides, how can they declare or ascertain our Justification when they are not the conditions of it? So that 'tis plain both from the lateness of the time when, and from the incompetency of the grounds for which they insert good works, that they put them merely out of Complaisance, not because they think them necessary, but because they are ashamed to declare expressly that they are not. Which appears yet further from the nature of those works they are at length pleased to insert. They are such (for there is nothing that these men are so much afraid of as meriting) as are much short of that sincerity and perfection which is required by the Gospel. For 'tis notorious that they set the state of Regeneration so low that 'tis consistent with the dominion and prevalency of sin. A bare reluctancy of the Spirit (though foiled in the conflict) against the flesh, is esteemed a sufficient mark of a Regenerate person; and this every sinner that has the least Remains of Conscience, the least Twilight of natural light left him must needs have; for no man loves sin for it self, nay he hates it as 'tis in itself absolutely an evil, only he chooses and wills it Comparatively to avoid (as he than thinks) a greater evil.  
10. Thus as the Jewish Doctors did 
Mat. 15. 6.  the Law, do these men make the Gospel, of none effect by their Traditions, and would questionless, were our Lord now on earth, have a severer woe pronounced against them as Perverters of a more excellent, a more perfect Institution. Strange, that men should corrupt and ridicule so admirable a Dispensation, and turn so great a grace of God into wantonness! That there should be some 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 in the Gospel which unlearned and unstable men might wrest to their own destruction is no very hard matter to imagine, but that men should at once pervert the whole scope and design of it is prodigious as well as Antichristian, a Mystery of wonder as of Iniquity. And have these men the face to declaim against the Papists for leaving out one of the Commandments, when as they draw a black stroke over the whole Table? Nay further, have they the face to call themselves Christians, and that of the Purer sort too, who thus evacuate the Mystery of Godliness? By the same figure of speech might the Heathen Emperors assume that sacred name, when they endeavoured to persecute it out of the world. Nay much more plausibly, for they only lopped off the Branches, but these strike at the very Root of Christianity, they applied their forces against the Professors of the Christian Religion, these against the Religion itself, and (what aggravates the malice) not as open enemies, but as Treacherous Friends, under the demure pretence of Purity, Orthodoxy and Saintship. They cancel the laws of Christ and at the same time pretend to advance his kingdom, call him Master, kiss and betray him. And how can it now be expected that these men should be more forward than they are to yield obedience to the King, who have found out an Expedient to slip their necks out of Christ's yoke, and have made the Gospel in a worse sense, a Dead letter than the Law?  
11. But certainly the gate that leads to Heaven is much straighter than these men are pleased to make it, otherwise there would be 
Luke 13. 24.  no need of striving to enter in at it. There are things to be done, as well as to be believed and understood under the Evangelical dispensation, and Christianity is a Service as well as a Profession. To the clearing and establishing of which Proposition I shall consider the Gospel under a double Capacity, 1st as a Law, and 2ly as a Covenant. And first as a Law. 'Tis most certain that Christ was a Lawgiver as well as Moses, only as he was 
Heb. 7. 19  an Introducer of a better Hope, so he required better and sublimer Services. The advantage of Christianity does not consist in having any abatements of Duty, for Christ was so far from diminishing or retrenching the Moral Law (for 'tis of that I speak) that he improved every part of it to higher senses than the most exquisite of the Jewish Doctors understood, or at least conceived themselves obliged to; As is evident from his divine Sermon on the Mount, which for the Perfection and Sublimity of its Precepts St. Chrysostom calls 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 the Top and Height of Philosophy.  
12. And that he thus improved the Law of Moses, besides the evidence of Comparison, we have his own express word for it: I came 
Mat. 5. 17.  not to destroy the Law but to perfect, complete or fill it up. For so the word (〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉) properly signifies. The 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 or rude draught was Moses his part, but the 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 or the painting to the life was Christ's. Moses drew out the main lineaments, the Skeleton of the Picture (which was therefore 
Jud. 9  called the Body of Moses) but 'twas Christ that filled up all its intervals and vacuities, and gave it all its graces, Air and Life-touches. And this is no more than what the Analogy of the Christian dispensation required. The great end and design of God incarnate was to perfect Holiness, as well as to retrieve Happiness, to advance the Interests of the divine life, and make us Partakers of the Divine nature, and 
2 Pet. 1. 4.  accordingly as he himself was the express 
Heb. 1. 3.  image of his Father's Person, so 'twas requisite he should consign to us an express image, a correct Copy of his Fathers will. He was to make us better men, and accordingly, 'twas fit he should give us a better law, a Law that could not be satisfied but by such a Righteousness, as should exceed even the strictest among the Jews, that of the Pharisees. So that we are by no means released, but rather more deeply engaged in Duty by the Gospel, as 'tis a Law.  
13. Nor 2ly are we released by it as 'tis a Covenant. Here indeed begin the Abatements of the Gospel, not as to Duty and Obligation, for the Gospel makes all that our Duty which the Law did and more only (which in short is the true difference between the two Covenants) it does not make the strict and exact performance of it the Measure, the ultimate Measure whereby we are to stand or fall, but admits of Pardon which the Law knew nothing of. Not of absolute Pardon, for then the Gospel would be a Covenant without a Condition, nor of Pardon without Repentance and actual reformation of Manners, for then the Gospel as a Covenant would interfere with itself as a Law, but upon the sole Conditions of Faith and Repentance. For 'tis a great mistake to think that we are actually Justified or pardoned by the satisfaction of Christ; this would be the most ready expedient to verify the false charge of the Scribes and Pharisees, and make him in their sense a Friend to Publicans and Sinners, to encourage all manner of vice and immorality, and to turn the Mystery of Godliness into a Mystery of Iniquity. No, Christ in this sense has redeemed no man. All that he either did or could in wisdom do for us as satisfying, was in short to instate us in a Capacity and Possibility of Pardon and Reconciliation, by procuring a grant from his Father, that Faith and Repentance should now be available to Justification, which without his satisfaction would not have been accepted to that purpose. Whereby it appears that he was so far from superseding the necessity of Repentance and good works, that he designed only to make way for the success of them; He did so much that Repentance might not be in vain, and he did no more that it might not be needless. And thus does the wisdom as well as the goodness of God lead us to Repentance, by so ordering the matter, that we may obtain Pardon with it, and not without it, which are the two strongest engagements to action in any concern, that our Reason either demands, or our deliberation can suggest.  
14. This I conceive to be the true Hypothesis and state of Christianity, which I might yet further confirm by infinite Authoritys from Scripture, which every where presses the necessity of good works as Conditions to our Justification and acceptance before God, but I think the more rational and unprejudiced part of the world are pretty well satisfied in that Point, and know how to accommodate St. James and St Paul better than some late Reconcilers. And besides, the wisdom of the Hypothesis sufficiently approves itself; 'Tis such as becomes the Perfections of the Divine Nature to exhibit to the world, and which the Angels may 
1 Pet. 1. 12.  well desire to look into. For 'tis at once fitted to the necessities of man, and to the Honour of God, to the infirmities of the Animal life, and to the advancement of the Divine, to the relief of the Sinner and to the suppression of sin. Here Mercy and Truth meet together, righteousness and peace kiss each other. The Sacrifice of the Altar does not prejudice the Balance of the Sanctuary, and the Divine Justice is so satisfied that the necessity of Holiness and Obedience remains secured. Much is forgiven, and much is to be done, Duty continues as fast as ever, and even the Law of Liberty is a Service.  
15. And now that this may not be thought a Hard saying, and make some of Jesus his Disciples to go back (as once they did) and walk no more with him when they hear of Duty and something to be done, I shall now proceed to demonstrate the Reasonableness of that Service which Christianity requires of us, which was the 2d general Proposition I proposed to speak to.  
16. Religion is so very agreeable both to the Inclinations and Discourse of Human Nature, that as none is capable of being Religious but a rational creature, so 'tis almost impossible for a creature to be endued with Reason and not to be Religious. Hence 'tis that there is no Nation so barbarous and degenerate but what has some Religion or other, and though ignorant of the true Object as well as manner of worship, yet rather than wholly abstain from Religious applications will adore implicitly, and erect an altar 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 to the unknown God.  
17. Nay so great a congruity is there between Religion and the radical notices and sentiments of a human Soul, that all mankind except only some few distorted and Anomalous heads (for there are monstrosities in the Soul as well as in the Body) are unanimously agreed upon the fundamental and substantial Maxims of it, which for their correspondency to our rational Natures are usually distinguished by the name of Natural Religion. For there are Practical as well as Speculative Principles, and that he who does no hurt is to receive none is as evident a Proposition in Morality, as that the whole is greater than its part is in the Mathematics, or that nothing can be and not be at once, is in the Metaphysics.  
18. And as Religion and Natural Religion carry such a strict conformity to our Rational faculties, so does Revealed Religion too. All the lines of this as well as of the other point all the way at, and at last concentre in the Happiness and welfare of mankind. 'Tis a persuance of the same excellent end, only by more close and direct means. For God in all his intercourses with us does accommodate himself to our natures, and as he will not forcibly determine us to good because he has made us free, so neither does he require any thing from us but what is good and consistent with Reason, because he has made us Rational. And although we cannot by this Candle of the Lord find out some of 
Prov. 20. 27. Hos. 8. 12.  the great and wonderful things of his Law (for herein consists the formal difference between Natural and Revealed Religion) yet when they are once proposed to us, they are highly approved by our Intellectual relish, and strike perfect unisons to the voice of our Reason, so that even the Animal man (for 'tis of him the Apostle there speaks) consents to the Law that it is good. 
Rom. 7. 16.   
19 And indeed were it not so, it would be as unfit for God to propose, as hard for man to receive, since even the Prudence of a Nation is by no one thing either more justified or condemned, than by the good or ill contrivance of its Laws. Shall not then the lawgiver of the whole world enact that which is right, 
Gen. 1●. 25.  as well as the Judge of all the Earth do right? Shall he not be as wise in the framing of his law, as he is Just in the Execution of it? God in contriving the Mechanism of the material world displayed the excellency of his Divine Geometry, and made all things in Number, Weight and Measure. He established the world 
Jer. 10. 12.  by his wisdom, and stretched out the heavens by his discretion. And shall he not govern the Intellectual world with as much wisdom as he made the Natural one? Questionless he does, and the law, which he has prescribed to us, is as perfect and excellent, as that whereby he wrought the Beauty and Order of the universe. For the Lord is righteous in all his ways, 
Psal. 145.  and holy in all his works. He has accommodated his Statutes and Judgements both to the infinite perfection of his own Nature, and both to the actual perfection and capacity of ours. God is a spirit and accordingly 
Rom. 7. 14.  (as the Apostle tells us) the Law is Spiritual. Man is Rational, and accordingly the Homage he is to pay to him that made him so, is no other than a. Reasonable Service.  
20. But to be as compendious, and yet withal as just and distinct as may be in so copious and plentiful a Subject, I consider, that as the whole rational nature of man consists of two faculties, understanding and will (whether really or notionally distinct I shall not now dispute.) So Christianity, whose end is to perfect the whole man and give the last accomplishment both to our Intellectual and Moral powers, will be wholly absolved in these two parts, things to be believed and things to be done. If therefore in both these it can acquit itself at the Bar of Reason, the Conclusion is evident that it is a Reasonable Service.  
21. First then as to the things which are to be believed. Now these are either the Authority and Truth of the whole Christian Institution, or the Truth of particular Mysteries contained in it. The Is of these will appear to be a reasonable Object of faith two ways, Is't from the nature of its Design and its excellent aptness to compass it, and 2ly from extrinsic Arguments and collateral circumstances. And Is't, 'tis recommended to us by the nature of its Design, and its excellent aptness to compass it. It is (according to the precedent representation) a very wise and rational Hypothesis, above the reason of man indeed at first to contrive, but such as when proposed it must needs approve and acquiesce in, as at once the 
1 Cor. 1. 24.  Power and Wisdom of God, because (as I first observed, and shall hereafter more plainly demonstrate) 'tis so admirably fitted to the Honour of God, and to the necessities of man, thereby verifying that double part of the Angelical anthem at the appearance of its Divine Author, and at once bringing glory to 
Luke 2. ●4.  God on high, and on earth Peace to men of good will.  
22. And as it appears thus rational in its general Idea or Structure, and thereby speaks itself worthy of God, so 2ly that it came actually from him no Rational person can doubt, that considers that conjugation of Arguments, that cloud of witnesses whereby its divine Original stands attested. Such as are the variety of Prophecys and Prefigurations, their punctual and exact accomplishment in the Author of this Institution, his Birth, Life, Miracles and Doctrine, his Passion, Death, Resurrection and Ascension, with all the wonderful Arrear and train of Accidents that ensued for the Confirmation of Christianity, such as the wonderful Sustentation, Protection, increase and Continuation of Christ's little flock the Christian Church, the miraculous assistances and miraculous actions of the Apostles, the Harmony of the Evangelists, the Constancy and Courage of his first Witnesses and Martyrs, the defeat of the Infernal Powers in the silencing of Oracles, the just punishment that lighted upon his enemies, and lastly the completion of all Prophecies that proceeded out of his divine mouth while on earth, which I shall here only point at in general, and leave to the enlargement of every man's private meditation.  
23. Then as for the particular mysteries contained in Christianity, I know but of three that threaten any distarbance to our Philosophy, and those are the three Catholic ones mentioned by St. Athanasius, the Trinity, the Hypostatic union and the Resurrection. Now concerning the two first I observe, that they are indeed above the adequate comprehension of our Reason, but not contrary or repugnant to it. For as we cannot conceive how these things can be, so neither do we positively and clearly perceive that they cannot be, as we do in contradictions and things contrary to reason. But as to the last, I don't in the least understand why it should be 
Acts▪ 26. 8.  thought a thing incredible that God (whose very notion involves Omnipotence) should raise the Dead. 'Tis true, we are as ignorant how this can be as in either of the former Articles, but that it absolutely may be there is much plainer evidence, especially to those who think it reasonable to believe a Creation. Which if taken according to strictness of notion, for a Production of something out of nothing, is most confessedly a greater and more difficult performance (as to the nature of the work) than the Raising of the Dead can be. Or if more largely for producing something out of preaexistent but naturally unapt matter, yet 'tis still at least equal with it. He that with the bare energy of his omnipotent word could inspirit the dead, stupid, void and formless mass, and make it move into a frame so elegant and harmonious, that the mere Contemplation of its Beauty and Order has by many Philosophers been thought a sufficient entertainment of life, may easily be presumed to be able to do the same in the lesser world, and with effect to say to a rude and disordered heap of dust, the Chaos of a human body, stand up and live.  
24. But after all, were this Article of the Resurrection much more thickset with difficulties than it is, yet would we, before we venture to determine against its possibility, sit a while and consider, that we are nonplused at a thousand Phaenomenas' in nature, which if they were not done, we should have thought them absolutely impossible (as for instance to go no further, the Central libration of the Earth) and now they are, we cannot comprehend 
Eccles. 43.  'em, that we have seen but a few of God's works and understand yet fewer, and lastly that as the possibility of the effect is above the comprehension of our Reason, so the Power of the Agent is much more so, we should discern great reason to be cautious how we set limits to the Divine Omnipotence, and should rather support our Faith against all Objections with that universal Salvo of the Apostle, I know 
2 Tim. 1. 12.  whom I have believed.  
25. I descend now from the things that are to be believed to the things that are to be done in the Christian Religion. And that those may appear to be a Reasonable Service, I consider first in general, that the Christian Law is nothing else but the Law of Nature retrieved, explained and set in a clearer light. Christ indeed added some new Precepts that were not in the Law of Moses, but not any that were not in the Law of Nature. That he only restored and rescued from the Sophistications of ill Principles, and the corruptions of degenerate manners. For the clearer understanding of which Proposition 'tis to be observed, that the Law of Nature was twice retrieved, by Moses and by Christ. Moses did it imperfectly, with a shaking hand, and with a rude Pencil; He adopted 'tis true, into his Table as many of Nature's Laws as were necessary to the present state and capacity of the Jewish people, but he did not exhaust the whole Code and Digest of Nature. For there are many Instances and Branches of the Natural Law which are no way reducible to the Mosaic Tables, unless hooked in by long tedious consequences, which as the Law never intended, so neither is one of a thousand able to deduce them from it, as appears in the instances of Gratitude to Benefactors, Love to Enemy's, Forgiveness of Injuries, Humility and the like, which are excellences of the first Magnitude in the Imperial constitutions of Nature, but not transcribed in the Copy and Extract of Moses, as too refined for the grossness of that Age, for the hardness of the Jewish people, and for the Infancy of that Dispensation.  
26. This therefore was reserved for the work of a Diviner Prophet, who should retrieve the Law of Nature to the full, and restore it as at the Beginning. For he came (as he testifys 
Mat. 5. 17.  of himself, and as was before observed to another purpose) to fill up Moses his Law, which implies that it was imperfect and deficient; and wherein should its defectiveness consist, but in wanting something of the Natural Law. The Christian Law therefore is only the Law of Nature retrieved.  
27. This being premised, 'tis but now to consider what the formal notion of the Law of Nature is, and we have found out one general measure whereby to judge of the Reasonableness of the Christian Law. Now by the Law of Nature I suppose we all understand certain Practical Maxims or Dictates, the observing or transgressing of which, considering the present system of the universe, have a natural connexion with the well or ill being of man, either as to his private or political capacity. I say, considering the present system of the universe. For no question, God might have so contrived the Order and Scheme of the Creation, as that many of those things which are now for the interest, might have been for the disinterest of mankind, as he might have so framed the texture of a human body, that what is now wholesome and sovereign, might have been poisonous and pernicious; and in this respect I conceive the Law of Nature may be said to depend upon the arbitrary will of God, and to be mutable at his pleasure. But yet it still remains immutably true in the general, that whatsoever has such a natural ordination to or connexion with the well or ill being of mankind, is good or evil respectively. This is the standard of morality and immorality, and the essential difference between Virtue and Vice. And 'tis as immutably true that some particular instances should have such a natural connexion, stante rerum Hypothesi, during the present state and order of things. Now whatever has so, is an essential branch of the Law of Nature, and obliges us to act or not to act respectively to the Term of its Ordination. So that Bonum honestum is that which in the order of things is Bonum utile, and conduces as a Natural Medium to Felicity, which is the End of man.  
28. Hence than it follows, that the Christian Law which is nothing else but the Law of Nature retrieved, consists only of such practical maxims, which carry a natural relation to the true interest and well being of mankind, and consequently contains nothing in it but what is reasonable, very reasonable to be done. But to evince this more particulary 'twill be requisite to take a cursory view of the Christian Law. And this I shall consider first, as I find it summed up in general by our B. Saviour in answer to the Lawyer's Question, what he should do to inherit eternal life, and secondly, in some of those particular instances of it which seem most to cross the present interest of mankind.  
29. As to the Is, the sum which our B. Saviour gave of it was this: Thou shalt 
Mat. 22. 37. Mark 12. 30. Luke 10. 27.  love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, with all thy Soul, and with all thy mind, and thy Neighbour as thyself. These he told him were the two great Commandments, and that there were none greater than these: and certainly none more reasonable. For since man is not his own end, but has an Amorous Principle within him which transports him to good without himself, since he is not a Central and selfterminating Being, but by the weight of his affections gravitates and inclines to something further, what is more Reasonable than that he fix upon God as his Centre, who is as well the End as the Author of his Being? And since whatever portion of his love is not directed hither, will necessarily light (for it cannot be idle, and must fix somewhere) upon disproportionate and vain Objects, which neither deserve it nor can satisfy it, and consequently will but vex and torment him, what can be more Reasonable than that he unite and concentre all the rays of his affection both Intellectual and sensitive upon God, and according to the strictest sense of this great Commandment love him with all his heart, Soul and mind? Vision and Love make up the full composition of our Celestial Happiness hereafter, and they are the nearest approach we can make to it here.  
30. Nor is the 2d great Commandment less reasonable than the first. The truest and most effectual way a man can take to love himself, is to love his neighbour as himself. For since man is a necessitous and indigent Creature (of all Creatures the most indigent) and since he cannot upon his own solitary stock supply the necessities of his nature (the want of Society being one of them) and since of all Creatures here below none is capable of doing him either so much good or so much harm as those of his own species, as 'twill be his best security to have as many Friends and as few Enemy's as he can, so, as a means to this, to hate and injure none, but to love and oblige all, will be his best Policy. So far is the state of Nature from being (according to the Elements of the Leviathan) a state of Hostility and war, that there is no one thing that makes more apparently for the interest of mankind than universal Charity and Benevolence. And indeed, would all men but once agree to espouse one another's interests and prosecute the public good truly and faithfully, nothing would be wanting to verify and realize the Dreams of the Golden Age, to anticipate the Millennial Happiness, and bring down Heaven upon Earth. Society would stand firm and compact, like a Mathematical frame of Architecture, supported by mutual dependencies and coherences, and every man's kindnesses would return again upon himself in the Circle and Reciprocation of Love.  
31. But besides this Consideration of Interest, there is another which equally contributes to recommend this Law of universal Benevolence, and perhaps with more sweetness of insinuation than the former, and that is Pleasure. These two are put together by the Psalmist, 
Psal. 133. 1.  who tells us, that 'tis both good and pleasant for Brethren to dwell together in unity. There is certainly a most Divine pleasure in the acts and expresses of Benevolence, so that if God may be said to take pleasure in any one thing besides the richness of his own infinity, it must be in the Communication of it. Sure I am, no man can do good to another without recreating and feasting his own spirit; nay, even the most happy and self-sufficient man who as to his interest has the least need to be kind and obliging, yet as to his Pleasure has the greatest. For he enjoys his happy state most when he communicates it, and takes a Partner with him into his Paradise, and receives a more vigorous joy from the Reflection, than from the Direct incidency of his Happiness.  
32. I might here take occasion to show the Reasonableness of Justice and Honesty, with other particular Branches of this great Law, but the necessity of these is so notorious (no Society being able to subsist without them) and withal so attested by the common vote and experience of the world (it being the business of all human Laws, and the end of all Civil Government, to engage men to the observance of them) that I shall not need to make any Plea in their behalf. Instead therefore of lending any further light to what shines already so conspicuously by its own, I shall now proceed to justify the Christian Law in some of those instances which seem most to cross the present interest of mankind.  
33. There are some Precepts of the Christian Law which seem directly and in their whole kind to be against the interest of man (For as for those which may accidentally and in some junctures of Circumstances, I shall consider them afterwards.) Now these I shall derive from that Abstract of Christian Philosophy the divine Sermon on the Mount. The 1st instance shall be in the Precept of Meekness, which our Divine Lawgiver has extended so far as 
Mat. 5. 39  〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 that we resist not evil; which is not to be understood in Prejudice either of the Civil sword, or of legal Prosecutions for the reparation of injuries (for this would be to give the worst of men a continual advantage against the best) nor of public wars between distinct kingdoms (for they being under no common jurisdiction, have no other expedient whereby to right themselves when injured) but only as to Private persons, who by virtue of this Precept are not permitted (unless in apparent danger of life, for then the Law of self-preservation takes place, the Benefit of other laws being not at hand) I say are not permitted to retaliate evil, but obliged rather with their Divine Master to give 
Isai. 50. 6.  their backs to the smiters, and their cheeks to them that pluck off the hair.  
34. Now this may seem a very disadvantageous and inconvenient command, in as much as it may be said by tying up our hands, to expose us to all manner of contumelies and affronts, and invite the ill treatments of rude and disingenuous spirits. But whoever seriously considers the matter will find, that pure and simple revenge is a thing very absurd, and very productive of ill consequences, and in some respects, worse than the first injury. For that may have some ends of profit and advantage in it, but to do another man a diskindness merely because he has done me one, serves to no good purpose, and to many ill ones. For it contributes nothing to the reparation of the first injury (it being impossible that the Act of any wrong should be rescinded, though the permanent effect may) but instead of making up the breach of my Happiness, it increases the objects of my Pity, by bringing in a new misery into the world more than was before, and occasions fresh returns of malice, one begetting another like the encirclings of disturbed water, till the evil becomes fruitful and multiplies into a long succession, a Genealogy of mischiefs. And by this time I think the man has reason to repent him of his Revenge, and to be convinced of the Equity of the Law which forbids it.  
35. The next instance I shall mention, is that of loving enemies. This runs higher than the former, that being only negative, not to return evil, but this positive to do good. A strange precept one would think, and highly contradictory to Reason as well as Nature. But whoever considers the great usefulness of Love and Benevolence to the interest of Society, will quickly perceive, that he ought not to be disengaged from the observance of so necessary a Duty upon so slight a ground as another's default in it. I grant 'tis neither Reasonable nor possible to love an enemy for being so, (that is no proper motive of love) but yet 'tis very reasonable to love the man notwithstanding his enmity. Because the necessity of Charity is so indispensable, that it ought to oblige in all cafes. And besides, as by this means all enmity is certainly prevented on one side (which is of very great consideration to the public peace) so is it the likeliest method to bring over the other. Kindnesses will at length prevail upon him, who is proof against all the sense of Duty and Conscience, and the coals of fire which are heaped upon his head (when nothing else will do it) will melt him down into Love and Sweetness.  
36. There is one instance more, wherein the Christian Law seems not to consult the interest of human life, and that is in the matter of Divorce, which our Saviour allows in no case but that of Adultery. Now this also seems to be one of the hard sayings. For the natural propension to procreation is not to be satisfied out of marriage, and marriage by this appendage seems to be such a Burden, that the 
Mat. 19 10.  Disciples might well say, if the case of a man be so with his wife, it is not good to marry. But yet upon consideration, this also will appear to be a very Reasonable confinement. For 1st, all the supposable inconveniences of this restraint may be in a great measure prevented by prudent and wise Choice. But suppose they cannot, yet 2ly, as 'twould be most advisable for some men to marry though with this restraint, so is marriage with this restraint better for Society than without it. For were there liberty of divorce upon other grounds, every petty dislike would never want a pretence for a Dissolution, and then the same inconveniences would ensue as if there were no such thing as the matrimonial Institution, such as diminution of affection to children, neglect of their education and the like; besides the perpetual quarrels and animosities between the parties themselves so divided, and their respective relatives, all which would bring more inconveniencies upon Society, than those which are pretended to be avoided by distending and enlarging the licence of Divorce.  
37. Now if to this Apology for the reasonableness of Christianity taken from its conduciveness and natural tendency to the interest of Human life, we further add, the Dominion and Right that God has over us, the great Benefits wherewith he has already prevented us, and the exceeding weight of glory laid up in Reversion for us; And would we further consider, that Holiness has a natural Ordination to the Happiness. of Heaven as well as of Earth, that 'tis among the 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, 
Heb. 6. 9  the things that accompany or are essentially retaining to Salvation, so that would God in mercy dispense with it as a Conditionary, yet we could not be happy without it as a natural Qualification for Heaven; Further yet, would we consider the great easiness as well as manifold advantage of Christianity, that many instances of Duty are agreeable to the inclinations of Nature, and that where there is a Law in our members that runs▪ counter to that of the mind, we have the aids and assistances of grace; that God has required nothing of us but what is substantially within the verge and compass of Human nature; For to believe, repent and love, are all natural acts, we believe some stories, we repent of some follies, we love some men, and God obliges us but to believe him, to repent of follies against him, and to love him. The Acts are the same for their substance, though not in their determination. Lastly, would we consider how much all this is confirmed by the Argument of Practice and Experience, that the Devil has more Apostates than Christ, that the number of those who leave sin, and come over to virtue, is much greater than of those that leave virtue and come over to sin, (which is the Apology that the Platonist Simplicius makes for virtue) the Conclusion would be placed beyond the reach of controversy that Christianity is a Reasonable Service, and that the Precepts of our excellent Lawgiver both begin, continue and end with a Beatitude.  
38. I can now foresee but one Objection of any moment which the Argument of this Discourse is liable to, which is, that although virtue and vice have a natural ordination to the Happiness and Misery of life respectively, yet it may so happen by the intervening of some accidents, that this connexion of things may be broken off, and that a man may be a loser by virtue, and a gainer by vice, as in the instances of martyrdom and secure theft. And here the Question will be, whether it be then reasonable to act virtuously and unreasonable to do the contrary. To this I answer, 1st that it may be justly questioned (notwithstanding the intervention of any accidents) whether a man may be virtuous to his disadvantage, or vicious to his advantage, even as to this present state, considering the internal satisfaction and ácquiescence, or dissatisfaction and molestation of spirit that attend the practice of virtue and vice respectively. But supposing he may, then 2ly I reply, that here come in the rewards and punishments of another life to supply the natural sanction of the law. Then 3ly, to the second instance I offer this in peculiar, that although in some circumstances I might be dishonest to my present gain, yet 'tis very reasonable that all should be obliged to the law of Justice. Because if every one should be permitted to use secret Frauds (and all may as well as one) the evil would come about again, even to him whom we just now supposed a gainer by his theft, and as to the public 'twould be all one as if there were no Property, and then for want of encouragement and security, the final issue of the matter would be an utter neglect and disimprovement of the Earth, and a continual disturbance of the public peace. So that when all's done Honesty is the best Policy, and to live most happily is to live most virtuously and religiously. So true is that of the Psalmist, I see that all things come to an end, but thy 
Psal. 119.  Commandment is exceeding broad.  
39 From what has been hitherto discoursed, I shall now briefly deduce some practical inferences and conclude. Since than our Religion is so Reasonable a Service, 'twill follow hence in the first place, that there may be a due exercise and use of Reason in divine matters, and that whatsoever is apparently contrary to Reason ought not to be obtruded as of Divine Authority, nor be accounted as any part of the Christian Religion. An Inference wherein the Faith of the Church of Rome is not a little concerned.  
40. 'Twill follow 2ly, that no man ought to be persecuted, or have any external violence done him for his Religion, supposing that by overt acts he give no disturbance to the Public. For since God has required nothing of us but what is agreeable to our Reason, why should man?  
41. 'Twill follow 3ly, that sin is the very Height and Extremity of Folly and Disingenuity. Of Folly, because it crosses and defeats the excellent end of Man, which is to live happily and commodiously. And of Disingenuity, because 'tis committed against him, who when he might by virtue of his supreme Dominion have imposed upon us arbitrary Laws, (as that given to Adam) or hard and severe ones (as that to Abraham) has been graciously pleased to make nothing the Condition of our Happiness, but what upon other accounts would have been most advisable to be done. This certainly will render sin exceeding sinful, and leave the sinner without the least shadow of an excuse. We commonly derive the aggravations of sin from the greatness of God, but without question his goodness will supply us with as many, and in this sense also 'twill be true to say, as is his Majesty, so is his Mercy.  
42. Lastly hence 'twill follow, that we ought to perform this Rational will of God with Angelical alacrity and constancy, partly for its own excellency as 'tis a persuance of our interest, and partly out of gratitude and generosity to God, for giving us such excellent Laws, in keeping of which there is so great Reward. For not only the End of our Religion is Happiness, but even her very ways are ways of pleasantness, and 
Prov. 3. 17.  all her paths are peace. Quintilian I remember, enquiring why former ages afforded better Orators than the latter, resolves the Problem into this, because there were then greater encouragements and rewards. And if great encouragements will make good Orators, why should they not make good men? Let us then make it our daily endeavour as we do our daily Prayer, that this excellent will of God may be done here on Earth as it is in Heaven, and the more we do so, the more we shall still be convinced that it is our Reasonable Service.   

A DISCOURSE CONCERNING PERSEVERANCE IN HOLINESS.  
A DISCOURSE CONCERNING Perseverance in Holiness.  
1. ALL that is of any moment for the full Discharging of this Subject, will be absolved in these three Considerations. 1st, that man has one way or other sufficient power to persevere in a course of Holiness if he will; otherwise all exhortations would be in vain. 2ly, that 'tis also possible for him to fall from a state of Holiness; otherwise they would all be superfluous. And lastly, by showing him what vast encouragements, what infinite engagements he has to stand.  
2. I begin with the first, that man has one way or other sufficient power to persevere in a course of Holiness if he will. Where by Perseverance, I do not understand a continuedly uniform, equal course of obedience, and such as is not interrupted with the least act of sin, (for this is a perfection not to be hoped for, under the disadvantages of mortality) but only such a constancy of obedience as excludes all contrary Habits, and likewise all such acts of sin as are said directly to waste the Conscience, those I mean, which are committed against the clear and express Dictate either of natural Reason, or supernatural Revelation. And withal (to complete the Character) such an Obedience as is attended with a sedulous care and hearty endeavour to correct and subdue even those pittiable infirmities, which can never be wholly put off in this state, but will always adhere like spots to the brightest Star in the Firmament. This I conceive to be all one with that disposition of Soul which with more compendiousness we usually call sincerity, in opposition to a perfect and sinless obedience. Now that man has sufficient power to persevere in such a course of life as is here described, (not to call in the assistance of any other Argument) seems to me evidently demonstrable from this single consideration, that to be found in the state above mentioned is the condition of the New-Covenant, upon the fulfilling of which, all our hopes of Pardon and Salvation depend. I do not say 'tis the indispensable Condition of our Salvation, that we persevere uninterruptedly even in this state of Evangelical Righteousness (it being possible for a man after an interruption of a salvable state to recover into it again, as is plain from the case of David, St. Peter and many others) but that we be found finally in this state is the Condition of our Salvation. For if the Righteous man turneth away from his Righteousness, and committeth iniquities and dies in them, the righteousness that he hath done shall not be mentioned, in the sin that he hath sinned shall he die. Well then, if Salvation be not to be had out of this state, than it follows, that it must never become impossible to a man without his own fault to be found in it, since 'tis repugnant to the very nature of a Covenant (much more of this great Covenant of mercy) to have a condition annexed to it, which in some circumstances, and that without our fault may prove impossible.  
3. The Condition then of this new Covenant must be as possible to man in this state of degeneracy, now his locks are shaved and his great strength is departed from him, as the Condition of the first Covenant was to him in his primitive might and vigour. Do this and live, is equally common to both, the only difference lies in the This that is to be done, not in the possibility of the performance. Or if there are degrees of possibility, the advantage ought to lie on this side, this being (as was hinted before) a Covenant of Grace and Mercy.  
4. Well then, if to be found finally in the state above described be the indispensable condition of our Salvation, and if for that very reason (as it has been proved) it must not in any circumstance become impossible without our fault, it unavoidably follows, that 'tis also possible to persevere in it without interruption, because otherwise we having not the disposal of our own lives, it will oftentimes prove impossible for us (and that without our own fault) to be found finally in that state which is the Condition of Salvation; which is contrary to the supposition. The short is (to speak all in a word) the possibility of being found in a salvable state cannot be sufficiently secured, without a possibility of always persevering in it, and therefore I conclude it possible for a man to do so, which was the thing I undertook to prove.  
5. But now lest man upon a survey of his natural strength, and of the auxiliaries of the Divine grace, should pronounce himself absolutely impregnable, and should begin to say in his heart (as the Psalmist did in another case) I shall never be removed, thou Lord of thy goodness hast made my hill so strong, 'tis high time to turn the Perspective, and give him a more near, full and distinct view of his Condition, that instead of stretching himself upon the ●ed of security, he may learn to work out his Salvation with fear and trembling. Which we shall do, by advancing to the 2d thing proposed, which is, that although man has sufficient power to persevere if he will, yet 'tis also possible for him to fall from a state of Holiness. Navigat enim adhuc, for he is still upon the waters, and though with the use of diligence and prudent conduct he may decline both rocks and shallows, yet if he venture to sleep within the vessel which he should govern, upon a groundless presumption that an Angel will be his Pilot, and that he shall be infallibly steered to the right Point by the arm of Omnipotence, he may notwithstanding the past success of his voyage, and his confidence of the future, be shipwrackt even within sight of the Haven.  
6. I confess, when I consider with what strength and combination of Argument Christianity both as to Faith and Practice does approve itself to be the most Rational thing in the world, when I consider the nobleness of its Original (God being its Author) the excellency of its nature (it being most agreeable to, and perfective of our best faculties) its wholesome effects and operations (the interests of Kingdoms and States as well as of private persons depending upon it) and last, the greatness of its End, which is no less than everlasting Bliss and Happiness, I say when I consider all this, I am ready to conclude it the most prodigious thing in nature that so very few should be in love with the Beauty of Holiness, were I not immediately surprised with a greater Miracle, which is, that many of those few after some considerable progress in virtue retract their best choice, and after the good Angel has brought them within sight of the Mountain of Safety, look back upon the Region of wickedness.  
7. This certainly is a Condition no less strange than deplorable, and calls for our wonder as well as our Pity. 'Tis true indeed, ignorance of the sweets of Religion may something lessen the wonder of not embracing it, and the Food of Angels may lie neglected on the ground so long as men wist not what it is, but for those who are once enlightened, and have tasted of the Heavenly gift, and are made partakers of the Holy Ghost, and have tasted the good word of God, and the powers of the world to come, one would think it as difficult for such to fall away, as the Apostle assures us 'tis to renew them again to Repentance.  
8. But such is the imperfection and unsteddiness of Human Nature that from the beginning of things there have been instances of this kind. Paradise could not preserve man in his innocence, and the Garden of the Lord degenerated into a Wilderness. Neither is this to be observed only in man, who sits in the lowest form of Intellectual Being's, but the very Angels also, who are greater in power and might 
Job 4. 18.  are charged with Folly for leaving their own habitation. Those bright sons of the morning could not long endure to be Happy, but grew giddy with the sublimity of their station and fell from the Heights of Glory. And although the blessed inhabitants of that serene and peaceful mansion are now (as 'tis piously believed) fully confirmed in Holiness and Happiness, yet man like this sublunary Region which falls to his lot to inherit, is still nothing else but a Scene of Changes and Revolutions, but in nothing so changeable, as in that wherein he ought to be most fixed, the practice of Virtue and Religion. 'Tis a narrow and a rugged path, and he that treads surest is not secure from falling.  
9 This will plainly appear to him that considers, that no Habit though contracted by never so great a repetition of acts does necessitate the faculty, but only disposes it to act with greater facility, and consequently leaves it still indifferent to opposite operations. Whence 'tis easy to conceive, that an Habit of Holiness may by degrees be abolished by contrary actions. For as this Habit was at first begotten by frequent acts, so may it be destroyed by opposite ones, and (what is more) a contrary Habit may be at length produced.  
10. This I say is very possible in the ordinary course of things, and that God should interpose here with an irresistible power to prevent it, we have no grounds from Scripture or reason to expect, and therefore 'twould be a most intolerable presumption to rely upon it. My grace is sufficient for thee was the utmost degree of consolation vouchsafed to the chosen Vessel; He had God's faithfulness engaged for it, that he should not be tempted above his strength, but yet notwithstanding this sufficiency, it must have been possible for him to have fallen from his own steadfastness, otherwise I cannot imagine to what purpose he should 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 keep under his body, and bring it into subjection, and all for this reason, lest that by any means when he had preached to others, he himself should be a castaway.  
11. What, did the Angels let fall their Crowns of glory, and shall man pretend to Indefectibility? Indeed the Platonists tell us of an order of Being's called 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 and 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 minds, units and self-goodnesses, whom they suppose to be the closest draught of their Maker, and the Masterpiece of the whole Creation. And these they say are essentially and in their own nature immutable, and the reason that they assign for it is, because they are pure, uncompounded spirits, and utterly abstract from matter. And although these are the only Creatures which they affirm to be essentially immutable, yet they allow a gift or Privilege of Perseverance to certain men. But then they are such as (according to their Hypothesis of Pre-existence) were not sent down into these bodies for any faults committed in another state, but who came hither either out of generosity, or by divine dispensation to be guides and examples of Heroic virtue in the world. And these they say are secure of remaining good and virtuous, and of returning to their native Country again.  
12. Now as to the first opinion of theirs, I can by no means make it part of my Creed. For to be essentially immutable, I take to be the incommunicable property of the Father of Lights with whom is no variableness or shadow of turning, and who is the same yesterday, to day and for ever. No Creature how excellent soever can lay claim to this divine prerogative. And this I find acknowledged by a Person of great worth, and one who in other points was very Platonically given; But here he has deserted his Master, as is to be seen in his Book 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 
lib. 1. c. 8.  And the generality of Christian writers seem to conspire with Origen in this, inasmuch as they hold not only a Lapse of Angels in general, but withal suppose him who is now the Prince of Devils, to have been once an Angel of the highest Order.  
13. As to their latter opinion (not to meddle with the Hypothesis upon which 'tis founded) I do not absolutely deny but that to some men who have for a long time given excellent proof of their obedience, and with unwearied resolution fought the Lord's Battles, God may at length vouchsafe such a plentiful portion of grace and so establish them with his Free Spirit, that they shall never depart from him, partly to reward their past fidelity, and partly, that they may become burning lamps to give constant light in the Temple of God. For since 'tis confessed on all hands, that God by way of punishment does withdraw his grace from some obstinate sinners, and give them up after a long abuse of his mercy to the fulfilling of their own lusts, 'tis but what the Analogy of reason requires, to suppose on the other hand that God may be so favourable to some of his most eminent servants, who have for a long time well acquitted themselves in the severest trials, as at length to give his Angels a peculiar charge over them to keep them in all their ways. And this supposition seems not a little countenanced from what the Spirit says to the Church of Philadelphia, Because thou hast kept the word of 
Rev. 3. 10.  my Patience, I also will keep thee from the hour of temptation which shall come upon all the world, to try them that dwell upon the earth.  
14. But although this be granted, yet it makes nothing against our present assertion, as every one must acknowledge that attends to these two Considerations. 1st, that these are extraordinary instances of the Divine favour, vouchsafed only to extraordinary persons, and to extraordinary purposes, and consequently when we treat of God's ordinary dealings with the sons of men, must not come into computation. And 2ly, that even these extraordinary persons whom we suppose to be at length thus highly favoured, were notwithstanding for a great part of their lives in a defectible condition, and that they are now no longer so, is supposed to be the reward of their past fidelity, so that they may say with the Psalmist, This I had because I kept 
Psal. 119.  thy Commandments.  
15. What hinders then, but that it be concluded possible for t●● generality of men at all times, and for all men at some times to fall from a state of Holiness, and after they have tasted the liberty of the sons of God, to become again the servants of corruption? And sure those that assert the contrary destroy not only the excellency, but the nature of obedience, defeat and evacuate the design of all Scripture exhortations, which would be as impertinent upon their supposition, as to exhort him to continue to live who is Immortal, pervert the order of things, arrogating to themselves in this state of Probation the portion of confirmed Saints, and lastly assume to themselves more, than many of the great Masters of Theology will allow to our B. Saviour himself in the days of his flesh. Did our Saviour seem to shrink at the apprehension of his sad hour, and to be at a stand whether he should drink off his bitter cup? Did his danger seem so considerable, that he was fain to betake himself to his great Antidote Prayer, and borrow courage from the consolation of an Angel? And does mere man sit careless and unconcerned, secure of the issues of eternity? See the indecorum, the Lord is in his Agony, & the Disciples sleep on and take their rest. But I think I have said enough to awaken them out of their dangerous slumber, and to convince them that all is not so safe as they dream, and that notwithstanding the present firmness of their station, there is still left a possibility of falling.  
16. But now lest this possibility of falling be reduced to act, I proceed to consider the vast encouragements, the infinite engagements that he who is Holy has to be holy still. And these I shall choose to represent to him in these two general Considerations. 1st, that he has made the best choice that he could possibly have made, and consequently, 'tis against all the reason in the world that he should rescind it. And 2ly, that if notwithstanding he does rescind it, he will not only lose the advantage of his best choice, but incur an opposite portion of misery, and that in a greater measure than other sinners. These I take to be the most proper Considerations to enforce the grand Duty of Perseverance.  
17. The consequence of the first Argument proceeds upon this Principle, that that choice which is best is not to be rescinded. This Proposition is so evident that it can hardly admit, much less need any proof, and 'tis practically confessed by every man throughout the whole tenor of his life. For no man retracts his choice till he has altered the Dictate of his understanding (for otherwise he would choose evil under the very Formality of evil) and has entertained other apprehensions of the object than he had when he first chose it. And this is that which makes up the entire notion of Repentance, which is nothing else in its precise Idea, when abstracted from particular matter, but a Retractation of a former choice, proceeding from the alteration of the Practical Dictate, disallowing that now, which was before approved. For this a man never does till he thinks he has reason to do so. And upon this account 'tis, that God is 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 and cannot properly repent, because his understanding being infinite and reaching out to all the possibilities of things, must needs dictate to his will after one uniform and constant manner, it being impossible he should either discover something afterward which he did not comprehend at first, or lose the apprehension of something which he did. But the understanding of man being finite and imperfect at the best, and oftentimes corrupted and biased by the Passions, has at several times different apprehensions of things, and being sometimes under and sometimes out of the cloud, dictates to the will as the Sun shines upon the Earth, with a disuniform and unequal light. Whereupon (as it frequently happens in Courts and Senates) many Decrees are enacted, which at the next Session are repealed again, though with this unhappiness, that sometimes her second thoughts are worse than her first, and that she sometimes retracts that which she should persevere in, as well as perseveres in that which she should retract. But whatever the Retraction really be, 'twas always thought for the best when made, so that he that reputes him of his Holiness, as well as he that reputes him of his sin, does it upon the change of his Practical Dictate, judging that not to be best now, which before was so pronounced, and consequently, they both own the Truth of the forementioned Principle, that that choice which is best is not to be rescinded.  
18. This being firm, all the business in question now will be, whether he that is Holy has made the best choice or no. And if it shall appear that he has, then by the Principle just now laid down he ought not, nay he cannot be so much a Contradiction to himself as to rescind it. Now to convince him that he has made the best choice, I desire him to consider, 1st that he has chosen that which God had chosen for him before, so that his choice stands recommended to him by the Authority of infinite and unerring wisdom. And this is foundation enough to warrant a certain (though implicit) persuasion that it must needs be best for him. I say best for him, for God being already possessed of all possible perfection, cannot act any thing for any self-advantage, and therefore whatsoever he does is for the good of his Creatures. For there is this difference (as Divine Plato excellently well observes) between the Divine love and created love, that the one springs from Indigency, and the other from fullness and redundancy. And therefore as God did not at first speak this world into being, to raise himself a monument of Power and divine Architecture, so neither does he govern the Rational part of it by the Precepts of Religion out of any self-design, as if he feasted his nostrils with the perfumes of the Altar, or his ears with the accents of an Hallelujah. For can a man be profitable to 
Job. 22.  God, as he that is wise may be profitable to himself? Is it any pleasure to the Almighty that thou art righteous? or is it gain to him that thou makest thy way perfect? No certainly, and therefore when he chalked out the ways of Righteousness and Holiness for man to walk in, it could not be for any self end, but purely for the good of man, and consequently (if infinite wisdom be to be trusted) it must be his best choice to be Holy.  
19 Secondly let him consider, that the Practice of Religion consults a man's whole interest, and partly of its own nature and partly by divine constitution, tends to make him happy in all his capacities, and consequently must needs be his best choice. As for impious and unjust Practices, if they do at any time promote a man's private and secular interest, yet 'tis always both at the expense of the public, and of his own eternal welfare, and then, what will it profit a man to gain the whole world and lose his own Soul? But now this is the peculiar gain of godliness, that it has the promise both of this life and of that which is to come, that it conduces to our advantage both here and hereafter. Interest and Duty are immediately linked together in this life, and every Virtue has a natural Sanction of Reward and Punishment respectively attending it, as I could easily demonstrate, but that it has been already done by many excellent hands, and particularly with Mathematic 
Dr. Cumberland.  evidence by a late writer of our own. And although it happen sometimes through the unreasonableness and injustice of men that Duty and Interest interfere, and that Virtue be defeated of the Portion she is naturally endowed with, yet she shall recover her own again at the great Assize, at the day of the revelation of the righteous Judgements of God. And although instead of being rewarded it be our fortune to suffer for righteousness sake, yet we Christians know that it entitles us to one of our Saviour's Beatitudes, and we are also well assured from one whose case it was to be so dealt with, that the sufferings of the present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory that shall be revealed, and that our light affliction which is but for a moment, worketh for us 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory. So that whatever difficulties and hardships Religion may sometimes engage a man in, yet when the whole account is cast up, he will find the Practice of Religion as gainful, as the belief of it is rational, that to be Holy is his best choice, and that he has infinite reason to pray in the words of Balaam, Let me die the death of the Righteous, and let my last end be like his.  
20. And now one would think, that one who has so great and so apparent reason for his choice as the Religious man has, should not easily be brought to retract it, and say with those in Malachi, it is vain to serve God, and what profit is it that I have kept his ordinances? But because 'tis observed to be the Nature of Man to be more strongly affected with Punishments than Rewards, I shall for his better establishment in the purposes of Holiness present him with the 2d general Consideration, which is, that if notwithstanding the excellency of his choice he does retract it, he will not only lose the advantages of it, but also incur an opposite portion of misery, and that in greater measures than other sinners.  
21. That he will lose the advantages of his first and best choice, is plain from the whole tenor of the Gospel, Perseverance to the end being the express condition of Salvation. And that he will incur an opposite portion of misery, is plain from the double Sanction of Rewards and Punishments wherewith God has bound us to the observance of his otherwise sufficiently profitable Laws. And although this be sufficient in the severest trials to preserve us from Apostasy, and when flames of fire surround us to secure our footing in the Holy ground, yet thus far is but to die the common death of sinners, and to be visited after the visitation of the Impenitent. But now if the Lord make a new thing, and the Desertor of Piety be punished in a greater measure than other sinners, then shall ye understand that this man has provoked the Lord.  
22. And that he shall be so punished is the peculiar consideration which I shall now insist upon, and which I prove from the heinousness of his crime, Apostasy having in it many degrees of evil beyond the common state of sin. For if after they have escaped the Pollutions of the world through the knowledge of the Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, they are again entangled therein and overcome, the latter end is worse with them than the beginning. For it had been better for them not to have kuown the way of Righteousness, than after they have known it to turn from the Holy Commandment delivered unto them.  
23. But to represent the heinousness of Apostasy a little more particularly, and that this sin above all others may appear to be exceeding sinful, let me desire the unthinking man to consider, 1st, that he that falls back from a course of holy living, does in a special manner grieve the holy Spirit of God. He sacrilegiously takes that from him which he had once most solemnly consecrated to his service, he defiles the seat of his residence, alienates it to profane uses, blots out the Tetragrammaton of the Temple, and suffers it to be no longer Holiness to the Lord. He disinherits his God, disturbs his rest, and forces him to leave the habitation whereof he had once said, This shall be my rest for ever, here will I dwell for I have a delight therein. Add to this affront of the H. Spirit that resided in him, that he grieves the Angels that attended him, and with much concern and hopes ministered to his Salvation. Those disappointed and unsuccessful Guardians with sorrow cry out to one another as the Angels did in the Jewish Temple, when through many profanations it was no longer fit for their charge, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 
Josephus de Bell. Jud. lib. 7.  let us depart hence. Neither does he disappoint the Tutelar Ministers of his Salvation only, but causes universal grief in Heaven. Those kind and compassionate Spirits who before rejoiced at his Repentance and Conversion, and began to reckon upon the new accession they should have to the Choir of Heaven, now tune their Harps to the strains of sorrow and lament the disappointment of their hopes.  
24. Consider secondly, that to the sin of Apostasy is added the circumstance of inexcusableness. The man has entered within the veil, has seen the inner Beauties of the Holy place, and has been taught the secrets of the kingdom, his understanding has been instructed, and his will has been entertained, he has given proof of his Powers and abilities and has conquered the steepest part of the Mount his difficulties lessen and his strength increases; so that if now he retreat and slide back to the bottom of the hill, he has nothing whereby to excuse himself either before God or man, but stands in the highest sense of the phrase 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 self-condemned. We generally make some allowances for the miscarriages of those who were never enlightened, and have had no acquaintance with the substantial delights of Religion, and the satisfaction of sober counsels, because indeed they knew no better, but when we are told that the wisest of men after a censure of Vanity passed upon the whole Creation, and a long application of his mind to the excellent Theories of Moral and Divine Knowledge, was yet toward the evening of his life when the Sun drove hard and the shadows increased, drawn aside by strange women, and that his wisdom departed from him like the Dream wherein it was given him, this indeed we may lament, but cannot excuse.  
25. Consider thirdly, that he who falls from a state of Holiness must needs do strange violence to his Reason. If he be a new Convert he cannot sure without great reluctancy defile that Temple which he has so lately swept and garnished. And if he be a Saint of some considerable standing, sure he must be the more unwilling to break off a long-dated innocence for the unsatisfying pleasure of a moment. For though (as 'tis well observed by Plutarch) men of desperate and bankrupt fortunes have little regard to their expenses, because should they save them the tide of their estates want rise much the higher, and so they think it impertinent to be frugal, when there's no hopes of being rich. Yet they that see their heaps begin to swell, and that they are within the neighbourhood of wealth, think it worth while to be saving and improve their growing stock. But then after a long thrift and sparing, to throw away the hard purchase of many years in one night's gaming, is one of the Prodigys of Folly and Indiscretion. And yet this is the very case of him that lets go his integrity.  
26. Consider fourthly and lastly, that the Apostate has the greatest ingratitude imaginable to aggravate his folly. Indeed every sinner is a very ungrateful person, because he trespasses against his best Friend and Benefactor, against him that made him, against him that died for him, and against him that follows him with the daily offers of his grace and lays stratagems of mercy for his reformation. But the Back sliding man sins against greater mercies, endearments and obligations yet. He has lived in the service of his Lord, has received the earnest of his Spirit, he has been of his Family, nay more, he has been called his Friend, he has eaten with him at his Table, he has dwelled under the endearments of familiar converse, he has been with him in his Banqueting house where the Banner that was over him was Love, he has plighted his faith, given his heart and said with Passion, My Beloved is mine and I am his, so that to turn Renegade now is the greatest beseness and ingratitude conceivable, 'tis to betray his Lord and Master after the obligations of Intimacy and Discipleship, 'tis to break the tables of his law after he has been with him on the Mount, and seen the back parts of his glory.  
27. Since therefore the Apostate has so many peculiar circumstances to aggravate his crime beyond the guilt of common sinners, of how much sorer punishment suppose ye shall he be thought worthy who has thus trodden under foot the Son of God, and has counted the blood of the Covenant wherewith he was sanctified an unholy thing, and has done despite to the Spirit of Grace? which was the last general consideration.  
28. What now remains, but that upon a serious consideration of the Premises, He that is Holy think himself highly concerned to be Holy still. That he lift up the hands that hang down; and sstrengthen the feeble knees, that he hold fast that which he has, that no man take his Crown, that he unravel not his holy vows, nor put himself back in the accounts of eternity, that he be not frighted or laughed out of his Religion, since 'tis his best and wisest choice, and will be found to be so in spite of all the profane drollery of supposed wits, in the day when wisdom shall be justified of all her wisdom. For than shall the Righteous man stand in great boldness before the face of such as have afflicted him and made no account of his labours. And they shall say within themselves, this was he whom we had sometimes in derision and a proverb of reproach; we fool's counted his life madness, and his end to be without honour. How is he numbered among the children of God, and his lot is among the Saints! Wherefore again, let him that is Holy be Holy still. Let him but maintain his station during his short warfare here on earth, and he shall be hereafter confirmed both in holiness and happiness, and be fixed in that Centre where he shall for ever rest. For so says the Spirit to the Churches, 
Rev. 3. 1●.  Him that overcometh will I make a Pillar in the Temple of my God, and he shall go no more out.   

A DISCOURSE CONCERNING HEROIC PIETY, Wherein its Notion is stated and its Practice recommended.  
A DISCOURSE CONCERNING HEROIC PIETY.  
1. SInce the Practice of Religion in general is not only the Natural Instrument of our present Happiness, but also the only and indispensable condition of our Future, one would think there were but little left for the Orator to do here, the naked efficacy of Self-love, and a serious consideration of our true and main Interest, being sufficient to engage us upon Religious performances. But he that shall undertake to recommend the Practice of Heroic Piety, has a much heavier task, not only because he persuades to higher degrees of Virtue, but because he is to address himself wholly to a weaker Principle. For since our interest is secured by the performance of necessary Duty, there remains nothing but a Principle of Generosity to carry us on to the higher advances, the more glorious Achievements in Religion. And what small probability there is that it will often do so, may appear from the ill success of the former and more prevailing Principle. For if the greatest interest imaginable can prevail with so very few to perform what is indispensably necessary to secure it, sure there is little hopes that Generosity, which is a much weaker Principle, should engage many upon greater performances.  
2. But yet, notwithstanding these discouragements, since our Blessed Saviour has taught us to pray, not only for the performance of God's will in general, but that it be done on Earth as it is in Heaven; that is, with the greatest zeal, readiness and alacrity, with all the degrees of Seraphic ardency that frail Mortality is capable of, I think a Persuasive to Heroic Piety may be a proper and useful undertaking; it being very reasonable we should make that the object of our endeavours, which our Saviour thought fit to make the matter of our Prayers.  
3. In discoursing upon this subject, I shall proceed in this Method. 1. I shall state the notion of Heroic Piety, and show what I mean by it. 2. I shall demonstrate that there is such a thing. And 3. I shall offer some Persuasives to recommend the practice of it.  
4. The Notion of Heroic Piety will be best understood by considering what the Moralists mean by Heroic Virtue. For the one carries the same proportion in Religion that the other does in Morality. But before I proceed to explain the Thing, I suppose it will not be amiss to give some short account of the Name. That it is derived from the Greek word 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, is very obvious, all the difficulty is concerning the derivation of the Greek word itself. And here I find the Grammarians are very much divided; some derive it 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, but that seems somewhat hard; others derive it from 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, because 'twas supposed by the Ancients that the Souls of the Heroes had their abode in the Air, where they had a near prospect of human affairs; and accordingly Xenon in Laertius, lib. 7. calls Heroes the Souls of wise men separated from their Bodies, and ranging about in the Air; others derive it from 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, because the Heroes are a kind of terrestrial Gods, according to that definition which Lucian gives of an Hero, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, one that is neither God nor man, but a compound of both. Others derive it from 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, the name of Juno, who was the Precedent Goddess of the Air, intimating thereby either the Habitation, or the light aereal Nature of the Heroes. And this Etymology I remember is approved of by St. Austin, lib. 10. de Civ. Dei, cap. 21. But methinks the most natural and significant one is that of Plato, who derives it from 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, because of that ardent and passionate Love which the Heroes are supposed to have for God. And as the word Hero is very doubtful as to its Etymology, so is it also various in its acceptation. Sometimes it is attributed to illustrious and eminent Personages while living, such as act and live above the ordinary strain of Mortality, and render it a very disputable Point whether they are Gods or men. A Character which Homer gives of the great Hector, Iliad ●●.  

— 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.   
And in this sense the word Hero is used by Hesiod,  

〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉—   
Sometimes by Heroes are meant the Souls of wise and good men departed, as is evident from the forecited testimony in Laertius. But in the Platonic Philosophy by Heroes is understood a middle sort of Being, inferior to those whom they style the Immortal Gods, and superior to Man; as is to be seen at large in Hierocles.  
5. Beyond these three acceptations of the word, I do not know of any other. But this is certain, that in whatsoever sense it is used, it always denotes something great and extraordinary. So that from hence 'tis easy to collect what is meant by Heroic Virtue, (viz.) Such a vehement and intense pursuance of a man's last and best end, as engages him upon such excellent and highly commendable actions, which advance him much above the ordinary level of human Nature, and which he might wholly omit, and yet still maintain the Character of a good man. Aristotle in his Ethics l. 7. c. 1. calls it 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, that Virtue that is above us. By which, I suppose, he does not mean that it is above our reach and unattainable, but that it is above our obligation, and that when it is attained, it will elevate us above ourselves.  
6. In proportion to this Notion of Heroic Virtue, I understand by Heroic Piety those excellent degrees and eminences of Religion, which, though to arrive at be extremely laudable, yet we may fall short of them without Sin, God having not bound them upon us as parts of Duty, or made them the Conditions of our Salvation, but only recommended them by way of Counsel, and left them as instances of Generosity. Of this sort are those high and singular Exercises of Religion which are the fruits and effects of a profound and steady contemplation of God: Such as are the passionate applications of Seraphic Love, acts of ecstatic joy and complacency in the Perfections of the Divine Nature, holy transports of Zeal and Devotion, Praise and Adoration: earnest contentions and very numerous returns of Prayer, actual references of our most natural and indifferent actions to God's glory, extraordinary works of Charity, great severities of Mortification and Self-denial, abstemiousness from many lawful Pleasures, perpetual Celibacy, and whatsoever else are the excellent products of a contemplative and affectionate Religion.  
7. Thus far of the Notion of Heroic Piety. I come now to my second Undertaking, which was to show that there is such a thing. Tho universality and sincerity of Obedience be indispensably required of every Christian, and consequently every part of Religion obliges under the penalty of Damnation as to its kind, yet that there may be some degrees to the attainment of which we are not so obliged, will evidently appear from the proof of this one single Proposition, That every one is not bound to do what is best. The reasonableness of which Proposition appears from the very nature of the thing; for since that which is Best is a Superlative, it necessarily supposes the Positive to be good: And if so, than we are not bound to that which is best, for if we were, then that which is only good would be evil, (it being short of what we are bound to) which is contrary to the supposition.  
8. This Argument I take to be Demonstrative, and therefore 'twould be a kind of Supererogation in me to allege any more. But however, for the clearer eviction and stronger confirmation of this Assertion, I farther consider, that the Scripture consists of Counsels as 
Matt. 19 20. and 21. 1 Cor. 7. 1, 6, 7, 25, 38. 2 Cor. 8. 10. and 9 6.  well as Commands. Now if some things are matter of Counsel only, 'tis obvious to conclude two things. 1. From their being counselled, that they are good (nothing being matter of Counsel but what is so) and secondly, from their being only counselled, that they do not oblige, and consequently, that there are some degrees of good that we are not obliged to.  
9 It is farther observable, that in Scripture there is mention made of a threefold Will of God. Rom. 12. 2. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, That Will which is good, that which is wellpleasing, and that which is perfect. The first of these denotes absolute Duty, the two last the various degrees of Perfection and Heroic Excellence. Thus for St. Paul to preach the Gospel to the Corinthians, was an Act of strict Duty which he could not leave undone without incurring that woe which he annexes to the omission of it, 1 Cor. 9 16. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. But to preach without charging them was an instance of 
Theophylact.  Generosity, and in that respect there was room for boasting. Thus again, for a Jew to allot the tenth part of his Revenue every third year toward the relief of the Poor, was an act of express Duty, and in doing of that, he would but satisfy the obligation of the Law; But now if in his charitable contributions he should exceed that proportion, according to the degrees of the excess, so would the degrees of his Perfection be. Thus again in the matter of Devotion, daily Prayer is generally concluded to be a Duty, and by some Critics that it be twice performed, in proportion to the returns of the Jewish Sacrifices, Morning and Evening; But now if a more generously disposed Christian should add a third time, or out of abundance of zeal should come up to the Psalmist's resolution of (Seven times a day will I praise thee) this would be a freewill Offering, well pleasing and of sweet savour, but not commanded.  
10. From these and many other instances, which, if necessary, I could easily produce, it plainly appears that Religion does not consist in an indivisible point, but has a Latitude, and is capable of more and less, and consequently there is room for voluntary Oblations and Acts of Heroic Piety.  
11. I know it is usually objected here, that what is supposed to be thus Heroically performed, is inclusively enjoined by virtue of those comprehensive words, (Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, with all thy Soul, etc.) But, I conceive, that all which is intended by that phrase, will amount to no more than, First, a sincere love of God, as 'tis opposed to that which is partial and divided; and secondly, such a degree of loving him, as admits of nothing into Competition with him. And thus far reach the Boundaries of indispensable Duty, it being impossible that he who does not love God in this sense and degree, should keep his Commandments. But beyond this, there are higher degrees, which, because we may fall short of without sin, are the more excellent when attained. So that in this Precept of loving God, as in all other instances of Religion, there is a great latitude, it being very possible for two Persons to love God sincerely and with their whole Soul, and yet in different measures (which is observed even among the Angels, the Seraphins having their name from their excess of Love) nay, for the same Person always to love God sincerely, and yet at some times to exceed himself, and with his Saviour (who to be sure never failed of necessary Duty) to pray yet more earnestly.  
12. There is another Objection yet behind, which I think myself concerned to answer, as well in my own defence as that of my Argument. Some perhaps may be so weak to imagine, that by asserting such a thing as Heroic Piety, and that a Christian may do more than he is commanded, I too much favour the Doctrine of Supererogation. But I consider, that for a Man to do more than he is commanded, is an ambiguous expression, and may denote either that he can perform the whole Law of God and more, or that, though he fail of his Duty in many Instances, and consequently with the rest of Mankind, is concluded under Sin; Yet in some others he may exceed it, by pressing forward to some degrees of excellency he is not obliged to. I do not assert the former of these, but the latter. And I think I have sufficiently proved, that there are certain degrees in Religion, which we are not obliged to under Pain of Sin, and consequently that he who arrives so far, does (according to the latter notion of the Phrase) do more than he is commanded.  
13. Having in the foregoing Periods stated the Notion of Heroic Piety, and demonstrated that there is such a thing, I proceed now to my third and last undertaking, which was to offer some Persuasives to recommend the Practice of it. First then, I consider that Religion is the Perfection of a Man, the improvement and accomplishment of that part of him wherein he resembles his Maker, the pursuance of his best and last end, and consequently his Happiness. And will a man set bounds to his Happiness? Will he be no more happy than he is commanded, no more than what will just serve to secure him from a miserable Eternity? Is not Happiness desirable for it self, as well as for the avoiding of Misery? Why then do we deal with it as with dangerous Physic, weighing it by Grains and Scruples and nice Proportions? Why do we drink so moderately of the River of Paradise, so sparingly of the Well of Life? Are we afraid of making too nigh advances to the State of Angels, of becoming too like God, of antedating Heaven? Are we afraid our Happiness will flow in too thick upon us, that we shall not bear up against the Tide, but sink under the too powerful enjoyment? Hereafter indeed, when we are blest with the Beatific Vision, and the Glories of the Divine Brightness shall flash too strong upon our Souls, so that our Happiness begins to be lessened by its greatness; We may then with the Angels that attend the Throne, veil our Faces, and divert some of the too exuberant blessedness: But now in this Region we are far enough from being under the Line, there is no danger of such Extremity, but rather the contrary, and therefore it would be now most advisable for us to be as Happy, and to that end, as Religious as we can.  
14. Secondly, I consider, that since God, out of the abundance of his overflowing and communicative Goodness, was pleased to create and design man for the best of Ends, the fruition of himself in endless Happiness, and since he has prescribed no other Conditions for the attainment of this Happiness; but that we would live happily here in this State of Probation, having made nothing our Duty but what would have been best for us to do whether he had commanded it or no, and has thereby declared, that he is so far only pleased with our Services to him as they are beneficial to ourselves; this must needs be a most endearing engagement to one that has the least spark of Generosity or Ingenuity, to do something for the sake of so good a God, beyond the Measures of Necessity, and the regards of his main and final Interest. This is the only Tribute of Gratitude we are capable of paying God for giving us such good, such reasonable, and righteous Laws. Had the conditions of our eternal welfare been never so hard, arbitrary, and contradictory to our present Happiness, yet mere interest would engage us to perform necessary Duty, and shall we do no more out of a principle of Love to our excellent Lawgiver, for making our present Happiness the Condition of our future? Shall the Love of God constrain us to do no more than what we would do merely for the Love of ourselves? shall we stint our Performances to him, who sets no Measures to his Love of us? Can our Generosity be ever more seasonably employed than in endeavouring to please him in extraordinary Measures, whose Pleasure is to see us happy even while we please him? For so is the will of the wise and good Governor of the World, that in serving him we should serve ourselves, and like Adam in his dressing and cultivation of Paradise, at the same time discharge the Employment which God sets us about, and consult our own Convenience: So that it fares with us in our religious Exercises as with the Votary that sacrifices at the Altar, who all the while he pleases and serves his God, enjoys the perfumes of his own Incense.  
15. Thirdly, I consider, that every man has a restless Principle of Love implanted in his Nature, a certain Magnetism of Passion, whereby (according to the Platonic and true notion of Love) he continually aspires to something more excellent than himself, either really or apparently, with a design and inclination to perfect his Being. This affection and disposition of Mind all Men have, and at all times. Our other Passions ebb and flow like the Tide, have their Seasons and Periods like intermitting Fevers. But this of Love is as constant as our Radical heat, as inseparable as thought, as even and equal as the Motions of Time. For no man does or can desire to be happy more at one time than at another, because he desires it always in the highest degree possible. 'Tis true, his Love, as to particular objects, may increase or decrease, according to the various apprehensions he has of their excellencies; but then, like Motion in the Universe, what it loses in one part it gains in another; so that in the whole it remains always alike, and the same. Now this Amorous Principle which every man receives with his Soul, and which is breathed into him with the breath of Life, must necessarily have an object about which it may exercise itself, there being no such thing in Love (if in Nature) as an Element of Self-sufficient Fire. For though we may easily and truly frame an abstract notion of Love or Desire in general, yet if we respect its real existence, we shall as soon find First Matter without Form, as Love without a particular Object. And, as 'tis necessary to the very being of Love that it have an object, so is it to our content and happiness, that it be a proportionate and satisfying one; for otherwise that passion which was intended as an instrument of happiness, will prove an affliction and torment to us. Now there is but one such object to be found, and that is God. In the application of our Passions to other things, the advice of the Poet is exceeding necessary,  Quicquid amas cupias non placuisse nimis. Martial. 
That we should be very cautious how far we suffer ourselves to be engaged in the love of any thing, because there is nothing but disappointment in the enjoyment, and uncertainty in the possession. We must needs therefore be miserable in our Love, unless God be the object of it. But neither is our happiness sufficiently secured by making God the object of our Love, unless we concentre our whole affections upon him, and (in the strictest sense of the Phrase) love him with all our Heart and with all our Soul. For otherwise, whatever portion of our Love does not run in this Channel, must necessarily fix upon disproportionate and unsatisfying objects, and consequently be an instrument of discontent to us. 'Tis necessary therefore to the completing of our happiness, that that object should engross all our affections to itself, which only can satisfy them; and (according to the 
Marsilius Ficinus, Tom. 2. pag. 315.  comparison of an ingenious Platonist) that our minds should have the same habitude to God that the Eye has to Light. Now the Eye does not only love Light above other things, but delights in nothing else. I confess, such an absolute and entire Dedication of our love to God as this, is not always practicable in this Life. It is the privilege and happiness of those confirmed Spirits who are so swallowed up in the Comprehensions of Eternity, and so perpetually ravished with the Glories of the Divine Beauty, that they have not the power to turn aside to any other object. But though this Superlative Excellency of Divine Love be not attainable on this side of the thick darkness, it being the proper effect of open Vision, and not of Contemplation; yet however, by the help of this latter, we may arrive to many degrees of it, and the more entire and undivided our love is to God, the fewer disappointments and dissatisfactions we shall meet with in the World, which is a very strong engagement to Heroie Piety.  
16. Fourthly, I consider, that the degrees of our Reward shall be proportionable to the degrees of our Piety: We shall reap as plentifully as we sow, and at the great day of Retribution, we shall find, that besides the general Collation of Happiness, peculiar Coronets of Glory are prepared for Eminent Saints. Indeed, all hearty and sincere lovers of God and Religion shall partake of the glories of the Kingdom; but some shall sit nearer the Throne than others, and enjoy a more intimate perception of the Divine Beauty. All the true Followers of Jesus shall indeed feast with him at the great Supper, but some shall be placed nearer to him than others, and still there shall be a Beloved Disciple that shall lean on his Bosom. I know this Doctrine concerning different degrees of Glory, is (and indeed what is there that is not) very much questioned by some, and peremptorily denied by others; but since it is so highly agreeable to the goodness and bounty of God, and to the Catholic Measures of Sense and Reason; and is so mightily-favoured, if not expressly asserted in many places of Scripture, I shall not here go about to establish the truth of it, but taking it for granted, do urge this as another consideration of great moment, toward encouraging the practice of Heroic Piety.  
17. Fifthly, and lastly, I consider, that We have indeed but very little time to serve God in. The Life of man at longest is but short, and considering how small a part of it we live, much shorter. If we deduct from the Computation of our Years (as we must do, if we will take a true estimate of our Life) that part of our time which is spent in the incogitancy of Infancy and Childhood, the impertinence and heedlessness of Youth, in the necessities of Nature, Eating, Drinking, Sleeping, and other Refreshments; in business and worldly Concerns, engagements with Friends and Relations, in the offices of Civility and mutual intercourse; besides a thousand other unnecessary avocations: we shall find that there is but a small portion left even for the Retirements of Study, for our improvement in Arts and Sciences, and other intellectual accomplishments. But then if we consider what great disbursements of our time are made upon them also, we shall find that Religion is crowded up into a very narrow compass; so narrow, that were not the rewards of Heaven matter of express Revelation, 'twould be the greatest Presumption imaginable to hope for them upon the condition of such inconsiderable Services. Since than our time of serving God is so very short, so infinitely disproportionate to the rewards we expect from him, 'tis but a reasonable piece of ingenuity to work with all our might, and do as much in it as we can: to supply the poverty of Time by frugal management and intenseness of affection, to serve God earnestly, vigorously, and zealously; and in one days Devotion to abbreviate the ordinary Piety of many years. 'Tis said of the Devil, that he prosecuted his malicious designs against the Church with greater 
Rev. 12. 12.  earnestness and vigour, because he knew he had but a short time. And shall not the same consideration prevail with a generous Soul to do as much for God and Religion, as the Devil did against them? 'Tis a shame for him that has but a short part to act upon the Stage, not to perform it well, especially when he is to act it but once. Man has but one state of Probation, and that of an exceeding short continuance, and therefore, since he cannot serve God long, he should serve him much, employ every minute of his life to the best advantage, thicken his Devotions, hollow every day in his Calendar by Religious exercises, and every action in his Life by holy references and designments; for let him make what haste he can to be wise, Time will outrun him. This is a Consideration of infinite moment to him that duly weighs it; and he that thus numbers his days, will find great reason to apply his heart to more than ordinary degrees of Wisdom.   

CONTEMPLATION AND LOVE. OR, The Methodical Ascent of the Soul to God, by steps of Meditation.  
— Nisi ad haec admitterer,  
Non fuerat operae pretium nasci.  Senec. Nat. Quaest. l. 1. 

Contemplation the First.  
That 'tis necessary Man should have some end.  
1. IN the Depth of Solitude and Silence, having withdrawn myself not only from all worldly Commerce, but from all thoughts concerning any thing without my own Sphere; I retire wholly into myself, and there speculate the Composition of my Intellectual nature.  
2. And here besides that faculty of Perception whereby I apprehend objects, whether Material or Immaterial, without any Material species; (which in the Cartesian Dialect I call Pure Intellect) and that other of apprehending objects as present, under a corporeal image or representation; (which I distinguish from the other power of Perception by the name of Imagination) I say, besides these two, I observe an Appetitive Faculty, whereby I incline to Apparent good; and that either by a bare act of Propension, or endeavour to unite with the agreeable object; which answers to Pure Intellect, and may be called Will or rather Volition) or by such a propension of the Soul as is also accompanied with a Commotion of the Blood and Spirits; which answers to Imagination, and is the same with the Passion of Love.  
3. And of this I further meditate, and by self reflection experiment, that although the Perceptive Faculty be not always in actual exercise, or at least not in the same degree of it. (For, if according to the Cartesian Hypothesis there be no intermission of Cogitation, yet 'tis most certain that its applications are not always equal and uniform) though this I say be true as to the Perceptive; yet, I find by attending to the operations of my nature, that the Appetitive faculty is not only always in Act, but in the same degree of intention and Application. As it never has any total intermission, so neither is it subject (as indeed every thing else in man is) to ebbs and flows, but acts uniformly as well as constantly. This Amorous Bias and Endeavour of the Soul is like that stock of Motion which the French Philosopher supposes the Universe at first endowed with, which continues always at the same rate, not to be abated or increased. Not that this equality of Love is to be understood in reference to particular objects, any more than that of Motion in reference to particular Bodies; but only, that it gains in one part, as much as it loses in another, so as in the whole to remain equal and uniform.  
4. For however various and inconstant I may be in my love of particular objects, according to the various apprehension I have of their respective excellencyes; yet certainly I pursue Happiness in general with the same earnestness and vigour, and do not love or wish well to myself more at one time, than at another.  
5. And indeed since all my inconstancy in the prosecution of particular objects proceeds from the variety of my Apprehensions concerning their Excellency; and the only reason why I withdraw my Affection from this or that thing is, because I discern or suspect that Happiness not to be there which I expected, it is hence plainly argued à posteriori, that I stand at all times equally affected towards Happiness itself. As he that is therefore only variously affected toward the means according as he variously apprehends their serviceableness to the End, may be truly said to affect the End itself always alike.  
6. Nor can it possibly be otherwise than that I should thus point at Happiness with an equal Verticity; because I always affect it in the highest degree that is possible, which admits of no Latitude. For I consider myself here as a necessary Agent, and accordingly as such can neither suspend the whole Act, nor any one degree of it, but must needs operate to the utmost stretch of my Power. This Spring of my Soul (my Appetitive Faculty) is always at its full bent, and accordingly presses and endeavours with its whole Elasticity.  
7. For since Good or Happiness is the utmost object of my Appetitive, it must needs employ its whole Power, otherwise so much of it as is not in act will be for ever uncapable of being so; (there being nothing left beyond that to bring it into act) and consequently will be planted in me in vain, which I think absurd to admit; and therefore find it necessary to conclude that my Appetitive is wholly employed in the love of Happiness; or that I always love it to the utmost capacity of my faculty.  
8. Since therefore I find in myself an Appetitive Faculty which is always in actual exercise, and that after an even and equal measure; and not only so, but also in the very Height of activity and Invigoration; I am by the clue of Meditation further led to conclude, that there must be some Centre for this Weight; some object or other, either within or without me, of such ample, copious and solid excellence as may answer to the full extent of my desires, bear the whole stress of my inclining Soul, and such as may well deserve to be called the End of man.  
9 For I cannot think it any way consistent with the goodness of that great Being which called me out of the womb of Nothing to what I am, to plant in me such an Amorous Principle which at no time lies Dormant, but is always equally awake, and acting with the utmost plenitude of its vigour, supposing there were no proportionable object in the whole Latitude of Entity for it to fix and bottom upon. It being only a greater preparation and qualification for misery to have enlarged Faculties and Appetites when there is nothing to afford them agreeable satisfaction. Which however some may be justly subjected to for their after-demerit, can yet never be reasonably supposed to be the Antecedent will of God.  
10. And this I am further induced to believe, when I consider how the great Author of Nature has made provision for the entertainment of our animal Faculties and particular Appetites: All our senses, Seeing, Hearing, Tasting, Smelling and Touching, have their proper objects and opportunities of pleasure respectively. Which makes it very unlikely that our great and general Appetite of being Happy, should be the only one that is disinherited and unprovided for. Especially considering that the enjoyment and indulgence of any of the rest is then only and in such instances and circumstances restrained, when the greater interests of Happiness are thereby crossed and defeated. Which argues, that the true Happiness of Man is the thing chiefly regarded by God; and consequently, that there is a Provision for that great Appetite of his of being Happy, as well as for any of the rest.  
11. Which is yet further confirmed to me, when I consider, that there is an exemplification of it in the material part of the universe. The most ponderous Body that is has its Centre towards which it always presses, and in which it settles with full acquiescence. Now since there is something in Spiritual Being's which corresponds to weight in Bodies, (according to that of St. Austin, Amor tuus est Pondus tuum) the Analogy of the thing persuades me to think that there is also something which shall be to them in the nature of a Centre.  
12. And as the contrary is inconsistent with the Divine goodness, so neither can I reconcile it to the Wisdom of him who made all things in Number, Weight and Measure, to be so much out in his Proportions as to create an Appetite too high, vigorous, and craving, for the excellency and fullness of any object. This would be like making a Body too heavy for the Central Poise; or as if the Spring of a Watch should be made too strong for the wheel, or any other such disproportionate operations: which neither comports with the Geometry of the Divine Mind, nor with the exact Harmony of his other works.  
13. The Conclusion therefore from these Premises is, that Man is not as a Body for ever, rolling on in an Infinite vacuity; or as a Needle continually trembling for an embrace: but that he has his proper end and Centre; to which 'tis possible for him to arrive, and in which as impossible for him when once arrived, not fully to Acquiesce.  

The Prayer.  
MY God, My Creator, who by that active Principle of Love and immense Desire thou hast interwoven with my Nature, hast given me fair grounds to conclude that there must be some End on which I may fix and Centre with the full stress of my Faculties; point out to me by the guidance of thy Spirit this my true End, direct me in the persuance, and bring me to the attainment of it. Let me neither mistake my true Centre, nor by any irregular or oblique motion decline from it. But as thou hast appointed me for Happiness, and furnished me with natural Capacitys of receiving it, so let it be thy good pleasure to possess my Soul with such a serious and diligent Concern for my great interest, that I may not by any default of mine fail of that excellent good which will fill all the emptinesses of my Soul, leave no desire unsatisfied, and no trouble I can undergo in the quest of it unrewarded. O suffer me not to be disappointed of that excellent, that only good: but as thou hast made me aspire towards it infinitely, so grant I may enjoy it eternally, for thy great love and goodness sake,  
Amen.    

Contemplation the Second.  
That 'tis impossible Man should be his own end.  
1. BEing from my yesterday Contemplation of my Intellectual Nature, and the stock of desires therein implanted, led to this Conclusion, that 'tis necessary man should have some end; I now consider that 'tis but to carry on the thread of the same Contemplation a little further, and 'twill as evidently appear, that 'tis impossible man should be his own end.  
2. For while I stand fixed in the Contemplation of myself, I observe that I have this Appetitive Principle, not only in such a manner as answers to Weight in Bodies, but also so as to be analogous to gravitation, that is, to Weight not only in actu primo, but in actu secundo, as it denotes such an inclination of Body whereby not only one part presses against another, but whereby the whole leans and endeavours to something beyond the bounds of its own circumference.  
3. For besides Acts of self-complacency, whereby I delight and please myself in the perfections of my Nature, and turn as it were upon my own Axis; I find in me a great deal of Ecstatical Love, which continually carries me out to good without myself; which I endeavour to close and unite with, in hopes of bettering my present state, and of supplying from without what I seek, but cannot find within.  
4. Hence therefore I conclude that I am not (whatever complacencies I may sometimes take in myself) a Central or self-terminative Being, it being as impossible that what is so should love any thing without, (as love is taken for Desire or Aspiring to good) as that a Body should gravitate in the Centre. That which loves any thing without, wants something within. If therefore ay gravitate I am off from the Centre, consequently not my own Centre.  
5. And that I cannot ever Centre in myself and be my own End, is yet further evidenced to me, when I contemplate the great Disproportion between my Appetitive and all my other Perfections whether of Body or of Mind. I desire both more kinds of pleasure than they all can afford, and more Degrees of pleasure in the same kind. Which must necessarily be, because my Desires are extended to all possible good, but my real endowments and perfections are infinitely short of that extent. And by consequence, my Desires cannot be cramped within the narrow bounds of my own Sphere, but will of necessity run out farther, even as far as there is good without it.  
6. And as there is a manifest disproportion between my stock of self-perfection and my Appetitive, as to its objective Latitude (viz.) the kinds and degrees of Happiness; so is there no less as to the intenseness of its Acts. This Appetitive of mine (as was remarked in the preceding Contemplation) is always in an equal invigoration, and burns with an even and uniform heat; but I have not within myself fuel enough to maintain this flame in an equal height. I always equally desire, but I am not always equally desirable: partly because I am sometimes (even in my own partial judgement) in a Condition of less excellence both as to my Morals and Intellectuals than at other times; and partly, because the stock of my Perfections though 'twere possible they could be always alike as my Desires are, yet being both Finite in Nature; and Few in Number, cannot bear a long and uninterrupted enjoyment, and appear still equally grateful under it, any more than a short Poem though in it self equally excellent, can please equally after a Million of Repetitions.  
7. Hence it comes to pass, that I do not always take an equal Complacency in myself, but am oftentimes (especially after long retirements) apt to be melancholy and to grow weary of my own company; so that I am fain to lay aside myself (as it were) for a while, and relieve the penury of Solitude with the variety of Company, and so whet my appetite toward myself as I do toward my meat, by Fasting and abstemiousness.  
8. Since therefore I always desire equally, but not my self; (being not upon the two accounts before mentioned always equally desirable) it follows, that the steddiness and evenness of this my Flame must depend upon some other Fuel, good which is without me. And consequently, I do not terminate in myself, and so am not my own End.  

The Prayer.  
MY God, my Creator, who hast in thy great wisdom furnished me with Desires too large and vehement for the other Perfections of my Nature, and hast thereby made it impossible that I should ever be my own End; grant me effectually to consider the Barrenness and insufficiency of my own Nature, and how unable I am upon my own solitary stock to satisfy the importunity of my Soul: that so I may not be transported with vain complacencies▪ nor endeavour to bottom myself upon such a Centre as will moulder away under me and deceive me. Let me ever weigh myself in a true Balance, and be as observant of my imperfections as of my excellencies. Let me be ever thankful for the one, and humble for the other. What ever else I am ignorant of, O grant me a true understanding of myself; that I may not to the vanity of my Nature add levity of Spirit, nor become despicable in thy eyes by being too precious in my own.  
Amen, Amen.    

Contemplation the Third.  
That 'tis impossible that any other Created good should be the end of man.  
1. HAving by the light of Contemplation discovered the necessity of man's having some end, and the utter impossibility of his ever being his own End; I am now concerned to look beyond the Orb of my own Perfections, and to consider, whether the whole Latitude of the Creation can afford any good that will terminate the Amorous Bend of my Soul, and wherein I may sweetly and securely rest as in my end or Centre.  
2. And this I am the more induced to inquire into, first, because I observe that the generality of men and those some of the most sagacious, thinking, and inquisitive, do pursue many interests in this visible and sublunary world (which yet is the most cheap and inconsiderable part of the Creation) with as much fervency, vigour and assiduity, as they could possibly do were it the true End of man. So that one would think by the quickness of their motion they were nigh the Centre.  
3. Secondly, because I observe concerning myself, that there are some few things in the world which I love with great passion, and delight in with something like satisfaction and acquiescence. Such as are Conversation with select Friends, or men of harmonical and tuneable dispositions; reading of close and fine-wrought Discourses, solitary walks and Gardens, the magnificence of the Heavens, the Beauty of the Spring; and above all, majestic and well composed Music. Which last, could I enjoy it in its highest perfection and without interruption, would, I am apt to fancy, terminate my desires and make me happy; at least I am well assured I should pity more than I should envy.  
4. Thirdly, because I consider that the great Author of Nature is brought in by Moses commending upon a deliberate review all the works of his hands. That which before the divine Incubation was 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 Solitude and inanity, after the Spirit had moved upon the waters he pronounced 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 Superlatively good. So very Superlatively good, that even the glory of Solomon, in the judgement of him who was both greater and wiser than he, was not comparable to one of Nature's meanest flowers. And if the Beauty and variety of the Creature was so considerable as to merit approbation from him that made it, what is there of our Love and Complacency that it may not challenge? That which can but please God, may well be supposed able to satisfy man: That wherein the Creator delights, the Creature one would think might fully rest and acquiesce in.  
5. By such considerations as these when solely attended to, I have been sometimes almost prevailed upon to think that there is good enough in the Creation of God, if amassed together and fully enjoyed, to employ the whole activity of my Love, and fix the entire weight of my Soul. But yet when I consider experience, and compare the Aspirations of my Nature with the goodness of the Creation, I am driven to conclude, that although the Creatures of God (whatever the Manichees say to the contrary) are all good enough to afford matter for entertainment and praise, yet they cannot detain and give Anchorage to the Soul of man. The motion of the Appetite may be somewhat resisted by created good, and its force a little broken, but it will soon sink through, like a stone through a watery medium. Some repast may be found in the Creature; but as for complete satisfaction and termination of desires the Sea saith it is not in me, and the Depth saith it is not in me. All that God ever did or ever can make will prove insufficient for this purpose, and come under that decretory Sentence of the wise Preacher, Vanity of Vanitys, all is Vanity.  
6. And this is first confirmed to me from experience, and that not my own only, but of all mankind. For as the weight of my affections (as was observed in yesterdays Contemplation) is ecstatical and inclines to good without myself; so does it press beyond that which is created too; and consequently argues, that the Creation without me can no more be my Centre, than I can be to myself.  
7. For not to insist upon the great Emptiness of Fruition, that every flower in this Paradise of God shrinks assoon as touched; that whatever Reversions and Prospects of happiness we may have, 'tis yet seldom known that any man pronounces himself tolerably happy in the present; that men are not pleased with that themselves, for which they envy another: not to insist, I say, on these and the like, did every any man, though never so fortunate in his designs and never so well pleased in his attainments, find himself able to confine his desires within the sphere of that good he was possessed of? 'Tis true indeed, he may desire no more of the same, he may have so much of Riches as to desire no more Riches, so much of Honour as to desire no more Honour; but he cannot have so much of any thing as not simply to desire on further. That is in short, he may be satiated, but not satisfied.  
8. And this we have confirmed by the ingenuous confession of one, who dug as low for this Treasure as ever man did or could, that ransacked the whole Creation, and seemed to make it his professed business to extract if possible this divine Elixir, not as a Voluptuary but as a Philosopher, for Experiment and Curiosity more than for sensuality and pleasure. But what was the issue? Why, after the chargeable Operation the deluded Chemist sits down, recounts his gains, and finds this to be the sum of them, that his judgement indeed was informed, but not that his desires were satisfied; that he had with all his cost bought only this piece of wisdom, to know the vanity of the Creation so far as to give o'er all further search, and lose no more time, cost and labour in a fruitless experiment.  
9 And that what this great Enquirer after Happiness experimented is every man's case, I am further assured, when I contemplate that the greatest Favourites of Fortune, those who have had the world at command, and could enjoy all that is good in it with almost as little trouble as 'twas created, at a words speaking, have yet all along been subject to melancholy, especially after some notable enjoyment, as the Grecian Hero wept when he had conquered the world. Now what should the cause of this be, but that they find themselves empty in the midst of their fullness; that they Desire further than they enjoy; that however every sense about them be feasted to the Height, yet their remains a general Appetite, that of being Happy, which is not satisfied; and not only so, but because they suspect withal (as indeed they have very good reason, having tasted the utmost of Nature's entertainment) that it never shall be. And from this Desire and Despair proceeds their melancholy and dejection of Spirit. And to this purpose I call to mind a very remarkable story recorded by Eusebius Nierembergius, in his book De Arte Voluntatis, concerning an Eastern 
lib. 6. p. 537.  Emperor, who was minded to try the same experiment upon his son as Solomon did upon himself, and to see how far the accommodations of Life might go towards true Felicity. He accordingly trained him up from his infancy in magnificent Apartments, studiously removed from him all pitiable objects that he might not have so much as a Notion of misery, humoured him in every Punctilio, and furnished him with whatsoever he either did wish for, or might be supposed to take pleasure in; till at length the unfortunately Happy young man observing himself to be still in Desires, and that in a state of all possible worldly affluence, could no longer flatter himself with imaginary Prospects, but concluded that no condition would ever mend the matter, and so fell into extreme Melancholy and Despair.  
10. Now I consider, that if mean Persons only were subject to Melancholy, the Desire from whence it proceeded might be accounted for another way; namely, from their not having so much of created good as if possessed might be thought sufficient to satisfy. But when men that sit on the top of Fortune's wheel, and drink at the head fountains of Nature, are yet liable to melancholy dejections, 'tis to me a plain argument that the cause of this melancholy, their Desires, proceeds from a Deficiency in the things themselves; not that they are straitened in their possessions, but that the things which they possess are weighed in the Balance and found wanting.  
11. Thus far is this Truth attested to by Experience. But I am yet further assured of it when I compare the Aspirations of my Nature with the goodness of the Creation; for when I do so, I find they are very disproportionate. 'Twas a Celebrated Problem among the ancient Mythologists, what was the strongest thing, what the wisest, and what the greatest? Concerning which 'twas thus determined, that the strongest thing was Necessity, the wisest was Time, and the greatest was the Heart of Man. And well may that be called the greatest thing whose capacity can take in the whole Creation, and yet like the immense space, remain still an unreplenished Emptiness.  
12. For my Desires are circumscribed with no limits, but run on indefinitely to all possible good. But now the good of the Creation, like the Creation itself, is bounded; the very notion of a Creature involving imperfection, as much as Body does Circumscription and termination. Hence therefore I conclude, that not only all the good of the Creation though collected together into Extract and Spirit by the Chemistry of its great Author, would be insufficient to afford me perfect Satisfaction; but that 'tis not in the Power of him that is Omnipotent to Create any good that can satisfy my Desires, any more than to create a Body that shall fill Immense space. And consequently, that 'tis impossible that any created good should be the end of man.  

The Prayer.  
MY God, My Creator, who hast made all things for the present Entertainment, but nothing for the End of Man; grant I may ever justly discern between the goodness and the vanity of thy Creatures, that I may not either by not heeding to the former become unthankful, or by not heeding to the latter, become Idolatrous. O keep this Conviction still awake in me how insufficient all created good is towards true Felicity; that I may not any longer with the mistaken Votaries of thy Son's Sepulchre, seek the Living among the Dead, Light in the Regions of Darkness; and that I may no longer labour for that which is not bread. Let me not add care, labour and toil to the misery of unquenched Thirst and unsatisfied Desires: but since I am certain never to find Rest in the bosom of thy Creation, grant I may be so wise at least, as not to weary myself more in the fruitless pursuit of it. Withdraw, I beseech thee, my expectations of Happiness from all the works of thy hands: and fix them there only, where there is no disappointment or delusion, even in the true Centre of all Desire: for the sake of thy tender compassions,  
Amen.    

Contemplation the Fourth.  
That God who is the Author of man, is likewise his true End and Centre.  
1. WHen I Contemplate the Nature of man, and consider how the Desire of Happiness is interwoven with it; that Love is strong as Death and importunate as the Grave; that there is a vehement and constant Verticity in the Soul towards perfect good, which begins assoon, and is as immortal as herself; and withal, how disproportionately this Amorous disposition of the Soul is gratified by any entertainment whether domestic or foreign she can meet with in the Circle of created good: I find it necessary to conclude, that the great Being who commanded me to exist, is so every way perfect and all-sufficient as to answer that vast stock of desires our Natures come fraught withal into the world; since otherwise (which is absurd to suppose) of all the Creatures in it Man would be the most miserable.  
2. For what man of thoughts is there, who after a thorough Conviction that he can neither get rid of his desires, nor among the Provisions of Nature have them fully gratified, would not immediately throw up his Title to Immortality, if he thought himself arrived to the Meridian of his Happiness, and that he must never expect to be in a better Condition than he is? For to have enlarged desires and nothing to satisfy them, is such a contrivance for misery, that 'tis thought by some to be the Portion of Hell, and to make up the very Formality of Damnation.  
3. But to our great Consolation 'tis wholly in our own power whether it shall be always so with us, or no. There is a Being whose perfections are answerable to our Desires. He that made us can satisfy every Appetite he has planted in us, and he that is Happy in reflecting upon himself can make us so too, by the direct view of his Glory. He can entertain all our faculties; our understandings as he is Truth, and our wills as he is goodness; and that in the Highest degree, because he is infinite in both. He can more than employ all our Powers in their utmost Elevation, for he is every way Perfect and all-sufficient, yea he is altogether Lovely.  
4. But to evince more particularly and distinctly that God is the true End of man, I shall consider, whether the conditions requisite to his being so are found in him. Now these can be no other than these two in general, 1st, that he be absolutely good and perfect in himself, so as to be able to fill and satisfy the whole capacity of our Desires; and 2ly, that he be willing that man shall partake of this his Transcendent Fullness, so as actually one time or other to fix the weight of his Appetite and become his Centre. If therefore these two conditions are found in God, he has all that is requisite to make him our End. And that they are, is now to be made appear.  
5. First then, that God is absolutely good and perfect in himself, so as to be able to fill and satisfy the whole capacity of our desires. There are several Topics in the Metaphysics from whence I might infer this, but I shall confine my present speculation to this one, that God is the First Being. This is a very reasonable Postulatum; it being too obvious to need any proof, that there is a First Being, or, that by the First Being is meant God. It remains therefore, that we try what advantage may be made of it.  
6. When therefore I consider God as the First Being, I am from thence in the first place led to conclude, that he has eminently and in a most excellent manner in himself all kinds and degrees of perfection, that exist loosely and separately in all second Being's. And that, not only because the Effect cannot possibly exceed the virtue of the cause, any more than it can proceed from no cause: (which is the ground Cartesius builds upon, when he proves the existence of God from the objective reality of his Idea) but because I further observe that in the Scale of Being all ascension is by addition, and, that what is dispersed in the Inferior, is collected, and that after a more excellent manner, in the Superior. Thus in Vegetables there is bare life, in Sensitives Vegetative life and sense, in Rationals Vegetative life sense and reason: and all this either formally or eminently with Intelligence in Angels. And since there is such an Harmonical Subordination among second Being's, so that the Superior contains all the perfection of the Inferior, with a peculiar excellence of its own superadded; I think I have fair grounds to conclude, that the absolutely First Being has in his rich Essence all the scattered excellencies of the subordinate ones in a more perfect manner than they themselves have, with some peculiar excellence of his own besides.  
Now though a Being thus accumulatively perfect and excellent, would be beyond all Conception, great and glorious, and would employ an Eternity in Contemplation and Love; we have yet seen but an Arm of this Sea of Beauty, and been enlightened only with the Backparts of his Glory. For if God be the First Being, as is here supposed, I may further conclude that he is also the First Good: (Good and Being being convertible, and every thing having so much Good in it as it has of Entity and no more) and if he be the First Good, I cannot see how this Conclusion can be avoided, that he is Infinitely Good.  
8. For I consider, that the First Good can have no Cause of that Goodness which it has: otherwise, it being necessary that the Cause of Good should be Good, it would not be the First. And if the First Good can have no cause of its Goodness, it can likewise have no cause of the Termination of it, since what has no cause absolutely and simply, cannot have a cause in any particular respect; and if it has no cause of its Termination it must necessarily be interminate or infinite, and Consequently God, who is the First Good, is infinitely Good.  
9 And now breathe a while my Soul; and consider what a rich Mine of Good thou hast Sprung. Thou hast found out a Being, who is not only the Ideal as well as Efficient cause of all created excellence; but who is Infinitely Good and excellent. This is he whose great Perfection not only contains and infinitely exceeds, but Eclipses and quite Extinguishes all the Beauty of the Creature; so that (as the express Image of this great Excellence informs us) there is none Good, but one, which is God. This is he whose Good is incomprehensible by the understanding, and inexhaustible by the will and affections of man. This is the celebrated 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 of Aristotle, the 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 of Plato, and the El Shaddai of the Hebrews. This is the great 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 the universal Plenitude, whose Happiness is consummated within his own Circle; who supports himself upon the Basis of his own All-Sufficiency, and is his own End and Centre.  
10. And now what is there more requisite to qualify him for being mine also but this only; that he be willing that man shall partake of this his transcendent fullness, so as actually one time or other to fix the Weight of his Appetite; which was the second Condition.  
11. And that this is also found in God, I think I have sufficient assurance from these two things; the Absolute Perfection of his Nature; and those express Revelations he has made of his Will, as to this particular. As for the Nature of God, it involves, as in Notion and Conception, so likewise in Truth and reality, (as was above demonstrated) absolute and infinite Perfection; and consequently, includes a Beneficent and Communicative disposition; this being a Perfection.  
12. Nor does the Superlative eminency of the Divine nature only argue him to be Communicative, but to be the Most Communicative and Selfdiffusive of all Being's. For, as all Kind's, so all degrees of excellency must of necessity be included in a Being absolutely and infinitely perfect, such as God is. Whence it will also follow, that he is not only the most Communicative of all Being's, but that he will also Communicate himself: and not only so, but in such an ample and liberal measure too, as entirely to satisfy the most aspiring & reaching Appetite of man; Since Otherwise some degrees of Communicativeness & consequently of Excellence would be wanting; which is absurd to suppose in a Being absolutely perfect. Especially considering, that those importunate desires of Human nature are of his own planting, which as it firmly assures us of his being able, so is it no less cogent an Argument for his being willing to be our Centre; it being incredible that so infinite an Excellence should plant in man such desires, as either he could not or would not satisfy.  
13. And of this willingness of God that man should partake of his fullness, so far as to bottom upon it, and acquiesce in it, there is yet further assurance from many express Revelations of his good pleasure to that purpose. Which consist of two kinds, express words, wherein he professes himself passionately desirous of the Salvation and happiness of man; and two very notable and signal Acts; namely, the consigning to the world a copy of his Will, as a Chart to direct us to the true Haven of Rest and Anchorage; and the sending his Beloved Son from the mansions of glory to dislodge the angry Guardian of Paradise, and re-open for us an Entrance into the joy of our Lord. By both which kinds of revelation he has given us the highest assurance imaginable, that he designs not to engross and monopolise the Perfections of his rich essence, but that he is heartily willing to admit man to a participation of that excellent good, wherein he himself is Happy; to give him (as the Psalmist expresses it) everlasting felicity, and make him glad with the joy of his countenance.  
14. To which Considerations I might further add, that this excellent communicativeness of the Divine nature is typically represented and mysteriously exemplifyed by the Porphyrian Scale of Being. For as there the lower degrees are determined and contracted, but the Higher more common and extensive, so is it in the real Scale of Being. The inferior, which are either matter, or complicated and twisted with matter, are more contracted, narrow, selfish and illiberal; but the superior as they are less immersed in and allayed with matter, so are they more open, diffusive and free. For indeed all contraction and consinement is from matter, but 'tis Form and Spirit that is the Root of all freeness and enlargement. And thus we see in bodies; the more of kin they are to Spirit in subtlety and refinement, the more spreading are they and selfdiffusive. Whereupon Light, which of all bodies is nearest allied to Spirit, is also most diffusive and self-communicative. God therefore, who is at the very top of all Being, who is an absolute, mere and Spiritual Act, and who lastly is such a pure Light as in which there is no darkness at all, must needs be infinitely self-imparting and Communicative; & consequently, wants nothing to qualify him to be the true End and Centre of Man.  

The Prayer.  
MY God, my Happiness, who art as well the End as the Author of my Being; who hast more perfection than I have desire, and art also seriously willing to quench my great Thirst in the Ocean of thy Perfection; I beseech thee show me thy Glory. Withdraw thy hand from the Clift of the rock, and remove the bounds from the Mount of thy Presence, that I may see thee as thou art, face to face, and ever dwell in the light of thy Beauty. I have long dwelled with Vanity and Emptiness, and have made myself weary in the pursuit of Rest. O let me not fail at last, after my many wander and disappointments, to be taken up into this true and only Ark of repose and security, where I may for ever rest, and for ever bless the Author of my Happiness. In the mean time strike, I beseech thee, my Soul with such lively and ravishing apprehensions of thy excellencies, such bright irradiations of thy divine light, that I may see enough to love thee infinitely, to depend on thee for my happiness entirely, to live upon holy hopes and comfortable expectations, and to bear up my Spirit under the greatest Ariditys and dejections with the delightful prospect of thy Glories. O let me sit down under this thy shadow with great delight, till the fruit of thy Tree of life shall be sweet to my taste. Let me stay and entertain my longing Soul with the Contemplation of thy Beauty, till thou shalt condescend to kiss me with the kisses of thy mouth, till thou shalt bring me into thy banqueting house, where Vision shall be the support of my Spirit, and thy Banner over me shall be Love. Grant this O my God, my Happiness, for the sake of thy great love, and of the Son of thy love, Christ Jesus.  
Amen.    

Contemplation the Fifth.  
Two Corollaries hence deduced: the first whereof is, that God is therefore to be loved with all possible application and elevation of Spirit, with all the heart, soul and mind.  
1. AMong the Perfections of human nature the faculty of desiring or reaching out after agreeable Objects is not the least considerable, and 'tis the peculiar glory of man to be an Amorous, as well as a Rational Being. For by this he supplies the defects of his nature, not only enjoys the good he unites with, but digests it as it were into himself and makes it his own, and relieves his domestic poverty by foreign negotiation.  
2. But though the Pathetic part of man be one of the noblest perfections he is furnished with, yet so generally faulty are we in the due application and direction of this noble faculty, that to be pathetically and amorously disposed is looked upon by some not as a Perfection but as a Disease of the Soul, and is condemned by a whole order of men as inconsistent with the Character of wisdom, according to that Stoical Aphorism, Amare simul & sapere ipsi Jovi non datur.  
3. But certainly, Eve was intended as a Help for Adam, though in the event she proved the instrument of his seduction; and our Passions were given us to perfect and accomplish our natures, though by accidental misapplications to unworthy objects they may turn to our degradation and dishonour. We may indeed be debased as well as ennobled by them, but then the fault is not in the large Sails, but in the ill conduct of the Pilot, if our Vessel miss the Haven. The Tide of our love can never run too high, provided it take a right Channel; our Passion then will be our highest Wisdom: and he was no Stoic that said, as the Hart panteth after the water 
Psal. 42.  brooks, so panteth my Soul after thee O God. And again, my Soul is athirst for God. And again, my Soul breaketh out for fervent desire. 
Psal. 119. Psal. 73. 24.  And again, whom have I in Heaven but thee, and there is none upon earth that I desire in comparison of thee.  
4. Being therefore from the foregoing Periods arrived to this Conclusion, that God is the true End and Centre of man, I think I ought now to let loose the reins of my affections, to unbay the current of my Passion, and love on without any other boundary or measure than what is set me by the finiteness of my natural powers.  
5. 'Tis true indeed, whenever we turn the Edge of our desire towards any Created good, 'tis Prudence as well as Religion to use caution and moderation, to gauge the Point of our affections lest it run in too far; there being so much emptiness in the enjoyment, and so much hazard in the Possession. When we venture to lean upon such objects we are like men that walk upon a Quagmire, and therefore should tread as lightly as we can, lest it give way and sink under us.  
6. But how excellent a Virtue soever Moderation may be in our concernments with other objects, we have nothing to do with it in the love of that Being who is our End and Centre. There is here danger but of one Extreme, and that is of the defect. We can love but finitely when we have loved our utmost; and what is that to him who is infinitely lovely? Since therefore our most liberal proportions will be infinitely short and scanty, we ought not sure to give new retrenchments to our love, and cut it yet shorter by frugal limitations.  
7. For if God be our End and Centre he must necessarily have all that good in him which we can possibly desire; and if so, than he is able to stay and satisfy all our Love; and if so, then nothing so reasonable as that he should have it all. We are therefore to love him with all possible application and elevation of Spirit, with all the heart, Soul and mind. We should collect and concentre all the rays of our love into this one Point, and lean towards God with the whole weight of our Soul, as all that is ponderous in nature tends with its whole weight toward the Centre. And this we should do as directly as may be, with as little warping and declension the Creature as is possible. For so also 'tis to be observed in nature, that not only all weight or Pondus tends toward the Centre, but that also it moves thither as nigh as it can in a direct and perpendicular line.  

The Prayer.  
MY God, my Happiness, who art fairer than the Children of men, and who thyself art very Love as well as altogether lovely, draw me and I will run after thee. O wind up my Soul to the highest pitch of Love that my faculties will bear, and let me never alienate any degree of that noble Passion from thee its only due object. Quench in me all terrene fires and sensual relishes, and do thou wound me deep, and strike me through with the arrows of a divine Passion, that as thou art all Beauty and Perfection, so I may be all Love and Devotion. My heart is ready O God, my heart is ready for a Burnt offering; send down then an holy fire from above to kindle the Sacrifice, and do thou continually fan and keep alive, and clarify the flame, that I may be ever ascending up to thee in devout breathe, and pious Aspirations, till at length I ascend in Spirit to the Element of Love, where I shall know thee more clearly and love thee more Seraphically, and receive those peculiar coronets of glory thou hast reserved for those that eminently love thee,  
Amen.    

Contemplation the Sixth.  
The second Corollarŷ: that therefore God is ultimately to be referred to in all our actions, and that he is not to be used by us, but enjoyed.  
1. AS there is nothing of greater and more universal moment to the regular ordination of human life, than rightly to accommodate the Means and the End, and to make them uniform and Symbolical; so is there nothing wherein men are more universally peccant and defective, and that not only in Practice, but also in Notion and Theory.  
2. For although to do an ill action for a good End, and to do a good action for an ill End, are generally acknowledged alike criminal, yet concerning this latter 'tis observable, that men usually think the morality of their actions sufficiently secured, if the End proposed be not in its own nature specifically evil. Whereas indeed there is yet another way whereby an End may become evil, namely, by being rested in when 'tis not the last, without any further respect or reference. By this undue and ill-placed Acquiescence, an End that is otherwise in its own intrinsic nature good, upon the whole commences evil. For though it be good to be chosen, it is yet ill to be rested in.  
3. For indeed 'tis against the order and oeconomy of things as well as against the perfection of Religion, that any End should be ultimately rested in but what is truly the last. Now the last end of action can be no other than that which is the last end of the will which is, the Spring of action. This therefore being God (as appears from what I have already contemplated) it follows, that he ought to be the ultimate End of all our actions, that we ought not in any of our motions to stop short of this Centre, but in all our actions to make a further reference either actual or habitual, and according to that of the Apostle, whether we eat or drink to do all to the glory of God.  
4. For what can be more absurd and incongruous than to turn the Means into the End, and the End into the Means, to enjoy what ought to be only used, and to use what ought to be enjoyed? God is our last End, and therefore must not be desired for any thing but himself, nor used as a means to accomplish any other Design. Which also concludes against all those who make Religion a Point of Secular interest, and a tool of State-policy, whereas that aught to prescribe, and not receive measures from any Human affairs.  

The Prayer.  
MY God, my Happiness, who art the last end of my Desires, the very utmost of all Perfection, and beyond whom there is no good, be thou the last end of my Actions too, and let them all meet and unite in thee as lines in their Centre. Grant I may set thee before me in all my thoughts, words and actions, let my eye of Contemplation be always open, and whatever intermedial designs I may have, let my last aim be thy glory. And O let me never be so low sunk, base and wicked, as to make Religion an instrument of worldly policy, nor to dishonour thee and my own Soul by such a mercenary Piety. But do thou always possess my mind with such a due value for thy infinite excellency, that I may refer all things to thee, and thee and thine to nothing, but love and embrace thee for thy own self, who in thyself alone art altogether lovely,  
Amen, Amen.     

A DISCOURSE UPON ROMANS. 12. 3.  — Not to think of himself more highly than he ought to think; But to think soberly according as God hath dealt to every man the measure of Faith. 
1. THERE is nothing wherein men are so much divided from one another as in Opinions, and nothing wherein they more unanimously conspire than in thinking well of themselves. This is a Humour of so Catholic a Stamp, and universal Empire, that it may seem to challenge a place among those Elements of our Constitution, those Essentials of our nature which run throughout the whole Kind, and are participated by every Individual. For should a man take the Wings of the Morning, and travel with the Sun round the Terrestrial Globe, he would hardly find a man either of a Judgement so difficult to be pleased, or of accomplishment so little to recommend him, that was not notwithstanding sufficiently in love with himself, however he might dislike every thing else about him; And without question that arrogant and peevish Mathematician who charged the grand Architect with want of skill in the Mechanism of the World, thought he had played the Artist well enough in himself, and as to the Harmony of his own frame acquitted the Geometry of his Maker.  
2. And as men are thus naturally apt to think well of themselves in general, so there is nothing wherein they indulge this Humour more than in the Opinion they have of the Goods of the Mind, and among these there is none which has so great a share of their Partiality, as their Intellectual faculty. The Desire of Knowledge is not more natural than the Conceit that we are already furnished with a considerable Measure of it, and though a particular Sect were Characterised by that Appellation, yet all mankind are in reality, Gnostics. For as 'tis (ingeniously observed by the excellent Cartesius) nothing 
Disser●. ●e Method. p. 1.  is more equally distributed among men than the Intellectual Talon, wherewith every one fancies himself so abundantly stocked, that even those who have the most unsatiable Desires, and whom Providence could not satisfy in any one thing else, are notwithstanding as to this Dispensation of Heaven well enough content, complain not of the dull Planet that influenced their Nativity, or wish their minds more richly endowed than they are. And although there are a generation of men who use to be very eloquent in setting out the degeneracy of human nature in general, and particularly in deciphering the Shortness of our Intellectual Sight, and the defects of our now diminished understanding, yet should a man take them at their word, and apply that Verdict to themselves in particular which they so freely bestow upon the whole Species, no men in the world so full of resentment and impatience as they; and I dare affirm notwithstanding their Harangues upon the Corruption of Human Nature, could all mankind lay a true claim to that Estimate which they pass upon themselves, there would be little or no difference betwixt lapsed and perfect Humanity, and God might again review his image with paternal Complacency, and still pronounce it good.  
3. Nor is it at all to be wondered that Self-Conceitedness should be of such an unlimited and Transcendental Nature as to run through all Sorts and Classes of men, since the cause of it, Self-love, has such an universal Jurisdiction in our hearts. 'Tis most natural and necessary for every man (and indeed for every Intelligent Being) to be a Lover of himself, and to covet whatsoever any way tends to the perfection of his Nature. And as 'tis necessary for every man to be thus affected towards himself, so is this the only Disposition of mind wherein Man acts with Constancy and Uniformity. Our other Passions have sometimes their total intermissions, and at best their increases and decreases, but this is always at Full, and stands drawn out to the utmost Stretches of its Capacity. No man loves himself more at one time than at another, and that because he always loves himself in the highest Degree that is possible. More than all good he cannot wish to himself, and less than all he will not, nay I had almost pronounced it impossible for Omnipotence itself which stays the proud waves of the Ocean, and blocks up its 
Job 38. 10.  violent efforts with bars and doors, to say unto this Passion, hitherto shalt thou come but no further, or to set any other bounds to it besides those of all possible good.  
4. Now Man being such an infinite Lover of himself, is easily brought to believe that he is really Master of many of those excellencies and perfections, which he so passionately wishes among the inventory of his possessions. For there is this notorious difference betwixt Self-love and the Love of others, that whereas the Love of others supposes an opinion of their excellency, the love of ourselves begets it. We love others because we think well of them, but (so preposterous is the method of Self-love) we think well of ourselves because we first love ourselves. So that now upon the whole, considering how necessarily and vehemently every man is carried on to the love of himself, and what a natural product Self-conceit is of Self-love, 'tis much to be feared, that as we cannot set any bounds to the love of ourselves, so we shall hardly set due ones to our Opinions of ourselves, and consequently the most mortified and resigned Man of us all, has no reason to think himself unconcerned in this Admonition of the Apostle.— Not to think of himself more highly than he ought to think; but to think soberly, according as God hath dealt to every man the measure of Faith.  
5. 'Tis supposed that the Apostle in these words had respect to the then prevailing Heresy of the Gnostics, a sort of men that pretended to great Heights of divine Knowledge, to close intimacies and familiarities with God, and upon that presumption grew so haughty and insolent as to despise dominions, and speak evil of dignities, and withal so careless and secure, as to defile the flesh, and indulge themselves all manner of Sensuality, as you may see their Character in the Epistle of St. Judas. Nay of such turbulent ungovernable Principles and profligate manners were these men, that some of the Learned (and particularly an eminent Divine 
Dr. Hammond.  of our own Church) have adventured to write upon their Foreheads, Mystery, and to place them in the Chair of Antichrist. As an Antidote therefore against this 
2 Cor. 12. 7.  Poison, the Apostle who through the Abundance of Revelation had himself been in danger of being exalted above Measure, and experimentally knew how prone human nature is to swell and plume upon a Conceit of its own excellencies, thought it expedient to advise his Charge at Rome (the place which Simon Magus the Author of that proud Sect had (as 
Hist. Eccles. l. 2. cap. 13.  Eusebius tells us) made choice of to be the Scene of his Magical Operations) to moderate and sober thoughts of themselves, and being to teach them a Lesson of Humility, he modestly ushers it in with a Preface of his Commission and Authority. For I say (says he) through the grace given unto me to every man that is among you not to think of himself more highly, etc.  
6. The Discourse which I design upon these words shall be comprised within these limits.  
First, I observe that we are not at our own liberty to entertain what Opinions we please concerning ourselves, but that we ought to regulate them by some Standard. Which I collect from the former part of the Text, Not to think of himself more highly than he ought to think, but to think soberly.  
7. Secondly, I observe that the Standard whereby we are to regulate our Opinions concerning ourselves are those excellencies and perfections which we are really endowed with, which I collect from the latter part of the Text, according as God has dealt to every man the measure of Faith.  
8. And in the third place I shall consider the Absurdities and ill Consequences of transgressing this Standard, whereby it shall appear how highly reasonable this Admonition of the Apostle is, and so conclude with a practical Application of the whole in relation to ourselves, and the present occasion.  
9 I begin with the first Proposition, That we are not at our own liberty to entertain what Opinions we please concerning ourselves, but that we ought to regulate them by some Standard.  
10. The Acts of the understanding are by some men thought as free from all Law as the Acts of the will are from all necessity, and accordingly they give every one a Toleration to abound in his own sense and (provided his actions be conformable to the Rule) to think what he please. Now since a Man cannot be accountable for an Opinion of himself in particular, unless it be first granted that he is under a Law as to the Acts of his understanding in general, before I can proceed any farther I find it necessary to lay down this Preparatory Position, That we are under an Obligation as to the Acts of our understanding, or (which is all one) that we are accountable for them. Nay I believe I may venture higher, and affirm that the understanding is not only under Obligation, but that 'tis the Primary and immediate Subject of it. For the proof of which Paradox, I desire the Patrons of the Intellectual Libertinism to consider, that that must be the Primary and immediate subject of all Obligation which is so of Liberty. Now that this cannot be the Will, I suppose will be acknowledged a clear consequence, if the Will necessarily follows the Practical Dictate of the Understanding. And that it does so, I think there is Demonstration.  
11. 'Tis an unquestionable Axiom in all the Schools of Learning in the world, that the Object of the Will is apparent good; Now apparent good in other words, is that which is apprehended or judged to be good, and if so, than it follows that the Will cannot but conform to the Dictate of the Understanding, because otherwise something might be the object of the Will that is not apprehended good, which is contrary to the supposition. In short, the Will (as Aquinas has well expressed it) is the Conclusion of an Operative Syllogism, and follows as necessarily from the Dictate of the Understanding as any other Conclusion does from its Premises, and consequently cannot be the immediate subject of Liberty, and consequently not of Obligation.  
12. But then are we not involved in the same difficulty as to the understanding? Does not that act with equal (if not more) necessity than the Will? So I know it is ordinarily taught. But if this be absolutely and universally true, I must confess it above the reach of my Capacity to salve the Notion of Morality, or Religion, or to find out an expedient how the Foundations of the Intellectual world should not be out of course. For since 'tis evident both from the preceding Demonstration, and from experimental Reflection, that the Will necessarily acts in Conformity to the Dictates of the Understanding, if those very Dictates are also wholly and altogether necessary, there can be no such thing as a 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, the man is bound hand and foot, has nothing left whereby to render him a Moral Agent, to qualify him for Law or Obligation, Virtue or Vice, Reward or Punishment. But these are Absurdities not to be endured, and therefore I conclude according to the Rules of right Reasoning, the Principle from which they flow to be so too.  
13. To clear up then the whole Difficulty with as much Brevity and Perspicuity as in a matter of this intricacy is possible, I shall no longer consider the Understanding and Will as Faculties really distinct either from the Soul itself, or from one another, but that the Soul does immediately understand and will by itself, without the intervention of any Faculty whatsoever. And that for this demonstrative reason in short, because in the contrary Hypothesis, either Judgement must be ascribed to the Will, and then the will immediately commences Understanding, or the Assent of the will must be blind, brutish, and unaccountable, both which are as great Absurdities as they are true Consequences. This being premised, I grant that as the Soul necessarily wills as she understands, so likewise does she necessarily understand as the Object appears. And thus far our sight terminates in Fatality, and Necessity bounds our Horizon. That then that must give us a Prospect beyond it, must be this, that although the Soul necessarily understands or judges according to the Appearance of things, yet that things should so appear (unless it be in Propositions that are self-evident, as that the whole is greater than any one part, or the like) is not alike necessary, but depends upon the degrees of Advertency or Attention which the Soul uses, and which to use either more or less is fully and immediately in her own power. And this indifferency of the Soul as to attending or not attending I take to be the only 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 the bottom and foundation into which the Morality of every action must be at length resolved. For a farther proof as well as Illustration of which Hypothesis let us apply it to a particular case and try how well it will answer the Phaenomena. In the case then of Martyrdom, I look upon sin as an evil, and not only so but (while I attend fully to its Nature) the greatest of evils. And as long as I continue this Judgement 'tis utterly impossible I should commit it, there being according to my present apprehension no greater evil for the declining of which I should think it eligible. But now the evil of Pain being presented before me, and I not sufficiently attending to the evil of Sin, this latter appears to be the lesser evil of the two, and I accordingly pro hic & nunc so pronounce it, and in Conformity to that judgement necessarily choose it. But because 'twas absolutely in my power to have attended more heedfully there was Liberty in the Principle, the mistake which influenced the action was vincible, and consequently the action itself imputable. This Hypothesis however strange it may seem to those that have sworn Faith and Allegiance to the Dictates of the Schools, I believe will be the more approved the more it is examined, and that not only as rational and consistent in itself, but also as a refuge from those Absurdities which attend the ordinary Solutions. Neither is this account wholly unlicens'd by Authority, for I find some hints and intimations of it in the 
* See Hierocles upon the Golden Verses of Pythagoras.  School of Plato, where the reason why those middle sort of Being's called Heroes are not so uniformly pure as the 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 or 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, is assigned to be because they do not so equally attend to the Beauty of the Supreme Good.  
14. From what has been said it appears plainly that the Morality of every human action must be at length resolved into an immediate indifference that the Soul has of attending or not attending, and consequently that we are not only under Obligation as to the acts of the Understanding, but that all Obligation begins there.  
15. Having thus cleared the way by the Proof of this Preparatory Position, that we are under Obligation as to the acts of the Understanding in general, I may now proceed to consider that our opinion of ourselves is one of those acts of the Understanding which are subject to Law, or in other terms, that we are not at our own liberty to entertain what Opinions we please concerning ourselves, but that we ought to regulate them by some Standard. Now the general reason of this is, because 'tis of great moment and influence in relation to our Practice, what Opinion we entertain concerning ourselves. Indeed there are many acts of the Understanding which tho originally free, yet fall under no Obligation by reason of the Indifferency of the Matter, as in things of pure and naked Speculation. These are the unforbidden Trees of the Garden, and here we may let loose the Reins and indulge our thoughts the full Scope. Thus there is no danger of Heresy in asserting or denying the Antipodes, nor is Orthodoxy concerned whether the Moon be habitable. But although to mistake a Star be of no consequence to the Theorist that sits immured in his Study, yet it may be to the Pilot that is to Steer his Course by it. There are other things which have a practical Aspect, and here 'tis not indifferent what we think, because 'tis not indifferent what we do. Now among these the Opinion of ourselves is to be reckoned, as having a great influence upon our well or ill demeaning ourselves respectively, as will more minutely and particularly appear when we come in the third and last place to consider the absurdities and ill consequences of transgressing the Standard prescribed, and therefore I shall defer the farther prosecution of it till then, and in the mean while proceed to the second Observable, Namely,  
That the Standard whereby we are to regulate our Opinions concerning ourselves, are those excellencies and perfections which we are really endowed with. Which is collected from these words, according as God has dealt to every man the measure of Faith.  
16. In the former part of the Text there was indeed a Restraint laid upon our Opinions concerning ourselves, but it was general only and indefinite. But here the ground is measured out, and the Boundaries precisely set. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 that's the great Ecliptic Line which is to bond the Career of our most forward and Self-indulging Opinions. If we keep within this compass our motion is natural and regular, but if we slide never so little out of it, 'tis unnatural and portentous. Or to speak with greater Simplicity, he that judges of himself according to those excellencies, whether Moral or Intellectual, which he really has, does 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 thinks soberly, and he that thinks himself endowed with any Kind or Degree of Excellence which really he has not, does 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, thinks of himself more highly than he ought to think.  
17. Here then are Two things to be considered.  

First that we may proceed so far as this Standard.  
And Secondly, That we may not go beyond it. First, That we may proceed so far.   
18. It has been taught by some of the severe Masters of Spiritual Mortification, That we ought to take up the most low and abject thoughts of ourselves that are possible, to be conscious of no manner of excellency in ourselves, and consequently not to be affected with the least Self-complacency; That we ought to account ourselves to be Nothing, to have nothing, to be worth nothing, but to be very refuse and 
1 Cor. 4. 13.  offscouring of all things. And this they call the Mystical Death, or the Spiritual Annihilation. Now whatever degrees of excellency this may have (which I shall not now dispute) 'tis most certain it can have nothing of Duty. For though it may, and oftentimes is required of a man to think the Truth, yet he can never be under an Obligation to be mistaken. Besides, 'Tis hard to conceive how any man (especially one that dwells much with himself, and heedfully reflects upon the actings of his own mind) should be master of any considerable excellency, and yet not be conscious of it. And besides, That very degree of Attention which is required that a man should not think himself more accomplished than indeed he is, will also infallibly hinder him from thinking he is less. 'Tis true indeed Moses knew not that his Face shone, after he had been conversing with God on the Mount. He saw not the Orb of glory that streamed from him, and wondered what it was that made him so dreadful to the people. But 'tis not so with the Soul, whose reflexive faculty will not fail to give her information of her most retired and reserved accomplishments. 'Tis not with the Lesser, as with the Greater World, where whole Tracts and Regions (and those some of the best too) lie undiscovered. No, Man cannot be such a Stranger to his own Perfections, such an America to himself. For who can know the things of a man, if not the Spirit of man which is in him. And accordingly we find that the ignorance of ourselves with which Mankind has been hitherto so universally taxed, runs quite in another Channel, and does not consist in overlooking any of those endowments which we have, but in assuming to ourselves those which we have not.  
19 I confess (were it possible) I should think it advisable for some persons to be ignorant of some of their excellencies, and like the Sun not to reflect home to their own Sphere of light; Not that I think in the least unlawful to be fully conscious of one's own worth, but only I consider that some men have not heads strong enough to endure Heights, and walk upon Spires and Pinnacles. But if they can stand there without growing vertiginous, they need not question the lawfulness of the station, they are still within the Region of Humility. For 'tis not every thinking well of ones self that falls in with the notion of Pride, but only when there is more of Opinion than there is of Worth. 'Twas this that was the Condemnation of the Apostate Angel, not that he took a just complacency in the eminency of his Station, but that he vainly arrogated to himself what was not his due, in that he said, I will ascend into Heaven, I will exalt my 
Isai. 14. 13.  throne above the Stars of God, I will sit upon the sides of the North, I will ascend above the heights of the Clouds, I will be like the most High. 'Twas for this that the Angel of Death drew upon Herod, not because he was pleased with the sineness and success of his Oratory, but because he was not so just to God as the People were to him, but looked upon himself as the Head-fountain of his own perfections, and so 
Acts 12. 23.  gave not God the glory.  
20. But now if we take care to proportion our estimation of, and our Complacencies in ourselves to the measure of our endowments, and if we look upon those very endowments not as originary and independent but as derivative from the Father of lights from whom 
James 1. 17.  every good and perfect gift descends, and accordingly refer all to God's glory, and with the Elders in the Revelations take off our Crowns from our Heads and cast them 
Rev. 4. 10.  at the foot of the Throne, we have not only the express words of the Text, but likewise all the reason in the world to warrant the Sobriety of our Opinions. For, this is but to have a right and exact understanding of one's self. And why may not a man be allowed to take a true Estimate of himself as well as of another man? Or why should a man think an excellency less valuable because 'tis in himself? The Happiness of God consists in seeing himself as he is; he reflects upon the Beauty of his Essence, and rejoices with an infinite Complacency. Now certainly that wherein consists the Happiness of the Creator, cannot be a Sin in the Creature. Besides, I would fain know why a man may not as lawfully think well of himself upon the Score of his real worth, as desire that others should think well of him for the same reason? And that he may do the latter is confessed as well by the Practice, as by the common Suffrage of Mankind. For otherwise what becomes of that good Reputation which Solomon says is rather to be chosen than great Riches, and of which 
Prov. 22. 1.  the Best and Wisest men of all ages had ever such a tender, such a passionate Regard? Nay 'tis looked upon as a very Commendable thing to be so affected, and the contrary is censured as the mark of a dissolute and unmoralized temper. Only there is a 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 to 
2 Cor. 10. 13.  be observed in this as well as in the former, and as we are not to stretch out ourselves 
2 Cor. 10. 13.  beyond our measure, so must we take care with the great Apostle, not to give others occasion to think of us above that which 
2 Cor. 12. 6.  they see us to be. Besides, if we may not be allowed to take the full Height of our own Excellencies, how shall we be able to give God thanks for them? The Elders must know they wear Crowns before they can use them as Instruments of Adoration, and Herod must be conscious of the right Genius of his Oratory, before he can give God the Glory. Again in the last place, if a man may not have leave to take Cognisance of his own Deserts and to value himself accordingly, what will become of that 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 which the Apostle speaks of, the answer of a good 
1 Pet. 3. 21.  Conscience towards God, which is nothing else but a Sentence of Approbation, which a man passes upon himself for the well managing of that Talon of Liberty which God has entrusted him with? Now this is the Reward of Virtue, and therefore certainly not contrary to it.  
21. Neither is this Self-esteem only the Reward of Virtue but also the Cause of it too, and consequently 'tis not only allowable, but also highly needful that we should think Honourably of ourselves. 'Tis a frequent Observation among Moral and Divine Writers, That most if not all the Sins which men commit, proceed from want of a due sense of the Dignity of their Nature. And consequently a due reflection upon a man's own Worth, must needs be a strong Preservative against whatsoever would slain its Glory. Shall such a man as I flee? was the powerful 
Neh. 6. 11.  consideration that buoyed up the sinking Spirits of Nehemiah. And 'tis one of the Capital Precepts of Pythagoras' Morals (and perhaps one of the best too that was ever given to the World)— 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 Above all things reverence thyself. And 'twas the Saying of another of the Sons of Wisdom, Let not the Reverence of any man cause thee to sin. Which it certainly will do, unless we observe the former Rule, and reflect with due Reverence upon our own Worth and Dignity.  
22. From these Considerations (not to urge any more) it seems to me very evident, that 'tis not only lawful but in some respects highly Expedient, that our Opinions of ourselves should rise up so as to be of a Level with our Excellencies, whatsoever they are. Let one of the Scales be mounted never so high, yet if there be a proportionable Weight in the Other, the Balance moves regularly, and as it should do. We may then proceed so far as this Standard.  
23. But Secondly, We must not go beyond it. For all beyond this is Pride. Pride, that turned the Angels out of Heaven, Adam out of Paradise, and levelled the great King of Babylon with the Beasts that perish; and which 
D●●. 4. 33.  is nothing else but an Intemperate Opinion of ourselves, which consists either in assuming to ourselves any Excellency which we have not, or in Over-rating what we have. Tho indeed in Strictness of Notion this latter falls in with the former, For to Over-rate what we have, is indeed to assume some Degree of good which we have not. Here then begins our Restraint, the Reasonableness of which will appear from the Absurdities and ill Consequences which attend the transgressing of this Standard, and which in the third and last place I come now to consider.  
24. I shall observe only the most notorious; and these I shall reduce to these Three general Heads.  
First, That it unqualifies us for the performance of many Duties.  
Secondly, That it betrays us into many sins.  
And Thirdly, That it frustrates all methods of Reformation. Of these very briefly.  
25. First an excessive opinion of ourselves (and that is so which surpasses the measure of our real worth) unqualifies us for the performance of many Duties; and that both in relation to God, our Neighbour and ourselves.  
First in relation to God.  
26. As Folly leads to Atheism, so does an overweening opinion of our own Wisdom or any other excellency to Profaneness. For as the Fool has said in his heart there is no God, so it is said in another place That the ungodly is so 
Psal. 10. 4.  Proud that he careth not for him. Pride then is altogether inconsistent with that Subjection, Honour and Veneration which we owe to God. For how can he submit his passions to the Authority of the Divine Will who has made a Law of his own? And as it indisposes us for all active, so likewise for all passive Obedience, for how can he suffer that with Patience, which he thinks he does not deserve in Justice? Or how can he submit with resignation to the seeming unevennesses of Providential Dispensations, the equality of which because he cannot discern, he must in honour to his own understanding deny? And upon the same ground it unqualifies us for Faith in many of the Divine Revelations. For how can he Captivate his understanding to Mysteries, who thinks it a dishonour to own any, and is resolved to believe no farther than he can comprehend?  
27. Lastly, It unqualifies us for Gratitude towards God, and consequently puts a Bar to all those good actions which we would otherwise perform upon that Principle. And by this it becomes a Multiplied, a Legion evil. For how can he acknowledge an Obligation passed upon him by God's Favours, who calls them not by that name, but esteems them as Rewards and Payments, and inverting the Protestation 
Gen. 22. 10.  of the good Patriarch, thinks himself worthy of the greatest of his mercies.  
28. Then Secondly, In relation to our Neighbour, it unqualifies us for Obedience to Civil Government. For how can he submit to the Wisdom of his Superiors, and pay an implicit deference to the Occult reasons of State, who thinks himself wiser than a whole Senate, and disputes even the ways of Providence? Pride was ever observed to be the Mother of Faction and Rebellion, and accordingly St. Judas makes it part of the Character of the Proud Gnostics, To despise Dominions and speak evil of Dignities.  
29. Again, It unqualifies us for those acts of Justice which consist in a due observation of our Neighbours Merits, and a deference of external Respect proportionable to that observation. For how can he be at leisure to take notice of another's worth, who is so wholly taken up in the contemplation of his own? Let the Reputation of his best Friends (if it be possible for a Proud man to have any) be in never so great danger, he like Archimedes, is so overbusy in admiring the Creatures of his own brain, those Draughts and Ideas which he has formed of himself there, that he regards not the Ruin that is about him. Or if he does, he is so far from appearing in their defence (as in Justice he ought) that he rather rejoices at their Spots as Accessions to his own brightness.  
30. Again, It unqualifies us for the Offices of Humanity, and Civil Behaviour, and all kinds of Homilitical virtue: for how can he treat those with any tolerable Civility, whom he looks down upon as a whole Species below him?  
31. Lastly, it unqualifies us for Gratitude toward our Benefactors. For how can he think himself obliged by man, who counts God his Debtor?  
32. Then Thirdly, In relation to ourselves, here is this grand ill consequence of an immoderate self-esteem, that it unqualifies us not only for higher attainments, but even for the very endeavours of improvement, and so cuts short and bedmarves all our excellencies. 'Tis the Observation of Cicero, Multi ad scientiam pervenissent nisi se jam pervenisse credidissent, The Opinion of the Proud man has so far got the start of the real worth, that the latter will never overtake the former.  
33. And as the immoderate esteem of ourselves unqualifies us for the performance of many Duties, so does it also in the second place Betray us into many Sins.  
34. First, Into all those sins which are contrary to the foremention'd Virtues respectively. And besides them into many more, such as are presumption and security, vexation and discontent, contempt of others (though at the same time it exposes us to theirs) Anger and Contention, Malice and Revenge. For the Proud man is not content to be his own private Admirer, but quarrels with all others that are not of his persuasion, and with the Tyrant of Babylon kindles a fire for those who will not fall down and worship the Image which he has set up.  
35. Neither does the Leprosy stop here. But as it betrays us into many sins, so in the Third and last place (which is the most dismal Consequence of all) It frustrates all Methods of Reformation. God's judgements will but exasperate and enrage him, because he thinks he does not deserve them, and his Mercies will not endear him, because he thinks he does. Advice he thinks he does not need, and Reproof he cannot bear. Besides he thinks so well of himself already, that he wonders what you mean by advising him to become better, and therefore as he does not endeavour after any of those excellencies which he thinks he has, so neither can he dream of mending those faults which he thinks he is not guilty of: Thus is the man Sealed up to iniquity, and deeply lodged in the strong holds of sin, where nothing that has a Salutary Influence can come nigh him. And in this he resembles the first Precedents of his Folly, who from Angels transformed themselves into Devils, and fell beyond the possibilities of recovery.  
36. These are some of the fruits of this Root of Bitterness, and though more might be named, yet these I think sufficient to justify this Admonition of the Apostle to every man, not to think of himself more highly than he ought to think, but to think soberly, according as God has dealt to every man the measure of faith. Let us then all endeavour to conform our opinions concerning ourselves to this Standard. Let us not stretch ourselves beyond our natural dimensions, but learn to entertain modest and sober thoughts of our own excellencies and endowments, and mortify our understandings as well as our sensitive affections. And thus shall we complete our Lent Exercise by joining the mortification of the Spirit to that of the flesh, without which the greatest Austerities wherewith we can afflict the latter, will not be such a Fast as God has chosen. For what will it avail to macerate the Body, while the principal part the Soul remains unmortifyed? The Humility of Moses must conspire with his Forty days Fasting to qualify a man for Divine Intercourses, to make him the Joy of Angels, the Friend of God. Thus then let us accomplish the Refinings of our Souls, and fill up the Measure of our Mortifications. To which end let us add this one further Consideration to what has been already said, that Humility in the Judgement even of the High and Lofty one that inhabits Eternity, is a Virtue of such great Excellency, and singular advantage to the happiness of Mankind, that our Blessed Saviour came down from Heaven to teach it, that his whole life was one continued Exercise of it, and that he has dignifyed it with the first place among his Beatitudes. Let us then, as many as profess the Religion of the Humble and Crucify'd JESUS, make it our strict Care that we neglect not this his great Commandment, nor omit to Copy out this Principal Line, this main stroke of the Pattern he has set us. Especially let us of this place who are set among the greater Lights of the Firmament, and whose profession and business is to contemplate Truth, and to think of things as God made them, in Number, Weight and Measure, labour in the first place to take just and true Measures of our Selves, that our Knowledge puff us not up, nor our Height become our Ruin.   

CONSIDERATIONS UPON THE NATURE OF SIN. Accommodated to the ends both of Speculation and Practice.  
Considerations upon the Nature of Sin, etc.  

SECT. I. Of the division of Sin into Material and Formal, and of the reality and necessity of that Distinction.  
1. TO make this our Discourse about Sin more clear and distinct, before we enter upon its Nature 'twill be requisite to premise something concerning the double acceptation of the word. For nothing can be defined before it be distinguished.  
2. I observe therefore, that Sin may be considered either abstractedly, for the bare act of Obliquity, or concretely with such a special dependence of it upon the will as renders the Agent guilty, or obnoxious to punishment. I say with such a special dependence of it upon the will; for not every dependence of an action upon the will is sufficient to make it imputable, as shall be shown hereafter. The former of these, by those that distinguish more nicely, is called transgressio voluntatis, the latter transgressio voluntaria, or according to the more ordinary distinction the former is the material, the latter the formal part of Sin.  
3. This distinction is both real and necessary. 1. it is real, because the Idea or conception of material sin is not only distinct from the Idea of formal sin (as it may be in things really the same) but when considered as alone does positively exclude the other. For this notion, a bare act of Obliquity, does not only prescind from, but also positively deny such a special dependence of it upon the will as makes it imputable for punishment.  
4. Now as it is a certain sign of Identity when the Idea of one thing necessarily includes the Idea of another, so is it of real distinction when the Idea of one thing in any case positively excludes the Idea of the other. There may indeed be distinct conceptions of one and the same thing, whereof there are different Properties or Degrees, but than one does only abstract from, and not in any case positively exclude the other. Which when it does it is an evident sign of real distinction.  
5. But the greatest Argument of real distinction is separability and actual separation. For nothing can be separated from itself. And this also has place here. For the material part of sin may actually exist without the formal. That is, there may be an act of obliquity, or an irregular act without any guilt derived upon the Agent, or to speak more strictly, without that special dependence of the act upon the will which is the foundation of that guilt. This is evident in the case of fools and mad men.  
6. And as this Distinction is real, so also is it very useful and necessary. 1st in the notion, to prevent ambiguities and fallacies, that might arise from the use of the word (sin). As when St. John says, he that commits sin is of the 
John 3. 8.  Devil, certainly 'twould be a fallacy to argue hence that every mere act of obliquity is Diabolical, because a sin, since not material but formal sin was the thing intended in Saint John's Proposition.  
7. 2ly in the thing, for the honour and vindication of the Divine Attributes. Particularly from the damning of Infants merely for the corruption of nature, commonly called Original sin; It being repugnant to the measures of Justice and the Dictates of Common Sense, that the bare doing an irregular act, or the bare having an irregular propension should be punishable at all, much more with eternal damnation, as it must be if every dependence of an action upon the will be enough to render it imputable, that is, if every material be also a formal sin. This I say would be very unjust, because such irregular acts are no more a man's own than those committed by another man.  
8. But it is certain that God does not proceed by such measures; as may be gathered from the Oeconomy of his severest dispensation, the Law. For when he forbade murder with such strictness and severity, as to order the murderer   

SECT. II. A more particular and explicit consideration of Material sin, and what it adds to the general nature of evil.  
1. AFter our Distinction of sin into Material and Formal, and our justification of that distinction, it follows that in the next place we give some more particular and explicit account of the nature of Material sin. That it is an irregular act in general, was intimated before, but to speculate its nature more thoroughly we must set it in a clearer light, and define what it is that makes an action irregular. And the account which I shall give of this, I shall ground upon that Definition of St. John, who tells us that sin is a transgression of the Law. So that transgression of the Law is the irregularity of an action, and is more explicitly the Material part of sin.  
2. Thus far in general. But now to make Transgression of the Law fully adequate and commensurate to Material sin, so as to extend to all kinds of it, it concerns us in the next place to inquire, what is here to be understood by (Law) and upon the right stating of this, will depend the whole Theory of Material sin.  
3. By Law therefore in the first place, is to be understood that which is Positive, that is, any rule of action prescribed to us by God, considered only as prescribed. Any action so prescribed, be it otherwise never so indifferent for the matter, puts on the force of a Law from the Authority of the Prescriber, and every transgression of such a Rule is Sin.  
4. But the Transgression of Law in this narrow sense of the word will not comprehend all the kinds of Material sin. For although Positive Law creates the first difference in some things, yet it does not in all. For had God never made any Positive Law yet the doing of some actions would have been sin, nay there was sin where there was no Positive Law, as may be probably collected from the fall of Angels. But where there is no Law there is no Transgression. There must be therefore some other law besides Positive Law.  
5. By Law therefore 2ly is to be understood the Law of Reason, that Candle of the Lord that lights every man that comes into the world in his passage through it. This is twofold. For 1st, by the Law of Reason may be understood that Original stock of rational Tendencies or practical sentiments which prevent all Discourse and reasonings about what is to be done, and answer to Speculative Principles. For as the Animal and sensitive Nature is not only furnished with Sense and Perception, but also with certain connatural instincts and impressions, whereby Animals are directed and inclined to sensitive good, so for the guardianship and security of Virtue, against the danger either of ignorance or inadvertence▪ God has furnished the Rational nature not only with the faculty of reasoning, but with certain common Principles and Notions, whereby 'tis inclined to the good of the Reasonable life. This is the 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 so much talked of, and that which men generally mean by the Law of Nature.  
6. Or else 2ly, by the Law of Reason may be understood a Power, which a Rational Creature has of finding out by discoursing from first Principles what is fit to be done, and of reflecting upon the reasonableness of those Moral Anticipations and impressions, which he before entertained, though he knew not upon what ground.  
7. These two make up the adequate notion of the Law of Reason, but we are not yet come to the adequate notion of Law. For if the Law of Reason be taken in the first sense for a stock of Moral Anticipations implanted by God in the Soul, this will be but another branch of Positive Law. For Light of Nature and Light of Scripture are but different modes of Divine revelation, and neither of these can be the ultimate Reason, into which the Morality of every action is to be resolved.  
8. But if the Law of Reason be taken in the latter sense, for a Power which a Rational Creature has of finding out by discourse what is reasonable to be done, this will of necessity lead us higher, namely to consider that there are certain antecedent and independent aptnesses or qualities in things, with respect to which they are fit to be commanded or forbidden by the wise governor of the world in some positive Law, whether that of internal or external Revelation, or both.  
9 We are therefore in the next place to resolve these antecedent aptnesses of things into their proper ground, or to assign what that is which makes an action fit to be commanded or forbidden. Which when we have done we are advanced as high as we can go, and have found out that supreme, eternal and irreversible Law, which prescribes measures to all the rest, and is the last Reason of good and evil.  
10. That therefore which makes an action fit to be commanded or forbidden by the wise governor of the world, can be nothing else in general, but its respective tendency to prompt or hinder the attainment of some certain end or other, which that governor proposes. For all action being for some end, and not the End it self, its aptness to be commanded or forbidden must be founded upon its serviceableness or disserviceableness to some end. So much in general.  
11. I further consider, that this end must be that which is simply and absolutely the best and greatest. For no other is worthy of God. Now certainly there is none better or greater than the universal good of the whole Sisteme of things, which is therefore to be regarded and prosecuted to the utmost both by God and all other Intelligent Being's.  
12. And hence arises this first and great Canon or Law, that whatever naturally tends to the promotion of the common interest is good and apt to be commanded, and whatever naturally tends to the disinterest of the public, is evil and apt to be forbidden. This is the great Basis of Morality, the fixed and immutable standard of good and evil, and the fundamental Law of Nature.  
13. And because there are some actions in specie, which with relation to the present system both of the Material and Intellectual world, have such a natural connexion with the furtherance or prejudice of this great end, therefore these by way of Assumption under the two general Propositions are intrinsically and naturally good or bad, and are thereby differenced from those that are made so only by arbitrary Constitution. Tho yet in one respect these are arbitranry too, in as much as they depend upon such a particular Hypothesis of the world which was itself arbitrary, and which if God should at any time change, the relations of actions to the great end might change too; that which now naturally makes for the common advantage, might as naturally make against it, and consequently, that which is now good might have been then evil. But still the two great Hinges of Morality stand as fixed and as unvariable as the two Poles; whatever is naturally conducive to the common interest is good, and whatever has a contrary influence is evil. These are propositions of eternal and unchangeable verity, and which God can no more cancel or disannul than he can deny himself.  
14. So that now to analyze the immorality of any action into its last Principles; If it be enquired why such an action is to be avoided, the immediate answer is, because 'tis sin: if it be asked why 'tis sin, the immediate answer is, because 'tis forbidden, if why forbidden, because 'twas in itself fit to be forbidden, if why fit, because naturally apt to prejudice the common interest: if it be asked why the natural aptness of a thing to prejudice the common interest should make it fit to be forbidden, the answer is, because the common interest is above all things to be regarded and prosecuted: if farther a reason be demanded of this, there can no other be given but because 'tis the best and greatest end, and consequently, is to be desired and prosecuted not for the sake of any thing else, but purely for itself.  
15. So that now the last Law whereof sin is a Transgression, is this great and Supreme Law concerning the prosecution of the common interest. And every sin is some way or other, directly or indirectly a transgression of this Law. Those against any Moral Precept, directly, and those against a Precept merely Positive, indirectly, because 'tis for the common good that the Supreme Authority be acknowledged and submitted to, let the instance wherein Obedience is required, be in itself never so indifferent.  
16. If it be now objected that according to these measures there will be no difference between Moral and Physical evil, contrary to the common distinction between malum Turpe and malum Noxium, the one as opposed to bonum utile, and the other as opposed to bonum honestum; I answer, that I know of no good or evil but of the end and of the means. Good of the end is what we call bonum jucundum, good of the means is what we call utile. Evil of the end there is properly none, but that only is evil which is prejudicial to it. Indeed the old masters of Morality discoursed of moral good and evil as of absolute natures, and accordingly, nothing so common among them as to talk of Essential Rectitudes, and Essential Turpitudes. But I think it greater accuracy to say, that Moral good and evil are Relative things, that bonum honestum is one and the same with that which is truly utile, and that Malum Turpe is that which is naturally against the profit of the Community. And herein I assert no more than what the great master of the Latin Philosophy and Eloquence professedly contends for throughout the whole third book of his Offices. And therefore instead of evading the Objection, I freely own its charge, and affirm that there is no difference between Moral and Physical evil, any otherwise than that Physical evil extends to all things in nature which obstruct Happiness, whereas Moral evil is appropriated to Actions that do so.   

SECT. III. The second part of the Discourse, which briefly treats of Formal sin, with the requisites▪ necessary to its constitution. Where also 'tis enquired, whether the Nature of sin be positive or privative.  
1. WE are now come to the second part of our Discourse, where we are to treat of the nature of Formal Sin, that is, of Sin considered not abstractedly for the mere act of Obliquity, but Concretely with such a special dependence of it upon the will as serves to render the Agent guilty, or obnoxious to punishment.  
2. And here the first thing to be observed is, that although material sin does neither in its notion nor in its existence include formal sin, yet formal sin does always include the other. Tho there may be a transgression of the Law without formal sin, yet the latter always supposes the former, and as St. John says, whosoever 
John 3. 4.  committeth sin, transgresses also the Law.  
3. But that which formal sin adds over and above to material, and under whose respect we are now to consider it, is the connotation of that special dependence of it upon the will which derives guilt upon the Agent. So that for a Definition of formal sin we may say, that it is an irregular action, or a transgression of the law, so depending upon the will, as to make the Agent liable to punishment. This is in the Phrase of St. John 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 to have sin, that 
John 1. ●.  is, so as to be accountable for it, for he speaks of that sin which upon confession God is faithful and just to forgive, and consequently not of material, (for where there is no guilt there can be no Remission) but of formal sin.  
4. From this general notion of formal sin, proceed we to inquire what that special dependence is that makes an irregular action formally a sin. And here 'tis in the first place supposed, that not every dependence of an action upon the will is sufficient to make it imputable. And with very good reason. For otherwise the actions of Infants, Fools and Madmen would be imputable, for these (as indeed all actions) have some dependence upon the will, at least as a Physical Principle.  
5. To be positive therefore, that an irregular action may so depend upon the will as to derive guilt upon the Agent, 'tis necessary first, that it proceed from the will as from a free Principle; Free not only in opposition to coaction (for so all the actions of the will are free) but in opposition to necessity or determination to one part of the contradiction. That is in one word, 'tis necessary to the imputableness of an action that it be avoidable. To this purpose is that common saying of St. Austin, Nemo peccat (that is formaliter) in eo quod vitare non potest. And great reason the Father had to say so, for he that cannot avoid transgressing the Law is not so much as capable of being obliged by it (because no man can be obliged to what is impossible) and if he be not obliged by it, certainly he cannot Morally and Formally break it. A thing which the Patrons of Physical Predetermination would do well to consider.  
6. But when I make it necessary to the imputableness of an action that it be freely exerted, I would not be understood of an immediate Freeness. For certainly those rooted and confirmed sinners, who have by long use reduced themselves under a necessity of sinning, are never the more excusable for the impotence they have contracted. If there was Liberty in the Principle 'tis sufficient.  
7. The next requisite, and that which gives the last and finishing stroke to Formal sin is, that it proceeds from the will sufficiently instructed by the understanding. That is, to make a man sin formally 'tis requisite that he has not only a Power of avoiding that action, which is a transgression of the Law, but that he also know it to be a Transgression of the Law, at least that he be in a capacity so to do, that so he may be induced to exert that Power. And 'tis also necessary that he know that he commits it, that is, he must have or at least be in a capacity of having, both notitia Juris and notitia Facti.  
8. The former of these depends upon that common Principle that Laws do not oblige till they are published, according to that known Maxim of the Canon Law, Leges constituuntur cum promulgantur, and that of the Civilians, Leges quae constringunt hominum vitas intelligi ab omnibus debent. And the latter also depends upon the equity of the same Principle, though somewhat more remotely, for without this the Law, with relation to that particular instance, cannot be said to be properly known. For although I know such a species of action (suppose Adultery) to be a transgression of the Law, yet if I know not that by such a particular instance I commit it, I cannot be said to know that this my action is a Transgression of the Law; and consequently (supposing this my ignorance invincible) am wholly excusable; as appears in the case 
Gen. 20.  of Abimelech when he took Abraham's wife.  
9 So that to the Constitution of Formal sin these two things are required, 1st, that the Transgressor have a Power either immediately, or at least in the Principle of not doing that action which is a Transgression: 2ly, that he either do or may know that act to be a Transgression of the Law, and likewise, that he know when he commits it. And thus have I shown the rise, progress and maturity of sin; I have presented to view both the imperfect Embryo and the full proportioned and animated Monster. All which I shall briefly comprise in that compendious description of St. James, Lust when it is conceived 
James 1. 15.  bringeth forth sin, and sin when it is finished, bringeth forth death.  
10. There is one thing behind relating to the nature of sin in common, which I shall briefly consider, and that is, whether its nature be Positive or Privative. The latter is generally held both by Metaphysitians, Moralists and Divines, but upon what sufficient grounds I could never yet understand. The Formal part of sin without all Question is Positive, as is plain from the very notion of it. For it denotes only that special Dependence which an irregular act has upon the will, which is the same (as well as the common substance of the act) both in good and bad actions, and consequently alike Positive.  
11. All the controversy therefore remains concerning the Material part of sin, whether that be Positive or Privative. And this too, not with respect to the mere Act (for that without question is positive) but with respect to the irregularity of it.  
12. Here than I consider, that according to the foregoing measures the irregularity of an action is not only its aberration from the Rule, but its crossing or going contrary to it. For 'tis not only its not promoting, but its opposing, or at least its natural aptness to oppose the greatest and best of ends. So that 'tis not so properly an irregularity, as a contra-regularity. And therefore good and bad actions are not privatively but contrarily opposed, and consequently both positive, for contraries are always so.  
13. For as to be in pain is not Privatively but contrarily opposed to being Happy (for Pain is something more than want of Happiness) so that action which causes Pain or misery is not Privatively but contrarily opposed to that which is effective of Happiness, and consequently is as Positive as the other.  
14. Those sins which bid the fairest for Privation are sins of Omission. But even these, if we consider their Nature, will appear to be also Positive. For to speak properly, their irregularity does not lie in the not doing or the not willing to do what ought to be done, but in the willing not to do it. But to will the not doing of a thing is as positive as the willing to do it, as being not contradictorily or privatively, but contrarily opposed to it. The sins therefore of Omission are as Positive as those of Commission. The only difference is, that the Positiveness of sins of Commission lies both in the Habitude of the will, and in the executed act too, whereas the Positiveness of sins of Omission is in the Habitude of the will only.  
15. And what is here determined concerning Moral evil, will, I suppose, hold equally true in all evil, except only that which is Absolute, that is, whose evil is not its noxiousness to any thing else, but only the want of some constituent Perfection due to its self, according to that distinction mentioned by Suarez in his Disputation de Malo, of Malum in se and malum alteri. This indeed does import no more than a Privation. And this I suppose might be the occasion of mistake to those who first thought Moral evil to consist in a Privation only; for Absolute evil does so, and they (as I intimated above) took Moral evil to be a kind of absolute Nature.  
16. Many things I know might be and are commonly objected against the Positiveness of sin, but I can think but of one that's worth considering, which is, that if Sin be positive it will be a real Entity, and if so, than we are pressed with a double absurdity, 1st that God will be the Author of it, as being the efficient cause of all Entity. 2ly, that it will be good, goodness being a necessary Affection of Ens.  
17. To this I answer, 1st that I not only freely acknowledge, but contend that sin is a real Entity. But then I distinguish of Entity. There are Physical, and there are Moral Entitys. By the latter (which alone needs explication) I understand certain modes of determination, superadded to Physical things or motions by intelligent Being's, in order either to the interest or disinterest of the universe.  
18. This being premised, I answer to the first part of the objection by denying that it hence follows that God is the Author of sin. God indeed is the Author of all Physical Being's and Motions, but not of those modes of determination superadded by Intelligent Being's, which I call Moral Entitys. As to the second, I grant the consequence, but deny the absurdity of it. For it is no absurdity that Moral evil should be Metaphysically good. For this Metaphysical, transcendental goodness, which is the affection of Ens, is nothing else but a Being's having that essence whereof it is capable, or (as Suarez expresses it) its having that perfection which is convenient to it. But this is very consistent with the nature of Moral evil, for this may have what belongs to its Idea as well as good, and 'tis the Perfection of sin to be exceeding sinful.   

SECT. IV. Corollarys deduced from the whole. The foulness and deformity of sin represented. That it is the greatest of evils. That no Formal sin can be in its self Venial. That in all probability Vindicative Justice is essential to God, hence deduced. A new Hypothesis for the reconciling of eternal Punishments with the Divine Justice. That he who thoroughly understands and actually attends to the Nature of sin cannot possibly commit it.  
1. HAving thus far carried on the Theory of sin, we may now sit down, and take an estimate of its Foulness and Deformity. And methinks I am affrighted at the ugliness of the face which I have unmasked, and am ready to start back from the distorted and illboding monster. For however the magic of Self-love may reconcile men to their own faults, yet if we set the object at a more convenient distance from the eye, and consider the Nature of sin irrespectively to our selves, 'twill certainly appear according to the precedent measures, to be the most deformed, monstrous thing, that can either be found or conceived in Nature.  
2. For if we consider it in its full latitude, it is the highest 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 or Habitude of the will to the worst of objects; than which what can be imagined more monstrous and absurd? If we consider it as a violation of Positive Law, what can be more indecorous than for a Creature to violate the commands, and trample upon the Authority of that awful excellence to whom he owes his life, his motion and his very being? If we consider it as a violation of the Law of Reason, what can be more monstrous and unnatural than for a man to rebel against the vicarious power of God in his Soul, to refuse to live according to that part of him whereby he is a man, to suffer the ferine and brutish part to get the Ascendent over that which is rational and Divine, to refuse to be governed by those sacred Digests which are the Transcripts of the Moral Nature of God, and to act against the very frame and contexture of his being. Lastly, if we consider it as a Transgression against that great and Sovereign Law of promoting the common Happiness, what a monstrous evil must that be which crosses and opposes the best of ends, and which is also proposed by the best of Being's; that for the interest of an inconsiderable part (commonly ones self) justles the great wheel of Society out of its proper tract, that by pursuing a lesser in prejudice to a greater good, disturbs the order of things, dislocates the frame, and untunes the Harmony of the universe!  
3. We may also hence conclude, that sin is the greatest evil that is, or that can possibly be. For it is contrarily opposed to the greatest possible good, and consequently, must needs be the greatest evil. And besides, 'tis that which in no case or juncture whatsoever is to be committed, and therefore must be the greatest evil; because otherwise it might happen to come into competition with a greater, and so commence eligible, which is contrary to the supposition. Moreover, the greatness of this evil above all others is à posteriori further confirmed from the greatness of the Sacrifice required for its atonement. God could not, or at least thought not fit to remit it without the shedding of blood, and that too of the blood of God. So great a Fool is he, so little does he consider, that makes a mock at sin.  
4. Again it may be hence collected, that no Formal sin can be in its own nature venial. For according to the former measures every Formal sin though never so small, is a sin against the greatest Charity imaginable. For 'tis against that Charity whereby I ought to promote the ends of God, and prosecute the great interest of the universe. And consequently, cannot be in its own Nature venial, or pardonable without Repentance.  
5. Nay may I not further conclude according to the preceding measures, that 'tis very probable that no sin could have been pardoned even with Repentance, had there not been also satisfaction made for it, and that vindicative Justice is essential to the nature of God? For when I consider sin, I find it so diametrically contrary to the essential sanctity of God, and so destructive of that great End which he cannot but propose, that he must needs hate it with an infinite hatred. But how he should do so, and yet not punish for it, is hard to understand.  
6. Upon these measures we may also find out a way of reconciling eternal punishments with Divine Justice. The great Objection is, what Proportion is there between a transient act of sin and eternal misery? And if there be none, how is it consistent with divine Justice to inflict the one for the other? This has been a great difficulty, and has for a long time stood proof against all solutions. But now if we consider sin as contrarily opposed to the greatest possible good, the good of the universe, and consequently as the greatest possible evil, its demerit will be such that we need not fear 'twill be over-punished even with eternal misery. For if any misery is to be endured rather than one sin to be committed, 'tis also just that any may be, when it is committed. For the equity of both depends upon sin's being the greatest evil.  
7. The last Deduction which I shall make from the Premises is this, that he who thoroughly understands and actually attends to the nature of sin, cannot possibly commit it. For as long as he does so, he must look upon it as the greatest evil, otherwise he cannot be said rightly to understand it. And if he look upon it as the greatest evil he cannot choose it, so long as he continues in that judgement, because the then choosing it would be the choosing of all that whereby it exceeds other evils, gratis, which is the choosing of evil as evil, which is impossible.  
8. Whosoever therefore consents to the commission of sin passes first a wrong judgement upon it, has the light of his understanding darkened, and intercepted by a cloud of Passion, loses the present Conviction of sin's being the greatest evil, and so commits it to avoid (as he then foolishly thinks) a greater. So that the cause and origine of all sin is ignorance, folly and inadvertence: there is a false Proposition in the understanding before there is any misapplication in the will, and 'tis through the swimming of the head that the feet slip and lose their station. And yet the sinner is no way excusable for this his deception, because 'tis the ignorance of that which he habitually knows, and he might have attended better, and 'twas his fault that he did not.  
9 And 'tis the recovering and awaking up into this Conviction, that is the Principle of Repentance and reformation of life. When a man by the aid of grace and the use of due attention, resumes his interrupted Judgement of Sins being the greatest evil, he than comes again to himself, forms new resolutions never to commit it, and returns to the wisdom of the just. 
Psal. 119.  So great reason had the Psalmist to pray, O grant me understanding and I shall live.   

THE PRAYER.  

O My God, who art pure light and in whom there is no darkness at all, who art pure Love, and hatest nothing but sin, and hatest that infinitely, give me an heart after thine own heart, that I may also abhor it without measure, and without end. Open thou mine eyes that I may see those two wondrous things of thy Law, the Beauty of Holiness, and the deformity of sin. Inspire me with that Charity which seeketh not her own, that I may ever propose and follow that great and excellent end which thou proposest, that I may ever adhere to that which is simply and absolutely best, and never for any self-advantage disturb the order of thy Creation. O let me never so far abuse those faculties thou hast given me, as to thwart the designs of thy goodness and wisdom, and to interrupt that Harmony wherein thou so delightest. But let all my designs be generous, unselvish and sincere, so as chiefly to rejoice at the good of thy Creation, at whose very material Beauty the Morning Stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy. Holy Father, 'tis thy will that this thy great Family should be prosperous and happy, and the better part of it thy Angels, strictly conform to it; O let this thy will be done here on Earth as it is in Heaven, and grant that every member of this great Body may so study the good of the whole, that thou may'st once more review the works of thy hands, and with a Fatherly complacency pronounce them good. Grant this for the sake of him who gave his life for the Happiness of the world, thy Son Jesus,  
Amen.   

II.  
GIve me wisdom that sitteth by thy throne, and reject me not from among thy children. That wisdom which was with thee from the Beginning, which knoweth all thy works and was present when thou madest the world, and knew what was acceptable in thy sight and right in thy Commandments. O send her out of thy holy Heavens and from the throne of thy glory, that being present she may labour with me, that I may know and thoroughly consider what an evil it is to affront thy Authority, to break through the bounds which thou hast set, to rebel against the most excellent and divine part of my nature, and to oppose that which thou lov'st, and which is of all things the most lovely. O let thy wisdom dwell with me, let my loins be always girt, and this my Light always burning, that I may never be deceived through the deceitfulness of sin, nor seek death in the error of my life. Thy words have I hid within my heart that I might not sin against thee, O grant me understanding and I shall live. Keep I beseech thee this conviction still fresh and fully awake in me that Sin is the greatest of all evils, that so the fear of none may ever drive me to do the thing which thy Soul hates. Consider and hear me O Lord my God, lighten mine eyes that I sleep not in death.  
Amen, Amen.      

AN IDEA OF HAPPINESS, IN A LETTER to a FRIEND: ENQUIRING Wherein the greatest Happiness attainable by Man in this Life does consist.  
— Sollicitis vitam consumimus annis,  
Torquemurque metu caecaque cupidine rerum,  
Aeternisque Senes curis dum quaerimus aevum,  
Perdimus, & nullo votorum fine beati,  
Victuros agimus semper, nec vivimus unquam.  Manilius lib. 4. 
OXFORD, Printed at the THEATER 1687.   


An Idea of Happiness, etc.  
SIR,  
1. THOUGH you have been pleased to assign me the Task of an Angel, and in that Respect have warranted me to disobey you; yet, since a considerable part of that experimental Knowledge which I have of Happiness is owing to the Delight, which I take in your virtuous and endearing Friendship, I think 'tis but reasonable I should endeavour to give you an Idea of that, whereof you have given me the Possession.  
2. You desire to know of me wherein the greatest Happiness attainable by man in this Life does consist. And here, though I see myself engaged in a work already too difficult for me, yet I find it necessary to enlarge it: For, since the greatest Happiness, or Summum Bonum of this Life is a Species of Happiness in general, and since it is called (Greatest) not because absolutely perfect and complete; but inasmuch as it comes nearest to that which indeed is so, it will be necessary first to state the Notion of Happiness in General, and then to define wherein that Happiness does consist which is perfect and complete, before I can proceed to a Resolution of your Question.  
3. By Happiness, in the most general Sense of the word, I understand nothing else but an Enjoyment of any Good. The least Degree of Good has the same Proportion to the least Degree of Happiness as the greatest has to the greatest, and consequently as many ways as a man enjoys any Good, so many ways he may be said to be happy: neither will the Mixture of Evil make him forfeit his Right to this Title, unless it either equals the Good he enjoys, or exceeds it: And then indeed it does; but the Reason is, because in strictness of Speaking, upon the whole Account the man enjoys no Good at all: For if the Good and the Evil be equal-balanced, it must needs be indifferent to that man either to be or not to be, there being not the least Grain of good to determine his Choice: So that he can no more be said to be happy in that Condition, than he could before he was born. And much less, if the Evil exceeds the Good: For than he is not only not happy, but absolutely and purely miserable: For after an exact Commensuration supposed between the Good and the Evil, all that remains over of the Evil is pure and simple Misery; which is the Case of the Damned: And when 'tis once come to this (whatever some men's Metaphysics may persuade them) I am very well satisfied, that 'tis better not to be than to be. But now on the other side, if the Good does never so little outweigh the Evil, that Overplus of Good is as pure and unallayed in its Proportion, as if there were no such Mixture at all; and consequently the Possession of it may properly be called Happiness.  
4. I know the Masters of Moral Philosophy do not treat of Happiness in this Latitude; neither is it fit they should: For their Business being to point out the ultimate End of Human Actions, it would be an impertinent thing for them to give any other Idea of Happiness than the highest: But however this does not hinder but that the General Idea of Happiness may be extended farther, even to the Fruition of any Good whatsoever: Neither is there any reason to find Fault with the Latitude of this Notion, since we acknowledge Degrees even in Glory.  
5. In this General Idea of Happiness two things are contained. One is, some Good, either real or apparent, in the Fruition of which we are said to be in some measure or other happy. The other is the very Fruition itself. The first of these is usually called Objective Happiness, and the latter Formal. Some I know divide Happiness into these as distinct Species; but I think not so artificially: For they are both but constituent Parts, which jointly make up one and the same Happiness: Neither of them are sufficient alone, but they are both equally necessary. That the last of these is a necessary Ingredient, I think no doubt can reasonably be made: For what would the greatest Good imaginable signify without Fruition? And that the former is likewise necessary is no less certain: For how can there be such a thing as Fruition without an Object? I grant 'tis not at all necessary that the Object be a real substantial Good; if it appear so, 'tis sufficient.  
6. From this Distinction of real and apparent Good, some have taken occasion to distinguish of Happiness likewise into two sorts, real and imaginary: But I believe, upon a more narrow Scrutiny into the matter, 'twill be found, that all Happiness, according to its Proportion, is equally real; and that that which they term Imaginary, too well deserves the Name, there being no such thing in Nature: For let the Object of it be never so Fantastic, yet it must still carry the Semblance and Appearance of Good (otherwise it can neither move the Appetite nor please it, and consequently be neither an Object of Desire nor of Fruition;) and if so, the Happiness must needs be real, because the Formality of the Object, though 'twere never so true and real a good, would notwithstanding lie in the Appearance, not in the Reality: Whether it be real or no is purely accidental: For, since to be happy can be nothing else but to enjoy something which I desire, the Object of my Happiness must needs be enjoyed under the same Formality as 'tis desired. Now since 'tis desired only as apparently good, it must needs please me when obtained under the same Notion. So that it matters not to the Reality of my Happiness, whether the Object of it be really good, or only apprehended so, since if it were never so real, it pleases only as apparent. The Fool has his Paradise as well as the Wiseman, and for the time is as happy in it; and a kind Delusion will make a Cloud as pleasing as the Queen of Heaven. And therefore I think it impossible for a man to think himself happy, and (during that Persuasion) not really to be so. He enjoys the Creature of his own Fancy, worships the Idol of his Imagination, and the happiest man upon Earth does no more: For let the Circumstances of his Life be what they will, 'tis his Opinion only that must give the Relish. Without this, Heaven itself would afford him no Content, nor the Vision of God prove Beatific. 'Tis true, the man is seated at the Springhead of Happiness, is surrounded with excellent Objects; but alas, it appears not so to him; he is not at all affected with his Condition, but, like Adam, lies fast in a dead Sleep in the midst of Paradise.  
7. The Sum of this Argument is this; Good is in the same manner the Object of Fruition, as 'tis of Desire; and that is not as really good in its own Nature, but as 'tis judged so by the Understanding: And consequently, though it be only apparent, it must needs be as effectual to gratify the Appetite as it was at first to excite it during that Appearance. So long as it keeps on its Vizor and imposes upon the Understanding, what is wanting in the thing, is made up by an obliging Imposture, and Ignorance becomes here the Mother of Happiness as well as of Devotion: But if the man will dare to be wise, and too curiously examine the superficial Tinsel-Good, he undeceives himself to his own Cost, and, like Adam, adventuring to eat of the Tree of Knowledge, sees himself naked, and is ashamed. And for this reason I think it impossible for any man to love to be flattered: 'Tis true, he may delight to hear himself commended by those who indeed do flatter him; but the true reason of that is, because he does not apprehend that to be Flattery which indeed is so; but when he once throughly knows it, 'tis impossible he should be any longer delighted with it. I shall conclude this Point with this useful Reflection, That since every Man's Happiness depends wholly upon his own opinion, the foundatiou upon which all envious men proceed, must needs be either false or very uncertain. False, if they think that outward Circumstances and States of life are all the Ingredients of Happiness; but uncertain however: For since they measure the Happiness of other Men by their own Opinion, 'tis mere Chance if they do not misplace their Envy, unless they were sure the other Person was of the like opinion with themselves. And now what a vain irrational thing is it to disquiet ourselves into a dislike of our own Condition, merely because we mistake another Man's?  
8. Thus fa● of the Notion of Happiness in General; I now proceed to consider that Happiness which is 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 (as Plato speaks) sound and entire, perfect and complete. Concerning the general Notion of which, all men, I suppose, are as much agreed as they are in the Idea of a Triangle. That 'tis such a State than which a better cannot be conceived: In which there is no Evil you can fear, no Good which you desire and have not; That which fully and constantly satisfies the Demand of every Appetite, and leaves no possibility for a desire of Change; or to sum it up in that comprehensive Expression of the Poet, Quod sis esse velis, nihilque malis. When you would always be what you are, and (as the Earl of Roscommon very significantly renders it) do Rather nothing.  
9 This I suppose is the utmost that can be said or conceived of it, and less than this will not be enough. And thus far we are all agreed. For I suppose, the many various Disputes maintained by Philosophers concerning Happiness, could not respect this general Notion of it, but only the particular causes or means whereby it might be acquired. And I find Tully concurring 
lib. 3. de Fin.  with me in the same Observation, Ea est beata vita (says he) quaerimus autem non quae sit, sed unde. The difficulty is not to frame a conception of a perfectly happy State in the general, but to define in particular wherein it confists.  
10. But before I undertake this Province, I think it might not be amiss to remove one Prejudice, which, because it has gained upon myself sometimes in my Melancholy Retirements, I am apt to think it may be incident to other men also. It is this, Whether after so many Disputes about, so many restless endeavours after this state of perfect Happiness, there be any such thing or no. Whether it be not a mere Idea, as imaginary as Plato's Commonwealth, as fictious as the Groves of Elysium. I confess, this suspicion has oftentimes overcast my mind with black thoughts, damped my Devotion, and as it were, clipped the Wings of my Aspiring Soul. And I happened to fall into it upon a serious reflection on the nature of Fruition in the several Periods and Circumstances of my Life. For I observed according to my Narrow experience, that I never had in all my Life the same thoughts of any good in the very time of the enjoying it as I had before. I have known when I have promised myself vast Satisfactions, and my imagination has presented me at a distance with a fair Landscape of Delights, yet when I drew nigh to grasp the alluring Happiness, like the Sensitive Plant it contracted itself at the touch, and shrinked almost to nothing in the Fruition. And though after the Enjoyment is past, it seems great again upon Reflection as it did before in Expectation, yet should a Platonical Revolution make the same Circumstances recur, I should not think so. I found 'twas ever with me as with the Traveller, to whom the Ground which is before him, and that which he has left behind him seems always more curiously embroidered and delightsome, than that which he stands upon. So that my Happiness, like the time wherein I thought to enjoy it, was always either passed or to come, never present. Methought I could often say upon a Recollection, How happy was I at such a time! Or when I was in expectation. How happy shall I be if I compass such a design! But scarce ever, I am so. I was pretty well pleased methought while I expected, while I hoped, till Fruition jogged me out of my pleasing slumber and I knew it was but a Dream. And this single Consideration has often made me even in the very pursuit after Happiness, and full career of my Passions, to stop short on this side of Fruition, and to choose rather with Moses upon Mount Nebo to entertain my fancy with a remote Prospect of the Happy Land, than to go in, and Possess it, and then Repine. How then shall Man be happy, when setting aside all the Crosses of Fortune, he will complain even of Success, and Fruition itself shall disappoint him!  
11. And this melancholy reflection bred in me a kind of Suspicion, that for all that I knew it might be so in Heaven too. That although at this distance I might frame to myself bright Ideas of that Region of Bliss; yet when I came to the Possession of it, I should not find that perfect Happiness there which I expected, but that it would be always to come as 'tis now, and that I should seek for Heaven even in Heaven itself. That I should not fully acquiesce in my condition there, but at length desire a Change. And that which confirmed me the more in this unhappy Scepticism, was, because I considered that a great number of excellent Being's who enjoyed the very Quintessence of Bliss, who were as happy as God and Heaven could make them, grew soon uneasy and weary of their State and left their own Habitation. Which argues that their Happiness was not perfect and complete, because otherwise they would not have desired a Change, since that very desire is an Imperfection. And if Happiness be not complete in Heaven, sure 'tis impossible to be found any where else.  
12. Before therefore I proceed to define wherein perfect Happiness does consist, I think it necessary to endeavour the removal of this Scruple, which, like the flaming Sword, forbids entrance into Paradise. In order to which, I shall inquire into the true Reason why these Sublunary good things when enjoyed do neither answer our expectations, nor satisfy our Appetites. Now this must proceed either from the nature of Fruition itself, or from the Imperfection of it, or from the Object of it, or from ourselves. I confess, did this defect proceed from the very nature of Fruition (as is supposed in the Objection) 'tis impossible there should be any such thing as perfect Happiness, since 'twould faint away while enjoyed, and expire in our embraces. But that it cannot proceed thence, I have this to offer, Because Fruition being nothing else but an Application or Union of the Soul to some good or agreeable Object, it is impossible that should lessen the good enjoyed. Indeed it may lessen our estimation of it, but that is because we do not rightly consider the nature of things, but promise our selves infinite Satisfactions in the enjoyment of finite Objects. We look upon things through a false Glass, which Magnifies the Object at a distance much beyond its just Dimensions. We represent our future enjoyments to ourselves in such favourable and partial Ideas which abstract from all the inconveniencies and allays which will really in the Event accompany them. And if we thus over-rate our Felicities beforehand, 'tis no wonder if they balk our Expectations in the Fruition. But than it must be observed, that the Fruition does not cause this Deficiency in the Object, but only discover it. We have a better insight into the Nature of things near at hand, than when we stood afar off, and consequently discern those defects and imperfections, which, like the qualities of an ill Mistress, lay hid all the time of Courtship, and now begin to betray themselves, when 'tis come to enjoyment. But this can never happen but where the Object is finite. An infinite Object can never be overvalued, and consequenty cannot frustrate our Expectations.  
13. And as we are not to charge Fruition with our disappointments but ourselves (because we are accessary to our own delusion by taking false measures of things) so neither is the Vnsatisfactoriness of any condition to be imputed to the Nature of Fruition itself, but either to the imperfection of it or to the finiteness of the Object. Let the Object be never so perfect, yet if the Fruition of it be in an imperfect measure there will still be room for Vnsatisfactoriness, as it appears in our enjoyment of God in this Life. Neither can a finite Object fully satisfy us though we enjoy it never so thoroughly. For since to a full satisfaction and acquiescence of Mind 'tis required that our Faculties be always entertained and we ever enjoying: it is impossible a finite Object should afford this Satisfaction, because all the good that is in it (being finite) is at length run over, and then the enjoyment is at an end, The flower is sucked dry, and we necessarily desire a Change. Whenever therefore our enjoyment proves unsatisfying, we may conclude, that either the Object is finite, or the Fruition imperfect. But then how came the Angels to be dissatisfied with their Condition in the Regions of light and immortality, when they drank freely of the Fountain of Life 
Revel. 26.  proceeding out of the Throne of God, with whom is fullness of Joy, and at whose Right hand are Pleasures for evermore. Here certainly there is no room either for the finiteness of the Object, or the imperfection of Fruition. And therefore their dissatisfaction can be imputed to no other Cause, than the Nature of Fruition in general, which is to lessen the good enjoyed, as was supposed in the Objection. This I confess presses hard, and indeed, I have but one way to extricate myself from this difficulty, and that is by supposing a State of Probation in the Angels. That they did not immediately upon their Creation enjoy an infinite Object, or if they did, yet that 'twas in an imperfect measure. For should it be granted that they were at first confirmed in Bliss and completely happy both in respect of Fruition and Object, as we suppose they are now, I cannot conceive it possible they should be dissatisfied with their Condition. This being repugnant to the Idea of Perfect Happiness.  
14. Since then this dissatisfaction must be derived either from the imperfection of the Fruition, or the finiteness of the Object, and not from the Nature of Fruition in the general, to infer the possibility of perfect Happiness, there needs no more to be supposed than the existence of a Being full fraught with infinite inexhaustible good, and that he is able to Communicate to the full. There may be then such a thing as Perfect Happiness. The possibility of which may also be further proved (though not explicated) from those boundless Desires, that immortal Thirst every man has after it by Nature: Concerning which I observe, that nothing does more constantly, more inseparably cleave to our Minds than this Desire of perfect and consummated Happiness: This, as Plato pathetically expresses it, is, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, the most excellent end of all our Endeavours, the great Prize, the great Hope. This is the Mark every Man shoots at, and though we miss our Aim never so often, yet we will not, cannot give over; but, like passionate Lovers, take Resolution from a Repulse. The rest of our Passions are much at our own Disposal; yield either to Reason or Time; we either Argue ourselves out of them, or at least outlive them. We are not always in Love with Pomp and Grandeur, nor always dazzled with the glittering of Riches; and there is a Season when Pleasure itself shall Court in vain: But the desire of perfect Happiness has no Intervals, no Vicissitudes, it outlasts the Motion of the Pulse, and survives the Ruins of the Grave. Many Waters cannot quench it, neither can the Floods Drown it: And now certainly God would never have planted such an Ardent, such an importunate Appetite in our Souls, and as it were interwoven it with our very Natures, had he not been able to satisfy it.  
15. I come now to show wherein this perfect Happiness does consist, concerning which, I affirm in the first place, that it is not to be found in any thing we can enjoy in this Life. The greatest Fruition we have of God here, is imperfect, and consequently unsatisfactory. And as for all other Objects they are finite, and consequently, though never so fully enjoyed, cannot afford us perfect Satisfaction. No; Man knoweth not the price thereof: Neither is it 
Job 28.  to be found in the Land of the Living. The Depth saith, it is not in me, and the Sea saith, it is not in me. The Vanity of the Creature has been so copiously discoursed upon, both by Philosophers and Divines, and is withal so obvious to every thinking man's Experience, that I need not here take an Inventory of the Creation, nor turn Ecclesiastes after Solomon. And besides, I have already anticipated this Argument in what I have said concerning Fruition. I shall only add one or two Remarks concerning the Objects of Secular Happiness, which are not so commonly insisted upon, to what has been there said. The first is this, that the Objects wherein Men generally seek for Happiness here, are not only finite in their Nature, but also few in number. Indeed, could a Man's Life be so contrived, that he should have a new Pleasure still ready at hand assoon as he was grown weary of the Old, and every day enjoy a Virgin Delight, he might then perhaps like Mr. Hobbs his Notion, and for a while think himself happy in this continued Succession of new Acquisitions. But alas, Nature does not treat us with this Variety. The compass of our enjoyments is much shorter than that of our Lives, and there is a Periodical Circulation of our Pleasures as well as of our Blood.  

— Versamur ibidem atque insumus usque.  
Nec nova vivendo procuditur ulla voluptas.   
Lucretius.  
The Enjoyments of our Lives run in a perpetual Round like the Months in the Calendar, but with a quicker Revolution; we dance like Fairies in a Circle, and our whole Life is but a nauseous Tautology: We rise like the Sun, and run the same Course we did the day before, and to morrow is but the same over again: So that the greatest Favourite of Fortune will have Reason often enough to cry out with him in Seneca, Quousque eadem? But there is another Grievance which contributes to defeat our Endeavours after perfect Happiness in the Enjoyments of this Life; Which is, that the Objects wherein we seek it, are not only finite and few; but that they commonly prove occasions of greater Sorrow to us than ever they afforded us Content. This may be made out several ways, as from the Labour of Getting, the Care of Keeping, the fear of Losing, and the like Topics, commonly insisted on by others; but I wave these, and fix upon another Account less blown upon, and I think more material than any of the rest. It is this, that although the Object loses that great appearance in the Fruition which it had in the expectation, yet after it is gone it Resumes it again. Now we, when we lament the loss, do not take our measures from that appearance which the Object had in the Enjoyment (as we should do to make our sorrow not exceed our Happiness) but from that which it has in the reflection, and consequently we must needs be more miserable in the loss than we were happy in the enjoyment.  
16. From these and the like Considerations, I think it will evidently appear, that this perfect Happiness is not to be found in any thing we can enjoy in this Life. Wherein then does it consist? I answer positively, in the full and entire Fruition of God. He (as Plato speaks) is 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, the Proper and Principal end of Man, the Centre of our Tendency, the Ark of our Rest. He is the Object which alone can satisfy the appetite of the most Capacious Soul, and stand the Test of Fruition to Eternity. And to enjoy him fully is perfect Felicity. This in general, is no more than what is delivered to us in Scripture, and was believed by many of the Heathen Philosophers. But the manner of this Fruition requires a more particular Consideration. Much is said by the Schoolmen upon this Subject, whereof, in the first place, I shall give a short and methodical account, and then fix upon the Opinion which I best approve of. The first thing that I observe, is, that 'tis generally agreed upon among them, that this Fruition of God consists in some Operation; and I think with very good Reason. For as by the Objective part of perfect Happiness we understand that which is best and last, and to which all other things are to be referred; So by the Formal part of it must be understood the best and last Habitude of Man toward that best Object, so that the Happiness may both ways satisfy the Appetite, that is, as 'tis the best thing, and as 'tis the Possession, Use, or Fruition of that best thing: Now this habitude whereby the best thing is perfectly possessed, must needs be some Operation, because Operation is the ultimate perfection of every Being. Which Axion (as Cajetan well observes) must not be so understood as if Operation taken by itself were more perfect than the thing which tends to it, but that every thing with its Operation is more perfect than without it.  
17. The next thing which I observe, is, that 'tis also farther agreed upon among them, that this Operation wherein our Fruition of God does consist, is an Operation of the Intellectual part, and not of the Sensitive. And this also I take to be very reasonable. First, because 'tis generally received, that the Essence of God cannot be the Object of any of our Senses. But Secondly, Suppose it could, yet since this Operation; wherein our perfect Happiness does consist must be the perfectest Operation, and since that of the Intellectual part is more perfect than that of the Sensitive, it follows that the Operation whereby we enjoy God must be that of the Intellectual part only.  
18. But now whereas the Intellectual part of man (as 'tis opposed to the Sensitive) is double, viz. That of the Understanding, and that of the Will, there has commenced a great Controversy between the Thomists and the Scotists, in which Act or Operation of the Rational Soul the Fruition of God does consist, whether in an Act of the Understanding, or in an Act of the Will. The Thomists will have it consist purely in an Act of the Understanding, which is Vision. The Scotists in the Act of the Will, which is Love. I intent not here to launch out into those Voluminous Intricacies and Abstrusities, occasioned by the management of this Argument: It may suffice to tell you, that I think they are both in the extreme, and therefore I shall take the middle way and resolve the perfect Fruition of God partly into Vision and partly into Love. These are the two arms with which we embrace the Divinity, and unite our Souls to the fair one and the good. These I conceive are both so essential to the perfect Fruition of God, that the Idea of it can by no means be maintained if either of them be wanting. For, since God is both Supreme Truth and infinite Goodness, he cannot be entirely possessed but by the most clear knowledge and the most ardent love. And besides, since the Soul is happy by her Faculties, her Happiness must consist in the most perfect Operation of each Faculty. For if Happiness did consist formally in the sole Operation of the Understanding (as most say) or in the sole Operation of the Will (as others) the Man would not be completely and in all respects Happy. For how is it possible a Man should be perfectly Happy in loving the greatest good if he did not know it, or in knowing it if he did not love it? And moreover, these two Operations do so mutually tend to the promotion and conservation of one another, that upon this depends the perpetuity and the constancy of our Happiness. For while the Blessed do 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, Face to Face contemplate the Supreme Truth and the infinite Goodness, they cannot choose but love perpetually; and while they perpetually love, they cannot choose but perpetually contemplate. And in this mutual reciprocation of the Actions of the Soul consists the perpetuity of Heaven, the Circle of Felicity.  
19 Besides this way of resolving our fruition of God into Vision and Love, there is a famous Opinion said to be broached by Henricus Gandavensis, who, upon a Supposition that God could not be so fully enjoyed as is required to perfect Happiness, only by the Operations or Powers of the Soul, fancied a certain Illapse whereby the Divine Essence did fall in with, and as it were penetrate the Essence of the Blessed. Which Opinion he endeavours to illustrate by this Similitude. That as a piece of Iron, red hot by reason of the Illapse of the fire into it, appears all over like fire, so the Souls of the Blessed by this Illapse of the Divine Essence into them, shall be all over Divine.  
20. I think he has scarce any followers in this Opinion, but I am sure he had a leader. For this is no more than what Plato taught before him, as is to be seen in his Discourses about the refusion of the Souls of good men into the Anima Mundi, which is the selfsame in other terms with this Opinion. And the Truth of what I affirm may farther appear from an expression of that great Platonist Plotinus, (viz.) that the Soul will then be Happy when it shall depart 
Enn. 6. lib. 9 cap. 10.  hence to God, and as another and no longer herself shall become wholly his, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, having joined herself to him as a Centre to a Centre.  
21. That such an intimate Conjunction with God as is here described is possible, seems to me more than credible from the Nature of the Hypostatic Union, but whether our Fruition of God after this Life shall consist in it, none know but those happy Souls who enjoy him, and therefore I shall determine nothing before the time. This only I observe, that should our Fruition of God consist in such an Union or rather Penetration of Essences, that would not exclude but rather infer those Operations of Vision and Love as necessary to Fruition; but on the other hand, there seems no such necessity of this Union to the Fruition, but that it may be conceived entire without it. And therefore why we should multiply difficulties without cause, I see no reason. For my part I should think myself sufficiently happy in the clear Vision of my Maker, nor should I desire 
Exod. 33. 18.  any thing beyond the Prayer of Moses, I beseech thee show me thy Glory.  
22. For what an infinite Satisfaction, Happiness and Delight must it needs be to have a clear and intimate perception of that Primitive and Original Beauty, Perfection and Harmony, whereof all that appears fair and excellent either to our Senses or Understandings in this Life is but a faint imitation, a pale Reflection! To see him who is the Fountain of all Being, containing in himself the perfection, not only of all that is, but of all that is possible to be, the Alpha and Omega, the beginning and 
Rev. 1. 8.  the ending, the first and the last, which is, and which was, and which is to come, the Almighty! To see him of whom all Nature is the Image, of whom all the Harmony both of the visible and invisible World is but the Echo! To see him, who (as Plato divinely and magnificently expresses it) is 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. The immense Ocean of Beauty, which is itself by itself, with itself, uniform, always existing! This certainly will affect the Soul with all the pleasing and ravishing Transports of Love and Desire, Joy and Delight, Wonder and Amazement, together with a settled Acquiescence and Complacency of Spirit only less infinite than the Loveliness that causes it, and the peculiar Complacency of him who rejoices in his own fullness, and the Comprehensions of Eternity. We see how strangely our Sense of Seeing is affected with the Harmony of Colours, and our sense of Hearing with the Harmony of Sounds, insomuch that some have been too weak for the enjoyment, and have grown mad with the Sublimate of Pleasure. And if so, what then shall we think of the Beatific Vision, the pleasure of which will so far transcend that of the other, as God who is all over Harmony and Proportion exceeds the sweetest Melody of Sounds and Colours, and the perception of the Mind is more vigorous, quick and piercing than that of the Senses? This is perfect Happiness, this is the Tree of Life which grows in the midst of the Paradise of God, this is Heaven, which while the Learned dispute about, the Good only enjoy. But I shall not venture to Soar any longer in these Heights, I find the Aether too thin here to breath in long, and the Brightness of the Region flashes too strong upon my tender Sense; I shall therefore hasten to descend from the Mount of God, lest I grow giddy with speculation, and lose those Secrets which I have learned there, the Cabala of Felicity.  
23. And now, (Sir) I come to consider your Question (viz.) Wherein the greatest Happiness attainable by Man in this Life does consist. Concerning which, there is as great variety of Opinions among Philosophers, as there is among Geographers about the Seat of Paradise. The Learned Varro reckons up no less than 288 several Opinions about it, and yet notwithstanding the number of Writers who have bequeathed Volumes upon this Subject to Posterity, they seem to have been in the dark in nothing more than in this, and (excepting only a few Platonists, who placed Man's greatest End in the Contemplation of Truth) they seem to have undertaken nothing so unhappily, as when they essayed to write of Happiness. Some measure their Happiness by the high-tide of their Riches, as the Egyptians did the Fertility of the Year by the increase of the River Nile. Others place it in the Pleasures of Sense, others in Honour and Greatness. But these and the like were Men of the common Herd, low grovelling Souls, that either understood not the Dignity of Human Nature, or else forgot that they were Men. But there were others of a Diviner Genius and Sublimer Spirit,  Queis meliore luto finxit praecordia Titan. 
Who had a more generous blood running in their Veins, which made them put a just value upon themselves, and scorn to place their greatest Happiness in that which they should blush to enjoy. And those were the Stoics and the Peripatetics, who both place the greatest Happiness of this Life in the Actions of Virtue, with this only difference, that whereas the former are contented with Naked Virtue, the latter require some other Collateral things to the farther accomplishment of Happiness, such as are Health and Strength of Body, a Competent Livelihood, and the like.  
24. And this Opinion has been subscribed to by the hands of eminent Moralists in all Ages. And as it is Venerable for its Antiquity, so has it gained no small Authority from the Pen of a great Modern Writer (Descartes) who resolves the greatest Happiness of this Life into the right use of the Will, which consists in this, that a Man have a firm and constant purpose always to do that which he shall judge to be best.  
25. I confess, the Practice of Virtue is a very great instrument of Happiness, and that there is a great deal more true satisfaction and solid content to be found in a constant course of well living than in all the soft Caresses of the most studied Luxury, or the Voluptuousness of a Seraglio. And therefore I have oftentimes been exceedingly pleased in the reading of a certain Passage in that Divine Moralist Hierocles, where he tells you, that the Virtuous Man lives much more pleasantly than the Vicious Man. For (says he) all Pleasure is the Companion of Action, it has no Subsistence of its own, but accompanies us in our doing such and such things. Hence 'tis that the worse. Actions are accompanied with the meaner Pleasures. So that the good Man does not only excel the wicked Man in what is good, but has also the advantage of him even in Pleasure, for whose sake alone he is wicked. For he that chooses Pleasure with Filthiness, although for a while he be sweetly and deliciously entertained, yet at last through the Eilthiness annexed to his Enjoyment, he is brought to a painful Repentance. But now he that prefers Virtue with all her Labours and Difficulties, though at first for want of use it sits heavy upon him, yet by the Conjunction of good be alleviates the Labour, and at last enjoys pair and unallayed Pleasure with his Virtue. So that of necessity that Life is most unhappy, which is most wicked, and that most pleasant which is most virtuous.  
26. Now this I readily submit to as a great truth, that the degrees of Happiness vary according to the degrees of Virtue, and consequently that that Life which is most Virtuous is most Happy, with reference to those that are Vicious or less Virtuous, every degree of Virtue having a proportionate degree of Happiness accompanying it, (which is all, I suppose, that excellent Author intends.) But I do not think the most Virtuous Life so the most Happy, but that it may become Happier, unless something more be comprehended in the Word (Virtue) than the Stoics, Peripatetics, and the generality of other Moralists understand by it. For with them it signifies no more but only such a firm 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 or habitude of the Will to good, whereby we are constantly disposed, notwithstanding the contrary tendency of our Passions, to perform the necessary Offices of Life. This they call Moral or Civil Virtue, and although this brings always Happiness enough with it to make ample amends for all the difficulties which attend the practice of it: Yet I am not of Opinion that the greatest Happiness attainable by Man in this Life consists in it. But there is another and a higher Sense of the Word, which frequently occurs in the Pythagorean and Platonic Writings, (viz.) Contemplation and the unitive way of Religion. And this they call Divine Virtue. I allow of the distinction, but I would not be thought to derive it from the Principle, as if Moral Virtue were acquired, and this infused (for to speak ingeniously, infused Virtue seemed ever to me as great a Paradox in Divinity, as Occult qualities in Philosophy) but from the nobleness of the Object, the Object of the former being Moral good, and the Object of the latter God himself. The former is a State of Proficiency, the latter of Perfection. The former is a State of difficulty and contention, the latter of ease and ferenity. The former is employed in mastering the Passions, and regulating the actions of common Life, the latter in Divine Meditation and the ecstasies of Seraphic Love. He that has only the former, is like Moses with much difficulty climbing up to the Holy Mount, but he that has the latter, is like the same Person conversing with God on the serene top of it, and shining with the Rays of anticipated Glory. So that this latter supposes the acquisition of the former, and consequently has all the Happiness retaining to the other, besides what it adds of its own. This is the last Stage of Human Perfection, the utmost round of the Ladder whereby we ascend to Heaven, one Step higher is Glory. Here then will I build my Tabernacle, for it is good to be here. Here will I set up my Pillar of Rest, here will I fix, for why should I travel on farther in pursuit of any greater Happiness, since Man in this Station is but a little lower than the Angels, one remove from Heaven. Here certainly is the greatest happiness, as well as Perfection attainable by Man in this State of imperfection. For since that Happiness which is absolutely perfect and complete consists in the clear and intimate Vision and most ardent Love of God, hence we ought to take our Measures, and conclude that to be the greatest Happiness attainable in this State, which is the greatest participation of the other. And that can be nothing else but the unitive way of Religion, which consists of the Contemplation and Love of God. I shall say something of each of these severally, and something of the unitive way of Religion, which is the result of both, and so shut up this Discourse.  
27. By Contemplation in general (〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉) we understand, an application of the Understanding to some truth. But here in this place we take the word in a more peculiar sense, as it signifies an habitual, attentive, steady application or conversion of the Spirit to God and his Divine Perfections. Of this the Masters of Mystic Theology commonly make fifteen Degrees. The first is Intuition of Truth, the second is a Retirement of all the Vigour and Strength of the Faculties into the innermost parts of the Soul, the third is Spiritual Silence, the fourth is Rest, the fifth is Union, the sixth is the Hearing of the still Voice of God, the seventh is Spiritual Slumber, the eighth is Ecstacy, the ninth is Rapture, the tenth is the Corporeal Appearance of Christ and the Saints, the eleventh is the Imaginary Appearance of the Same, the twelfth is the Intellectual Vision of God, the thirteenth is the Vision of God in Obscurity, the fourteenth is an admirable Manifestation of God, the fifteenth is a clear and intuitive Vision of him, such as St. Austin and Tho. Aquinas attribute to St. Paul, when he was wrapped up into the third Heaven. Others of them reckon seven degrees only, (viz.) Taste, Desire, Satiety, Ebriety, Security, Tranquillity, but the name of the seventh (they say) is known only to God.  
28. I shall not stand to examine the Scale of this Division, perhaps there may be a kind of a Pythagoric Superstition in the number. But this I think I may affirm in general, that the Soul may be wound up to a most strange degree of Abstraction by a silent and steady Contemplation of God. Plato defines Contemplation to be 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 a Solution and a Separation of the Soul from the Body. And some of the severer Platonists have been of Opinion, that 'tis possible for a Man by mere intention of thought not only to withdraw the Soul from all commerce with the Senses, but even really to separate it from the Body, to untwist the Ligaments of his Frame, and by degrees to resolve himself into the State of the Dead. And thus the Jews express the manner of the Death of Moses, calling it Osculum Oris Dei, the Kiss of God's Mouth. That is, that he breathed out his Soul by the mere Strength and Energy of Contemplation, and expired in the Embraces of his Maker. A Happy way of Dying! How ambitious should I be of such a conveyance, were it practicable? How passionately should I join with the Church in the Canticles? 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 Let him Kiss me with the Kisses of his Mouth. Cant. 1. 2.  
29. But however this be determined, certain it is, that there are exceeding great Measures of Abstraction in Contemplation, so great, that sometimes whether a Man be in the Body or out of the Body, he himsel can hardly tell. And consequently the Soul in these Praeludiums of Death, these Neighbourhoods of Separation, must needs have brighter glimpses, and more Beatific Ideas of God, than in a state void of these Elevations, and consequently must love him with greater Ardency. Which is the next thing I am to consider.  
30. The love of God in general may be considered either as it is purely intellectual, or as it is a Passion. The first is, when the Soul, upon an apprehension of God as a good, delectable, and agreeable Object, joins herself to him by the Will. The latter is, when the motion of the Will is accompanied with a sensible Commotion of the Spirits, and an estuation of the Blood. Some I know are of Opinion, that 'tis not possible for a man to be affected with this sensitive Love of God, which is a Passion, because there is nothing in God which falls under our imagination, and consequently (the imagination being the only Medium of conveyance) it cannot be propagated from the Intellectual part to the Sensitive. Whereupon they affirm, that none are capable of this sensitive passionate Love of God but Christians, who enjoy the Mystery of the Incarnation, whereby they know God has condescended so far as to clothe himself with Flesh, and to become like one of us. But 'tis not all the Sophistry of the cold Logicians that shall work me out of the belief of what I feel and know, and rob me of the sweetest entertainment of my Life, the Passionate Love of God. Whatever some Men pretend, who are Strangers to all the affectionate heats of Religion, and therefore make their Philosophy a Plea for their indevotion, and extinguish all Holy Ardours with a Syllogism; yet I am firmly persuaded, that our love of God may be not only passionate, but even Wonderfully so, and exceeding the Love of Women. 'Tis an Experimental and therefore undeniable Truth, that Passion is a great Instrument of Devotion, and accordingly we find, that Men of the most warm and pathetic Tempers and Amorous Complexions (Provided they have but Consideration enough withal to fix upon the right Object) prove the greatest Votaries in Religion. And upon this account it is, that to heighten our Love of God in our Religious Addresses, we endeavour to excite our Passions by Music, which would be to as little purpose as the Fanatic thinks 'tis, if there were not such a thing as the Passionate Love of God. But then as to the Objection, I Answer with the excellent Descartes, that although in God who is the Object of our Love, we can imagine nothing, yet we can imagine that our Love, which consists in this, that we would unite our selves to the Object beloved, and consider our selves as it were a part of it. And the sole Idea of this very Conjunction is enough to stir up a heat about the Heart, and so kindle a very vehement Passion. To which I add, that although the Beauty or Amiableness of God be not the same with that which we see in Corporeal Being's, and consequently cannot directly fall within the Sphere of the imagination, yet it is something Analogous to it, and that very Analogy is enough to excite a Passion. And this I think sufficient to warrant my general division of the Love of God into Intellectual and Sensitive.  
31. But there is a more peculiar Acceptation of the Love of God proper to this place. And it is that which we call Seraphic. By which I understand in short, that Love of God which is the effect of an intense Contemplation of him. This differs not from the other in kind, but only in degree, and that it does exceedingly, in as much as the thoughtful Contemplative Man (as I hinted before) has clearer Perceptions and livelier Impressions of the Divine Beauty, the lovely Attributes and Perfection of God, than he whose Soul is more deeply set in the Flesh, and lies grovelling in the bottom of the Dungeon.  
32. That the nature of this Seraphic Love may be the better understood, I shall consider how many degrees there may be in the Love of God. And I think the Computation of Bellarmin, lib. 2. de monachis, cap. 2. is accurate enough. He makes four. The first is to love God proportionably to his Loveliness, that is, with an infinite Love; and this degree is peculiar to God himself. The second is to Love him, not proportionably to his Loveliness, but to the utmost Capacity of a Creature, and this degree is peculiar to Saints and Angels in Heaven. The third is to love him not proportionably to his Loveliness, nor to the utmost capacity of a Creature, absolutely considered; but to the utmost capacity of a Mortal Creature in this Life. And this (he says) is proper to the Religious. The fourth is to love him not proportionably to his Loveliness, nor to the utmost capacity of a Creature, considered either absolutely or with respect to this Life, but only so as to love nothing equally with him or above him. That is, not to do any thing contrary to the Divine Love. And this is absolute indispensable duty, less than which will not qualify us for the enjoyment of God hereafter.  
33. Now this Seraphic Love which we here discourse of is in the third degree: When a Man, after many degrees of Abstraction from the Animal Life, many a profound and steady Meditation upon the Excellencies of God, sees such a vast Ocean of Beauty and Perfection in him, that he loves him to the utmost stretch of his Power; When he sits under his shadow with great delight, and his fruit is sweet to his Taste. Cant. 2. 3. When he Consecrates and Devotees himself whollly to him, and has no Passion for Inferior Objects. When he is ravished with the delights of his Service, and breaths out some of his Soul to him in every Prayer. When he is delighted with Anthems of Praise and Adoration more than with Marrow and Fatness, and Feasts upon Alleluiah. When he melts in a Calenture of Devotion, and his Soul breaketh out with fervent Desire, Psal. 119. When the one thing he delights in is to converse with God in the Beauty of Holiness, and the one thing he desires to see him as he is in Heaven. This is Seraphic Love, and this with Contemplation makes up that which the Mystic Divines style the unitive way of Religion: It is called so because it Unites us to God in the most excellent manner that we are capable of in this Life. By Union here I do not understand that which is local or presential, because I consider God as Omnipresent. Neither do I mean a Union of Grace (as they call it) whereby we are reconciled to God, or a Union of Charity, whereof it is said, he that dwelleth in love, dwelleth in God and God in him, Jo. 4. 16. The first of these being as common to the inanimate things as to the most Ecstasied Soul upon Earth. And the two last being common to all good men, who indeed love God, but yet want the excellency of Contemplation and the Mystic Union. The Union then which I here speak of, is that which is between the Faculty and the Object. Which consists in some Habitude or Operation of one toward the other. The Faculties here are the Understanding and Will, the Object God, and the Operations Contemplation and Love. The result of which two is the Mystic Union. Which, according to this complex Notion of it that I have here delivered, is thus most admirably represented by the excellent Bishop Taylour. It is (says he) a Prayer of quietness and silence, and a Meditation extraordinary, 
The Great Exemplar, pag. 60.  a Discourse without variety, a Vision and Intuition of Divine Excellencies, an immediate entry into an Orb of light, and a resolulution of all our Faculties into Sweetness, Affections, and Stare upon the Divine Beauty. And is carried on to Ecstasies, Raptures, Suspensions, Elevations, Abstractions and Apprehensions beatifical.  
34. I make no doubt but that many an honest Pious Soul arrives to the heavenly Canaan, who is not fed with this Manna in the Wilderness. But though every one must not expect these Antepasts of Felicity that is virtuous, yet none else must. Paradise was never open but to a State of Innocence. But neither is that enough. No, this Mount of God's Presence is fenced not only from the profane, but also from the moderately virtuous. 'Tis the Privilege of Angelical Dispositions, and the Reward of eminent Piety and an excellent Religion, to be admitted to these Divine Repasts, these Feasts of love. And here I place the greatest Happiness attainable by Man in this Life, as being the nearest Approach to the State of the Blessed above, the outer Court of Heaven.  
35. These (Sir) are my thoughts concerning Happiness. I might have spun them out into a greater length, but I think a little Plot of ground thick-sown is better than a great Field which for the most part of it lies Fallow. I have endeavoured to deliver my Notions with as much Perspicuity and in as good Method as I could, and so to answer all the ends of Copiousness, with the advantage of a shorter Cut. If I appear singular in any of my Notions, 'tis not out of an industrious affectation of Novelty, but because in the composing of this discourse (the Meditation of a few broken hours in a Garden) I consulted more my own experimental Notices of things and private Reflections than the Writings of others. So that if sometimes I happen to be in the Road, and sometimes in a way by myself, 'tis no wonder. I affect neither the one nor the other, but write as I think. Which as I do at other times, so more especially when I subscribe myself  
SIR, Yours most affectionately, J. N. All-Souls College Apr. 18. 1683.   

A Letter of Resolution concerning some Passages in the foregoing Treatise, to the same Person.  
SIR,  
1. THE kind Entertainment which you gave my Idea of Happiness, does not only encourage, but oblige me to endeavour the satisfaction of that Scruple, which the Perusal of it has occasioned. I cannot but highly commend your searching Curiosity, in desiring farther satisfaction concerning a matter of so sublime and excellent a Nature (for the Tree of Paradise is good for food, pleasant to the Eye, and a Tree to be desired to make one wise) though you must give me leave to wonder that you would not inquire at a better Oracle. But since you are pleased to be of the Opinion, that few have made this Subject so familiar to their Meditation as I have, I cannot with any pretence decline your Request, though perhaps by my performing it I shall work you into a contrary persuasion.  
2. Sir, You say you should like my Notion concerning the reality of that which is usually called Imaginary Happiness, that is, (as you well explain both your own and my meaning) that although the Object may be an Imaginary Good, yet the Happiness which consists in the Fruition of that Object, will not be Imaginary too, but real, and consequently, that 'tis impossible for a man to seem to himself to be happy, and not to be really so, all Happiness consisting in Opinion. This Notion, you say, you should like rarely well, could you free yourself from one difficulty which it engages you upon; (viz.) That hereafter, in the state of Glory, either one Saint shall think himself as happy as another, or not; if not, this must needs occasion Envy or Discontent, but if one shall think himself as happy as another, then, according to my Hypothesis, that Opinion is the Measure of Happiness, 'twill follow that he will really be so; and this brings in Equality of Happiness, which you look upon (and I think justly too) as another absurdity.  
3. I confess, Sir, this Argument is pretty subtle and surprising, but I conceive the Knots of it may be untied by this Answer. First, it may be justly questioned, whether the first part of your Dilemma be necessarily attended with the appendent absurdity. 'Tis true indeed, not to think one's self as happy as another, is the Spring of Envy or Discontent among Men in this World, but whether this be he genuine and constant effect of that Consideration, or whether it ought not rather to be ascribed to the present Infirmities and Imperfections of Human Nature, may admit Dispute. But in case this absurdity does inseparably cleave to the first part, than I be take myself to the latter, and affirm, that in Heaven one Saint shall think himself as happy as another. Then, according to my own Notion (say you) it will follow that he is really so. No, I deny the consequence, the invalidity of which will plainly appear by distinguishing the ambiguity of the Phrase. For this Expression, One Saint thinks himself as happy as another, may be taken in a double sense, either that he thinks himself as happy as he himself thinks that other, or that he thinks himself as happy as that other thinks himself. I grant, should one Saint think himself as happy as another in this latter sense of the Phrase, he would, according to my Hypothesis, really be so; so that this would bring in equality. And therefore in this Sense I deny the Proposition, and that without the least danger of splitting upon the first absurdity. But for the former Sense, that has no such levelling quality, for to say that I think myself as happy as I think another, amounts to no more than this, that in my apprehension another does not exceed me in Happiness: but though he does not in my apprehension, yet he may in reality, for though my Opinion gives measures to my own Happiness, yet it does not to another Mans. So that one Saint may be said to think himself as happy as another in the former sense, without equalling the Happiness of the Blessed, though, I confess, I should much rather adhere to the contrary proposition, (viz.) that one shall not think himself as happy as another, in case such an Opinion be not necessarily attended with Envy or Discontent. Because it seems unreasonable to make them ignorant of the degrees of one▪ another's Bliss, unless that ignorance be necessarily required to prevent the alleged absurdities. But I determine nothing in this point, my business was only to break the force of your Dilemma, and to show that my Notion does not involve you in the difficulty supposed. This, Sir, is all that I think necessary to say to a Person of your apprehension, and therefore I end these nice Speculations with this profitable reflection, that although the Notion of Happiness be intricate and obscure, yet the means of attaining it are plain, and therefore 'twould be most advisable both for you and me chiefly to apply ourselves to the latter here, and we shall understand the former with the best sort of Knowledge, that of Experience, hereafter.  
Yours J. N.   

Another Letter to the same Person, concerning the true Notion of Plato's Ideas, and of Platonic Love.  Tanta vis in Ideis constituitur, ut nisi his intellectis, sapiens esse nemo possit. Augustinus Tom. 4. Pag. 548. Q. 46. 
SIR,  
1. WERE I not as well acquainted with your singular modesty, as I am with your intellectual accomplishments, I should readily conclude, that your directing your inquiries to me proceeded not so much from a Curiosity to improve your own Knowledge, as to try mine. But when I consider that you are ignorant of nothing so much as of your own Worth and Abilities, I begin to think it possible that you may propose these Questions even to me out of a desire to be informed. Which way soever it is, I acknowledge myself to be obliged to you for affording me an opportunity of serving you, especially in such an Instance, where I cannot gratify your Request without humouring my own Genius at the same time. For indeed to my apprehension, there is not a finer or more Sublime piece of Speculation in all Plato's Philosophy, than that of his Ideas▪ and that of his Love, though it has undergone the same hard Fate with many other excellent Theories, first, to be either ignorantly misunderstood, or maliciously misrepresented, and then popularly vilifyed and decried.  
2. To do right therefore to the name of this great Man, as well as to satisfy your Demands, I shall first propose the general mistake, and then rectify it, first present you with the supposed Opinion of Plato, and then with the true and genuine one. I begin with his Ideas, by which 'tis taken for granted by the generality of Writers, especially those of the Peripatetic Order, that he understood universal Natures or abstract Essences subsisting eternally by themselves, Separate both from the mind of God and all singular Being's, according to which, as so many patterns, all Singulars are formed. As for instance, that a Man, not this or that in particular, but a universal Man, or a Man in general, should exist by itself eternally, according to which all particular Men were made. Sir, I suppose you can hardly forbear smiling at the odness of the Conceit, but as ridiculous as you may think it, 'tis said to be maintained by no less a Man than Plato, and has been thought of that moment too, that Multitudes of great Men have set themselves very seriously to confute it as a dangerous Heresy, and have opposed it with as much zeal as ever St. Austin did the Manichees or the Pelagians.  
3. But now, that this Opinion was not only for its Absurdity and Contradictiousness unworthy of the contemplative and refined Spirit of Plato; but was also apparently none of his, I dare say any capable Person will be convinced that shall heedfully and impartially examine and compare the Works of Plato; And this Aristotle himself must needs have known (he having been his constant Auditor for twenty years together) but only he wanted a Shadow to fight with, and so fathered this monstrous Opinion upon his Master. And of this disingenuity of Aristotle, together with other abuses, Plato himself complained, while alive, in these words; 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 as is recorded by Laertius in the Life of Aristotle.  
4. And now, that the grossness of this Abuse may the more fully appear, I will in the next place present you with another Sense of Plato's Ideas, and such as by a more than ordinary acquaintance with his Works, I know to be the true and genuine one. Know then that Plato considering the World as an effect of an intellectual Agent, and that in the Operations of all other Artificers or rational Efficients there must be some form in the Mind of the Artificer presupposed to the Work (for otherwise what difference will there be between a fortuitous effect and an intended one, and how comes the effect to be of this Species rather than another?) thought it necessary to suppose 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 Eternal Forms, Models or Patterns, of all the Species of being in Nature existing in the Mind of God. And these he calls Ideas. I say existing in the Mind of God, for there is not the least Intimation in all Plato's Works of any such Ideas existing separately from the Divine intellect, nor do the great Masters of Platonic Philosophy, Plotinus, Porphyrius, Procles, or any other that I know of make mention of any such Spectres and Ghosts of Entity. No, this Monster was hatched in Aristotle's Brain, and I believe did never enter Plato's Head so much as in a Dream. For he is not only silent about it, but does in several places expressly assert the contrary; Particularly in his Timaeus, where, of set purpose, he describes the Origin of the World, he says that God made the World according to that Pattern or Idea which he had in his Mind. The same you will find more amply confirmed in his Hippias, his Parmenides, and his sixth Book of Repub. and many other places. And these Ideas he calls 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, the first Intelligibles, and 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, the Measures of the things that are, implying, that as all things were formed according to these specifical Platforms; so their truth must be measured from their Conformity to them. And in this Sense must be taken that Common Axiom of the Schools, that the Truth of a thing is its Conformity with the Divine Intellect, for it is in no other Sense Intelligible, as you will discern in the Process.  
5. But now, lest you should imagine, that this Platonic Hypothesis of Ideas existing in the Divine Mind should ill comport with the Simplicity of God, or clash with that approved Doctrine of the Schools, Nihil est in Deo quod non sit Deus, (which is another cavil of the Antiplatonists) you are to understand that Plato by his Ideas does not mean any real Essence distinct from the Divine Essence, but only the Divine Essence itself with this Connotation, as it is variously imitable or participable by created Being's, and consequently, according to the multifariousness of this imitability, so are the possibilities of Being. Which is as fine a Notion as was ever framed by the Mind of Man, and that it is his, you will find, if you consult his Parmenides. And this will serve to help us out with another difficulty, for whereas Plato makes his Divine Ideas not only the exemplary causes of things, but also (which is a consequent to the former) the measure of their Truth, this may seem to fall in with their Opinion who make all Truth dependent upon the Speculative understanding of God, that is, that God does not understand a thing so because it is so in its own Nature, but that a thing is therefore so because God is pleased so to understood it. Which is an Opinion full of mischief and absurdity, as you may see compendiously, and yet evidently demonstrated, in Dr. Rust's little Discourse of Truth. Now for the clearing this Difficulty, 'tis to be observed, that the Essence of God, according to Plato, is distinguished into 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 and 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 the Counterpart whereof in English is Conceptive and Exhibitive. By the Mind of God Exhibitive is meant the Essence of God as thus or thus imitable or participable by any Creature, and this is the same with an Idea. By the Mind of God Conceptive is meant a reflex act of God's Understanding upon his own Essence as Exhibitive, or as thus and thus imitable. Now if you consider the Divine Understanding as Conceptive or Speculative, it does not make its Object but suppose it, (as all Speculative Understanding does) neither is the Truth of the Object to be measured from its Conformity with that, but the Truth of that from its Conformity with its Object. But if you consider the Divine Understanding as Exhibitive, than its Truth does not depend upon its Conformity with the Nature of things, but on the contrary, the Truth of the Nature of things depends upon its Conformity with it. For the Divine Essence is not thus or thus imitable, because such and such things are in being, but such and such things are in being, because the Divine Essence is thus and thus imitable, for had not the Divine Essence been thus imitable, such and such Being's would not have been possible. And thus is Plato to be understood when he found'st the Truth of things upon their Conformity with the Divine Ideas, and thus must the Schools mean too by that forementioned Axiom concerning Transcendental Truth, if they will speak Sense, as I noted above.  
6. And now, Sir, from Plato's Ideas thus amiably set forth, the Transition methinks is very natural to Love. And concerning this I shall account in the same Method, first, by pointing out the popular Misapprehensions about it, and then by exhibiting a true Notion of it. Platonic Love is a thing in every body's Mouth, but I find scarce any that think or speak accurately of it. The mistakes which I observe are chiefly these. Some of the grosser Understanders suppose that Plato by his Love meant 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, the Love of Males, but the Occasion of this Conceit was from a passage in his Convivium, where he brings in Aristophanes speaking favourably that way. But he that shall from hence conclude Plato a prostitute to that vile Passion, may as well conclude a Dramatic Poet to be an Atheist or a Whoremaster, because he represents those of that Character. But that Divine Plato intended nothing less than to countenance any such thing, is evident from the whole scope and purport of that Dialogue, and from other places where he expressly condemns it, and rejects it with great abhorrence; particularly in the first of his de legibus, where he calls it 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, an unnatural attempt. Others by Platonic Love understand the Love of Souls, and this indeed has something of truth in it, only it is much too narrow and particular.  
7. Others take Platonic Love to be a desire of imprinting any excellency, whether moral or intellectual, in the Minds of beautiful young men by Instruction, and so likewise of enjoying your own Perfections reflected from the Mind of another, mixed with and recommended by the Beauty of the Body. According to the usual saying, Gratior è Pulchro, etc. And thus Socrates was said to love his beautiful Pupils Phaedrus and Alcibiades. Others measure the Nature of Platonic Love, not from the Object (to which they suppose it indifferent) but from the manner of the Act. And according to these, that man is said to love Platonically, that does Casso delectamine amare, love at a distance, that never designs a close fruition of the Object what ever it be, whether Sensual or Intellectual, but chooses to dwell in the Suburbs, pleasing himself with remote Prospects, and makes a Mistress of his own Desire. And this is the received Notion, and that which People generally mean when they talk of Platonic Love. But this too is far enough from the right, for though Platonic Love does not aim at the fruition of sensual Objects, yet it designs the fruition of its own Object as much as any other Love does. That therefore which distinguishes Platonic Love, is not the manner of the act abovementioned, but the peculiarity of the Object. And what that is must be collected from the Design of Plato in that Dialogue, where he treats purposely of it, his Convivium. Which is briefly to show the manner of the Souls ascent to God by love. For Plato makes the Happiness of Man to consist in the Contemplation and Love of God, whom he calls the Idea of Beauty. But now because this Idea of Beauty (God) is of too sublime and refined excellency to be immediately fastened upon by our Love, he recommends to us 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, a Method of Ascent, which is from loving the Beauty we see in Bodies, to pass on to the Love of the Beauty of the Soul, from the Beauty of the Soul to the Beauty of Virtue, and lastly from the Beauty of Virtue, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, to the immense Ocean of Beauty, etc. For so have I observed a tender Infants Eye not enduring to gaze directly upon the too powerful Excellence of the Meridian Sun, choose to entertain itself with the abatements of corrected and reflected Light, and take up with the feebler refreshments of lesser Beauties for a while, till at length the faculty grows more confirmed, and dares encounter the Sun in his Strength. And these are the Steps of the Sanctuary. So that Platonic Love is the Love of Beauty abstracted from all sensual Applications, and desire of corporal contract, as it leads us on to the Love of the first original Beauty, God; or more plainly thus, The Ascent of the Soul to the Love of the Divine Beauty, by the Love of abstracted Beauty in Bodies. This Love of abstracted Beauty in Bodies he calls 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, Celestial Love, in opposition to that which he calls 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, which is the same with that Passion commonly signified by the name of Love, (viz.) a desire of corporal contact arising from the sight of Beauty. This last indeed is a very vile, brutish, unmanly affection, and such as considering the vileness of our Bodies, one would think a man could never be charmed into without the Magic of a Love-potion. But the former is an Angelical Affection, for certainly Beauty is a Divine thing; It is (as the Platonic Author says of Wisdom) the pure Influence flowing from the Glory of the Almighty, and the Brightness of the Everlasting Light: or in Plato's own Words, A Ray of God. And therefore the Love of abstract Beauty must needs be a very generous and divine Affection. Sir, I could be more large in my account, but I consider what 'tis I write, and to whom, and therefore I think it high time to remit you to your own Thoughts, some of which I hope will be, that I am in a very eminent degree of Friendship,  
Yours J. Norris.   

A Letter concerning Love and Music.  
SIR,  
TO the first of your Inquiries concerning the true Idea of Love, and particularly that between Man and Woman, and wherein it stands distinguished from Lust, my Answer in short is this. That Love may be considered either barely as a Tendency toward good, or as a willing this good to something capable of it. If Love be taken in the first Sense 'tis what we call Desire, if in the second, 'tis what we call Charity or Benevolence.  
2. Then as to Desire, there is either an Intellectual or a sensual desire, which denomination is not here taken from the Faculty, but from the Quality of the Object. That I call here an Intellectual Desire whose object is an Intellectual good, and that a sensual desire whose object is a sensual good. And this is that which Plato meant by his two Cupids. The latter of these is what we call Lust.  
3. But then this again signifies either abstractly and indifferently (viz.) a bare desire of Corporeal pleasure, or else concretely and immorally (viz.) a desire or longing after corporeal pleasure in forbidden and unlawful instances.  
4. These things being thus briefly premised my next Resolution is this. That the Ordinary Passion of Love, that which we mean when we say such a man or such a woman is in Love, is no other than plain Lust, if Lust be taken according to the first signification, namely, for a sensual Desire, or a Tendency toward a sensual good. But if Lust be taken in the latter sense, as a Tendency to corporeal pleasure in unlawful instances, that which our Saviour meant when he said He that looks upon a woman to lust after her, etc. then 'tis not necessary that the Passion we here speak of should be Lust, because then 'twould be a sin to be in Love, and consequently, there would be a necessity of sinning in order to Marriage, because no man is supposed to marry but whom he thus Loves.  
5. And now to your 2d Enquiry, whether Music be a Sensual or Intellectual pleasure, before this can be determined, the Idea of a Sensual and Intellectual pleasure must be stated.  
6. And 1st I observe that the precise difference of a sensual pleasure cannot consist in this, that the Body be pleased or gratefully affected, nor of an Intellectual that the Mind be pleased. For by reason of the strict union of Soul and Body, one so sympathizes with the other, that these pleasures are always Mutual and complicated. So that there is no pleasure of mind that does not also recreate the Body, and no pleasure of Body but whereof the Mind has its share. And thus far there is agreement and reciprocation. That than which is peculiar and discriminative must be taken from the Primaryness or Secondaryness of the Perception. That Pleasure therefore is an Intellectual Pleasure when the Soul is primarily and immediately affected, and the Body only secondarily and by participation. And that is a sensual pleasure when the Body is primarily and immediately affected, and the Soul only secondarily and by participation.  
7. Now according to this Measure we must of necessity define the pleasure of hearing Music to be properly Intellectual. Because the Soul is the part that is then primarily and immediately affected, and the Body only by result. And that for this evident Reason, because Music consisting formally in Proportion, and Proportion pleasing only as understood, that part must be primarily and directly pleased which is capable of understandiug. But this is not the Body but the Soul. 'Tis true indeed the ear may be directly pleased by a single sound, as the eye is recreated by a single Colour (suppose green) and this I grant to be a pleasure of sense as much as smelling or tasting, though not so gross. But the Ear may no more properly be said to be pleased with the Proportion of sounds, or with sounds as proportionate, than the eye is with a Picture.  
8. If it be here objected, that Music is a pleasure of Sense because 'tis conveyed by the Ear, I reply that if this be sufficient to make a Pleasure Sensual, the most Intellectual pleasures we are here capable of may be called Sensual, as reading fine discourses, contemplating the Beauty of the Creation, attending to Mathematical Diagrams and the like, because all these as well as Music are enjoyed by the Mediation of the Senses.  
9 But it matters not though the Senses be the Instruments of conveyance, so the Soul be the part directly and primarily affected, which is the case here. For though the Ear may be pleased with those single sounds which with relation to each other are really Harmonical, yet it is not, it cannot be pleased with them as such, or in that Formality. This is the sole Privilege of the Mind, which as it can only judge of, so is it only capable of being pleased with Harmony.  
10. And thus Sir you have my sentiments with as much Brevity and Clearness as I could use, and it may be, as the Matters would bear. I have now nothing further to add, but to renew the assurances of my being  
Your Friend and Servant J. N.   

A Letter concerning Friendship.  
SIR,  
1. TO your Question whether in propriety of speaking there may be strict Friendship between a man and his wife, I answer first that the solution of this Question depends upon another, (viz.) what are the Requisites essentially necessary to the Exercise of Friendship, and this Question likewise depends upon another, (viz.) what is the true Notion or Idea of Friendship. This being rightly stated, 'twill be easy to discern what are the essential Requisites, and consequently whether Man and Wife are capable Terms in this Relation or no.  
2. Now as to the Idea of Friendship, I answer first in general, that Friendship is nothing else but Benevolence or Charity under some certain Modifications or accidental circumstances. Accidental I mean as to Charity, though necessary and essential to Friendship. And thus far I think all Moralists are agreed. But now what these certain Modifications are, here they begin to be divided. 'Twould be too tedious a work to insist here upon the variety of other men's Opinions, and therefore I shall only briefly deliver my own, which is, that all the Modifications of Charity necessary to the constitution of Friendship may be well enough reduced to these three. 1. That it be in a special manner intense, 2ly, that it be mutual, and 3ly that it be manifest or mutually known. Charity when clothed with these three Modifications immediately commences Friendship. More than these it need not have, but of these not one may be spared, as will easily appear if you examine them severally.  
3. Now from this Idea of Friendship 'tis very obvious to deduce what are the Requisites necessary to Friendship, not in reference to its Idea (for that's already stated) but in reference to its Existence or actual Exercise, that is in one word, what are those Dispositions or Aptnesses in the Subject whether as to person, state or condition, which may render it capable of Friendship according to the forementioned Idea. Now I say what these are may be easily collected from the Idea itself, as will appear if we consider it distinctly according to those three Modifications, and by applying the genus to each of them. For 1st whereas Friendship is said to be Charity in a special manner intense, hence I collect 1st, that it cannot be but between good men, because an ill man cannot have any true Charity, much less such a intense degree of it as is requisite to Friendship. So that Virtue in general is one Requisite. 2ly, hence I collect that a Friend must not be only according to the Character Lucan gives of Cato— rigidi servator honesti, rigidly virtuous and honest, but he must be also 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, a man of a liberal, sweet, obliging temper, one of those good men of whom 'tis said in Scripture (by way of contradistinction to the Righteous or rigidly honest) that some would even dare to die for them. For though I may have common Charity, nay more, a great Esteem for a man of plain honesty and integrity, yet I can never love him with that special intenseness of Affection which belongs to Friendship, unless he be also of a beneficent, kind and obsequious temper. So that good nature is another requisite. 3ly, hence I collect that there must be also (at least in a competent proportion) an agreeableness of humours and manners, for unless the materials be of an apt and correspondent figure, the building can neither be compact nor lasting, so that likeness of disposition is another Requisite. 4. hence I collect that true Friendship cannot be among many. For since our faculties are of a finite energy, 'tis impossible our love can be very intense when divided among many. No, the rays must be contracted to make them burn. So that another Requisite is, that the Terms of▪ this Relation be few in Number.  
4. These are all the Requisites that I can think of at present deducible from the first part of the Idea (viz. Charity in a special manner intense) As for fidelity in retaining secrets, constancy of Adherence and the like, I think they are virtually included in the first Requisite, it being hardly conceivable how a man can be good and virtuous that wants them. But if you think the Reduction not so obvious, you may if you please add them here in the fifth place as distinct Requisites, 'twill be all one. Thus far of the Requisites deducible from the first part.  
5. To proceed. Whereas it is further said that Friendship is a Benevolence that's Mutual, there is but one general Requisite deducible from this, which is, that all the other be found in both (or if more) in all the persons supposed to be Friends. The third of which importing Relation will of necessity be so, for all Similitude is mutual. Lastly, whereas 'tis said that Friendship is a Benevolence mutually known, all that will be Requisite upon this head is, that the Persons who are to be confederated in this union, have such opportunities of Converse or Correspondence, that they may be satisfied of the Degree and Reality of each others love.  
6. Having thus stated the Idea of Friendship, and from thence deduced all the necessary qualifications in the subject for its entertainment, I think I may now from the Premises venture to affirm that there may be strict Friendship between Man and Wife. For which of these Requisites is it that they must necessarily want? As for your Objection taken from their inequality, I grant Equality is wanting both as to Sex and as to Conjugal Relation, but neither is all Equality necessary. 'Tis not absolutely necessary that Friends should stand upon a Level, either in respect of Fortune, State or Condition. This sort of Equality I grant is a good Preparative for a more easy Introduction of Friendship, and 'tis also advantageous to the lastingness of it, but yet 'tis dispensable. 'Tis like levelling the ground betwixt two rivers, it makes way for a more easy union, but yet 'tis possible from Earthquakes, Floods or other contingencies they may be united without it. The only equality that is necessary is an equality of dispositions, an harmony of affections, but this may be in persons of unequal fortunes and conditions. I confess, there can be no such thing as Friendship between persons of different quality if the Superior takes advantage of his pre-eminence or Authority, for then 'tis true what the Poet says, Si vis Sexte coli, non amabo.  
7. But then 'tis not the being invested with superiority that is inconsistent with Friendship (for then Kings who have no equals but those of other Kingdom's with whom they cannot intimately converse, would be the miserablest Creatures alive) but the habitual use and exercise of it, and the standing upon its privileges.  
8. But there is no necessity that it should be so. Friendship may levelly those whom Fortune has made unequal, and the greatest Monarch in the world may find Opportunities to descend from the throne of majesty to the familiar Caresses of a dear Favourite, and unking himself a while for the more glorious title of Friend. 'Tis but to apply this to the particular case in hand, and you have a Solution to your Question. And now Sir from the Theory of Friendship I shall most readily descend to the Practice of it when ever you please to employ the service of  
(Dear Sir) Your most real Friend and Servant J. Norris.   

The Copy of a Letter written to my Friend F. B. concerning the death of my dear Niece M. C.  
My dear Friend,  
1. SInce 'tis one of the happinesses of Friendship to Communicate sorrow as well as to share in joy, that the one may be increased and the other diminished, I cannot but betake myself to this easy refuge, being at present in such a condition, as will need more relief and support than I can either give to myself, or receive from others.  
2. The truth is, should I indulge my passion, I might find perhaps as much cause as he that did it, to curse the day of my Nativity. My pretty little dear Niece and Scholar, she whom I loved, admired and delighted in, she for whose sake I once thought life, as now I think death a Blessing, she (how shall I bring out that dismal word)— is dead.  
3. She is, and has left a strange emptiness in my Soul (so large was the room she took up there) which nothing of this world's good can ever fill. I must needs own that I never was so deeply affected with any trouble in my life, nor did I ever think that it could be in the power of any temporal loss so much to discompose and unspirit my Soul. It is not a transient gust of passion, which like a little cloud would either soon blow over, or spend itself in a momentary shower, but 'tis with my mind as with the face of the sky when 'tis all set to rain. Were it only an affection of the sensitive and Animal part, it would soon vanish like the fantastic colours of the Rainbow, but my grief is of a more malignant kind, and penetrates even into the very Centre of my Soul. 'Tis lodged (as Lipsius I remember emphatically phrases it) in ipsa animi ment, 'tis an ingrained, rational and Judicious sorrow.  
4. I lament not on her account (for I cannot, without reflecting upon the divine goodness, question the happy state of one who was nothing but innocence and sweetness) but purely upon my own. And that I do in such a measure that— but 'tis in vain to go about to express it, for I loved her as I loved my own Soul, and however my sorrow may be blamed for her now, yet I'm sure my love for her could not.  
5. For she was a person (and you know I am not over-prone to admire) so peculiarly accomplished, as if Nature had designed nothing else in her composition but to make one on purpose to be beloved. As for her outward form, she was one of the studied and elaborate pieces of Nature, and by the very air of her Countenance was marked out for an extraordinary Soul to inhabit in. Nor was the Jewel unworthy of the case, for certainly she had as excellent a Spirit (one only excepted) as ever condescended to wear human flesh. Her parts were miraculous and extraordinary, so extraordinary, that had not the youth and verdancy of her face contradicted the ripeness of her discourse, you would have thought her well in years.  
6. And though Art had little more to do where Nature had been so eminently liberal, yet so Covetous was she as well as Capable of improvement, as if she meant to grasp all manner of knowledge, and leave nothing to a future state to add to her accomplished Soul. And indeed 'tis too incredible to be related, considering the shortness of the time (for her pulse had not beat thirteen years) what a wondrous progress her active Soul had made. Thus far only I shall venture in general, that had she lived to be as ripe in years as she was in parts and ingenious attainments, she would have been the envy of her Sex, and the wonder of Mankind.  
7. But yet the former of these would have been much abated by her admirable sweetness and good nature. A Quality as of itself most excellent, so that wherein she most excelled. And here I must beg leave of all that I ever conversed with to declare, that I never observed in any, such a free, generous, obliging and disinteressed temper, which mightily sweetened and recommended her parts, and made her not only admirable, but lovely.  
8. And besides all this there were in her (as in Poetry) many errantes abditaeque veneres, wand'ring and hidden graces that want a name, and unexpressible Prettinesses, which yet were strangely moving, and of a charming influence. I am not conscious to myself of any partial fondness, or Rhetorical affectation in any one part of this Character, but as near as I can do speak the genuine, unprejudiced sense of my Soul. I hate to flatter the living, much more the dead, whose names are as sacred to me as their sepulchres. My only fault here (if any) is in the defect, for she was as much too good to be sufficiently commended, as to be long enjoyed.  
9 And now (setting aside that particular respect which she ever blest and honoured me with) how can I choose but be very passionately concerned for the loss of such a rare and every way accomplished person! I cannot, and methinks when I survey the sudden ruin of my pleasant, but shortlived gourd, I can hardly forbear justifying my grief as the enraged Prophet did his Anger, and like him am tempted to say, I do well to be sorrowful.  
10. But I must not be so ill a Pilot as now the floods of Passion arise to throw away my tackling, commit my Vessel to the winds, and run along with the tempest; satis naturae datum est, jam & Ratio suum asserat Principatum. For my ship begins to be covered with the waves, and therefore 'tis now high time to awake Reason from her dead sleep, that she may rebuke the winds and the Sea, that they may be calm and still. 'Tis dangerous to indulge any longer, the tumult of the Passions runs high, and the unruly Faction presses hard upon the gate of the Palace, 'tis therefore time for the Sovereign Faculty to come forth in her imperial robes, & suppress the mutiny.  
11. In order therefore to the quieting of my passions, and the resettlement of my discomposed Soul, I consider, First, that grief is the most absurd and senseless of all the Passions, yea of all the things in the world, and utterly unbecoming a Creature that makes the least pretention to Reason. Because 'tis resolvable into no rational Principle; for whatever is so must be, or at least appear to be either an End or a Means. But this can pretend to neither. Not to be end, for nothing is so but what is good, but this is in no respect good, and in many respects evil. Not to be a Means, because it effects nothing, but is altogether vain and fruitless. And indeed it cannot but be so, because 'tis of a thing past, which even to Omnipotence itself is impossible to be altered. Our other Passions are to some purpose, and aim at some end. Love to enjoy, Anger to revenge, Fear to avoid, and the like; But this Passion, grief, serves to no end or purpose in the world, and it cannot be its own end because (as I said before) it is in no respect good. It is therefore utterly absurd and unreasonable.  
12. Again I consider, that suppose grief were not so vain and ineffective a thing as 'tis, but that it could make some alteration in things, yet it cannot alter any one event for the better, and therefore to what purpose should I indulge it? For since we acknowledge a Being of an infinite Wisdom, Power and Goodness to sit at the Helm of the universe, it must be consequently acknowledged that the course of this world is steered to the best advantage of the whole, and however ignorant we may be how to justify particular Phenomena's, yet we must (if we will be consistent with our former concession) at least implicitly believe that all things are as well as they can possibly be. Certain it is (whatever some Malcontents may think) the world is governed with as much wisdom as 'twas made, and as the natural world stood the test of the divine Criticism, so will the Moral one too. God upon review would pronounce this as good as he did the other, and why should not we? yea we should, if we could see this excellent Drama from end to end as he does; we should then discern that all those dispensations which separately taken appear harsh and unequal, yet in Concatenation and together conspire to the Beauty and Interest of the whole. This will be our portion hereafter, in the mean time 'twill be our greatest wisdom to trust that of God, and believe that implicitly as to the thing, which we cannot discern as to the manner. And this I take to be the most rational foundation of Resignation and Acquiescence in the divine pleasure, which is grounded upon a Consideration of his infinite Wisdom and Goodness. When we resolve our wills into his merely for this reason, because we pay so much deference to his perfections, as to think, that if we knew as much as he, we should not wish things to be otherwise than they are. And this is highly specified in the Saints in Heaven, who through that near and intimate view which they have of God's perfections are so entirely conformable to his will, that they can dispense not only with the eternal loss but damnation of their friends without the least grief or resentment. I confess, this eminency of resignation is no more attainable in this life than any other part of Celestial happiness, but yet an heedful and attentive meditation of this Argument may do much towards it; And however difficult it be to reduce it to Practise, yet 'tis most certain in the Theory that granting the superintendency of an infinite and unprejudiced understanding, and that every calamity is (as Euripides somewhere calls it) 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 sent from God, to grieve at any misfortune is to grieve that things are as they should be. Which is one would think, too absurd for him to be guilty of who is defined to be a Rational Creature.  
13. Again I consider, that as that which I call an affliction is (as certainly as God is Wise and Good) for the best in reference to the whole Systeme of things, so for all that I know it may be most conducive to my interest in particular. In as much as by it I may either obtain a greater good, or avoid a greater evil. Thus a Shipwreck made Zeno a Philosopher, and the Messenger of Satan proved and Antidote to the great Apostle against pride and vanity of Spirit. And perhaps there was in me some evil and unmortifyed quality or other of so malignant a nature that it could not be cured by a less severe Application. For certainly God is not so ill a Physician as not to weigh the Ingredients of his bitter Cup, before he mingles it into a draught, that it may be proportionable to the strength of the disease as well as of the Patient.  
14. Again I consider, that as this affliction may be one of the Arrows of love, and in the designation of God be intended for my particular good, so 'tis most certain that by wise conduct I may extract good out of it if I will, and turn it to my greater advantage. Plato I remember somewhere compares the life of man to a game at Tables. And indeed the comparison is worthy the wisdom of its Author, and full of mystic and important truth. For as there what Cast we shall have is not in our power, but to manage it well, that is. So is it with man in the concerns of life. 'Twas not in my power whether this Affliction should befall me or not, but 'tis in my power to manage it for my advantage now it has befallen me. I can use it as an Opportunity of showing my Virtue, as an Occasion of withdrawing my affections from the world considering the uncertainty of the best objects in it, of increasing my love to God, and his love to me here, and his rewards to me hereafter. And to this purpose I consider the story of Abraham, who for his readiness to part with his beloved Son at the demand of God, became the Favourite and Friend of his maker, and obtained this emphatical promise from him, In blessing I will bless thee.  
15. Again I consider, that although by the loss of this excellent Creature a great breach be made upon my happiness, yet the remainder of what I enjoy is much greater than the evil which I suffer, so that upon the whole the Scale weighs down for happiness. My Condition is still better than that of many others, who yet think themselves happy. And therefore for me to pine and lament because I am not so happy as I was, or may be, becomes neither the Philosophy of a Scholar, nor the Humility of a Christian, and upon the same Principle I may continue to lament even when I am in Heaven. Rather let me adore the bounty of God for filling my Cup so full, than be discontented because it does not run over.  
16. Again I consider with the great Apostle that the time is short, and that therefore I should weep as if I wept not. 'Twill not be long ere I shall enjoy the Beatific Vision of God and (if after that the fruition of any Creature can be of any moment) the Society of even this dear person. In the mean while I have one Artifice more whereby to solace myself, and that is, by entertaining the same apprehension of what I enjoy as I should do if I did not enjoy it. I think with myself, how miserable I should be if I wanted several of those Blessings which I have, particularly if I had not been bred a Scholar, and thereby been qualified to be my own Comforter. And by virtue of this Consideration I set a higher value upon what I enjoy, and consequently find the less miss of what I do not.  
17. This is my Consolatio Philosophica, whereby I alloy and fix the violent fermentation of my Passions. To which I might add many popular Arguments, as that 'tis as natural to die as to be born, that 'tis incident not only to man but to the whole Creation, the fashion of this world passes away, that 'tis envious to think that our loss which is our friend's gain, that occasions of grief in this world are many, and therefore not singly to be much lamented, that 'tis a shame for Reason not to be able to conquer that which must at length yield to time, and the like. But these I shall be content only to mention, partly because I don't fancy much to be Topical, and partly because I think my other supports strong enough to bear the stress of the most weighty sorrow.  
18. And now the result of all these considerations is this. I am fully and entirely satisfied with the accomplishment of the divine pleasure, and though before 'twas my hearty prayer that (if possible) this Cup might pass from me, yet I now as cheerfully subscribe to the other clause, Nevertheless not as I will but as thou wilt. I am thoroughly convinced both of the absurdity and undecency of my former sorrow, and though not so much a Stoic as to condemn all the passions, yet I do this of grief as freely as any of that rigid School, and therefore will no longer defile myself for the Dead. Leu. 21. 1. If any grief can be now reasonable, it must be because I have grieved so much, for I am conscious that I have thereby exceedingly betrayed the greatness of my Soul. Homer indeed thought it not unworthy the Character of his great Hero Achilles to bring him in passionately bewailing the death of Patronclus. His expression (as I remember) is 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 he wept hideously. But certainly our Saviour was of another mind, when he said to his Disciples upon the occasion of his own death (and certainly if any thing could justify sorrow that would) Let not your hearts be troubled.  
19 But yet after all I must needs say, though I have pretty well by this time argued my passions into a Calm, that 'tis a great venture to love any thing well in this world, and that I am resolved for the sake of this dear person never to engage my passions very far in the love of any thing again. Quicquid amas cupias non placuisse nimis shall be my Motto as long as I live, and I will follow the excellent rule of the Royal Philosopher M. Antoninus, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, and reduce myself as near as I can to a simplicity, and delight in as few things as may be. So shall I more undividedly adhere to my last and best end, and lie less at the mercy of fortune.  
20. But (Sir) however I contract my love, you may assure yourself of the same room you ever had in the affections of  
Your true Friend J. Norris.   
FINIS.